106

106
Chapter 106

Mack stood in the hallway, coat slung over his shoulder, fingers impatiently raking through his hair. His heart felt heavy and restless, the weight of the unsent letter gnawing at his chest. “I need some fresh air,” he muttered to no one in particular as he headed for the door.

“Fresh air?”

The voice came sharp and mocking behind him. He froze, hand on the doorknob, before slowly turning. Ophelia was standing there, arms folded across her chest, her eyes glinting with something between amusement and anger.

“Going somewhere, Mack?” she asked sweetly, though the venom beneath her tone was unmistakable.

Mack’s jaw tightened. “What do you want, Ophelia?”

She took a step closer, holding his gaze. “I want to know why you thought it was wise to write a letter to Azalea.”

His stomach dropped, but he kept his expression calm. “What are you talking about?”

Ophelia smirked, pulling the folded parchment from the pocket of her silk robe. “This.” She waved it in front of him before tucking it back into her pocket. “I saw you give it to the maid. She was on her way to deliver it, but lucky for you—and unlucky for her—I intercepted it.”

Mack’s nostrils flared. “You had no right to do that.”

“I had every right,” she snapped, stepping closer until there was barely space between them. “You think you can undermine the king by sneaking around, confessing your feelings to his queen?”

“This has nothing to do with Federico!” Mack shot back, voice rising. “This is about me and Azalea. I needed her to know how I feel—”

Ophelia laughed, sharp and cruel. “How do you feel? You think she cares, Mack? She’s queen now. She’s Federico’s wife. You think she’d risk everything for a foolish love letter?”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You don’t know her like I do.”

“Oh, I know her enough,” Ophelia said, her tone dripping with false sympathy. “She’s playing her part perfectly. She smiles, she bows, she wins everyone’s heart, but in the end, she belongs to him. And you? You’re nothing but a lovesick fool dreaming of something that will never happen, besides you left her for me, remember?”

Her words cut deep, and Mack felt his chest tighten with frustration. “Give me the letter,” he said quietly, dangerously.

Ophelia arched her brow. “No.”

“Ophelia,” he warned, his voice low and edged with steel. “That letter was mine. Whatever Azalea decides to do with it should be her choice, not yours.”

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “And what if I decide to burn it? What will you do then? Run to her like a child and cry about how mean Ophelia kept you from pouring out your heart?”

Mack exhaled sharply, every muscle in his body tense. “You’re unbelievable.”

“No,” she said with a soft, dangerous laugh. “I’m realistic. Someone has to protect this royal house from chaos, and clearly you’re too blinded by your emotions to think of the consequences.”

He stepped back, shaking his head. “You’re not protecting anyone, Ophelia. You’re just afraid. Afraid that if Azalea knew the truth about how I feel, she might start to question everything. Including her place here.”

For the first time, her confident mask faltered, just for a split second, before she quickly composed herself. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You want her back because it'll rope you into a big kingdom drama.”

Mack didn’t answer. He simply turned, pulled the door open, and stepped into the cold morning air.

“Mack!” Ophelia called after him, but he didn’t look back.

He needed space. Space to think. Space to stop himself from saying something he couldn’t take back. The sound of the door shutting behind him echoed down the corridor, leaving Ophelia alone, the crumpled letter still burning like a secret in her pocket.

____

Leandro leaned back in the velvet chair, swirling the wine in his goblet as if he had all the time in the world. The dimly lit chamber reeked of secrecy. Across the table sat Thomas, his ever-loyal ally, and two cloaked figures — representatives of a rival kingdom that had never truly accepted Federico’s rise to power.

“So,” Leandro began, his tone smooth but sharp, “you understand what we want. Federico’s reign must not go unchallenged.”

The taller of the two cloaked men nodded, pushing back his hood to reveal a scarred face. “Our kingdom has waited for this opportunity. A new king is always vulnerable. If you truly have the influence you claim, we can… push matters along.”

Thomas smirked. “Influence is not our problem. Timing is. Federico is still popular — the coronation just strengthened his image. We need to create tension within his own house first. That will make him weak before we strike.”

Leandro set down his goblet, leaning forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Exactly. That is why we brought you here. You have the resources to stir unrest on the borders. Small attacks, raids — nothing that looks like war, just enough to stretch the king’s attention thin.”

The other envoy, a woman with a hard gaze, narrowed her eyes. “And while your king is distracted, what do you plan to do from within?”

A slow, dangerous smile crept across Leandro’s face. “We will destroy his peace from the inside. His precious queen will not have a moment of rest. Rumors, scandals — anything that can tarnish her image. And when the people begin to doubt her, they will doubt him.”

Thomas added, “And with Azalea’s fainting spell yesterday, it is easy to exploit the idea that she’s unfit to be queen. Perhaps even whisper that the Goddess does not favor her.”

The woman exchanged a glance with the scarred man before nodding slowly. “If we do this, there is no turning back. Your king will face more than political opposition — this will become personal.”

Leandro’s eyes gleamed. “Good. That is exactly what I want. A king who is fighting for his crown, his queen, and his own sanity is a king too distracted to rule effectively.”

Thomas chuckled darkly. “And once the people lose faith in him, they’ll look for another leader. Someone stronger. Someone… like us.”

The meeting ended with handshakes and quiet promises. The rival envoys slipped back into the shadows, leaving Leandro and Thomas alone in the chamber.

“This is just the beginning,” Leandro murmured, pouring himself another drink.

Thomas grinned. “By the time we’re through, Federico will wish he never wore that crown.”