125

125

Chapter 125

The forest road was quiet except for the thundering of hooves. Federico rode at the front of his guards, his face grim, his jaw set like stone. This wasn’t just a royal duty anymore — this was personal.

The moment they arrived at the Home for Women, the matrons were already waiting outside the gates.

“Your Majesty,” the head matron said, bowing low. “As you ordered, the fugitives are secured. We found them trying to bribe one of our sisters to hide them. They are in the cellar, awaiting your judgment.”

“Good,” Federico said coldly, dismounting his horse. “Bring them out.”

The guards descended into the cellar, and soon four figures were dragged into the open courtyard — Leandro, Thomas, and their mothers. Dirt smeared their faces, their clothes were torn, but their eyes still burned with defiance.

Federico stepped closer, his boots crunching against the gravel.

“You really thought you could run from me?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.

Leandro spat on the ground near his feet. “You think you’ve won, Federico? You think just because you sit on that throne, you’re untouchable? You and your queen should have died together — we made sure of it.”

Thomas laughed bitterly. “But somehow she survived. You survived. Fine. Kill us now. At least we tried.”

Federico’s expression did not change, though his hands clenched into fists. “You dare admit to trying to murder your queen?”

“We did more than try,” Leandro sneered. “And if we had another chance, we would finish the job. You, your precious Azalea, that unborn child — none of you would live to see another moon.”

The guards bristled at the words, some drawing their swords, but Federico raised a hand to keep them still.

“You will have plenty of chances to speak,” Federico said. “Tomorrow, when the entire kingdom is gathered to watch your judgment. Until then, you will rot in my dungeon.”

The prisoners were chained and dragged away, screaming curses and threats until their voices faded into the distance.

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Back at the palace, Azalea was lying on her bed, trying to let the relief of the day wash over her. The four of them were caught. There was no more running, no more wondering when the next attack would come.

Vicky had just stepped out to prepare tea, leaving Azalea with a moment of silence.

And then she heard it — the faintest sound of movement near her window.

Her heart skipped a beat.

“Who’s there?” she called sharply, sitting up.

A figure stepped out from the shadows, and Azalea froze.

Ophelia.

Her hair was disheveled, her dress torn, her face wild with fury.

“You—” Azalea whispered, instinctively reaching for the dagger under her pillow. “You were supposed to be in prison.”

Ophelia’s lips twisted into a vicious smile as she lifted a knife, the blade glinting in the moonlight. “Did you really think a cell could hold me? You took everything from me, Azalea. My mate, my place in this kingdom, my future. Tonight, I will take everything from you.”

Azalea stood, clutching the dagger. “You brought this on yourself, Ophelia. You plotted with Mack, with Maya. You tried to kill me, tried to kill my child.”

Ophelia’s voice rose to a scream. “You don’t deserve to be queen! You don’t deserve him! That throne was supposed to be mine!”

She lunged.

Azalea reacted on instinct, raising her dagger just in time. The two women collided, struggling for control of the knives. Ophelia was stronger, but Azalea was faster — she twisted, pushing back against her attacker.

The bedroom was filled with the sound of clashing metal and ragged breathing as they fought.

The door burst open.

“Your Majesty!” Vicky cried, running in.

In that split second of distraction, Ophelia turned and drove the knife forward — it struck Vicky in the side.

Vicky gasped, stumbling back, blood spreading across her dress.

Something inside Azalea snapped.

“No!”

Fueled by rage, she wrenched the dagger from Ophelia’s grip and drove it into her chest. Once. Twice. Again.

Ophelia let out a choking gasp, her eyes widening in shock as she fell to her knees.

Azalea stood over her, breathing hard, her hands shaking as she stabbed again — until the knife slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.

The room went deathly quiet.

Ophelia lay still, her lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. Blood pooled around her body.

Azalea stumbled back, her whole body trembling. She looked at her hands — crimson, sticky, trembling — and then at Vicky, who had collapsed on the floor, clutching her side.

“Guards!” Azalea screamed, her voice breaking. “Guards!”

Footsteps thundered down the hallway, and within seconds, soldiers and healers rushed into the room.

“Take Vicky to the infirmary!” Azalea ordered, her voice sharp despite the tears streaming down her face. “Now!”

Two healers carried Vicky out. The guards stood staring at the scene — their queen standing over a dead woman, her nightdress stained with blood.

Azalea swallowed hard, staring down at Ophelia’s corpse. Her breathing was ragged, her heart pounding.

“She came to kill me,” she said finally, her voice hoarse. “She escaped prison. She tried to kill me and my child.”

The captain of the guard nodded grimly. “We believe you, Your Majesty. We’ll take the body away at once.”

Azalea sank onto the bed, burying her face in her bloodstained hands.

Federico would return soon. She didn’t know how she would explain what had just happened — or how she would live with what she had just done.

The guards moved quickly, scrubbing the blood from the floor and removing Ophelia’s lifeless body from the room. The air still felt heavy, thick with the scent of iron and fear. Azalea sat on the edge of the bed, her hands trembling, her eyes staring blankly at the spot where Ophelia had fallen. Federico knelt before her, taking her hands gently in his.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said softly, his voice steady. “It was self-defense, Azalea. She would have killed you and our child.” Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she buried her face against his chest.