The Queen's solar brimmed with spring's golden light, yet a palpable chill lingered in the air. Queen Roselin reclined on her divan near the arched window, her posture regal despite the fatigue that came with early pregnancy. Sunlight danced across the silk of her robe, lavender dyed and trimmed with pearls from the Eastern coast. Her calm eyes, sharp and wise beyond her nineteen years, turned toward the doorway.
A flutter of rust-red robes swept in, as Shithal, the favored concubine, entered with a measured, honeyed smile. Her hair was pinned high with a ruby-tipped comb—a gift from King Arthro himself—and the smugness she carried shimmered as visibly as her embroidered sleeves.
"Your Majesty," Shithal bowed, low enough to seem respectful, yet with a flair meant to be seen and envied.
"Sit down," Roselin said coolly, not rising. With a discreet nod, she signaled to her waiting maids. Shiao stepped forward with practiced grace, and the servants followed, laying out gold-rimmed plates of apricot cakes, rose syrup sweets, and a delicate porcelain teapot shaped like a lotus bloom.
"Xioli," Shithal chirped, turning to her maid, "bring forth the ginseng I brought."
Xioli, ever silent and observant, approached with a silk-wrapped box, embroidered with the crest of the imperial apothecary. She paused just before Queen Roselin, then extended it to Shiao with a respectful dip of her head.
"This ginseng," Shithal began, folding her hands in her lap like a well-rehearsed actress, "is said to strengthen both womb and spirit. A precious gift... bestowed upon me by His Majesty himself."
Her words landed with the softness of a petal, but the intention was clear: a thorn beneath every syllable.
"How generous of you," Roselin replied, voice smooth and expression unshaken. She did not even glance at the box in Shiao's hands. Her gaze remained fixed on Shithal, serene but watchful—like a hawk in lull.
Shithal studied her, unable to find a single crack in the Queen's facade. 'Still holding your pride? Even after being replaced in his chambers, even after his affection fades by the day?' she thought. 'Let's see how long you can keep that crown perched on your graceful head.'
A short silence fell. The chirping birds seemed louder now, intrusive.
"You mustn't mind that His Majesty hasn't visited you lately," Shithal said suddenly, her tone laced with concern yet smugness bleeding through. "Truly, don't take it to heart. It's... my fault. We weren't exactly thrilled about the Queen's pregnancy. And... we had a rather rough night."
She chuckled, eyes glinting with fake sweetness. "You understand, I hope."
Roselin's fingers curved around the warm teacup, still untouched. "So what if he favors your company? It is your role to serve the King—especially now that I carry the heir to the throne."
There it was. A line drawn in the quiet of a peaceful room. Her voice remained soft, but her words struck like a blade wrapped in velvet.
The handmaidens exchanged glances. Xioli's lip twitched before she bowed her head to hide it. Shiao's hands moved deftly to pour tea, but even she could not hide the glimmer of approval in her eyes.
Shithal's smile froze at the edges. Her pride itched beneath her skin. 'You think this child secures your future? That your place is unshakeable? We'll see.'
"I—" she began, but the words caught in her throat.
She couldn't speak her true desire aloud: Wait until I carry his child. Wait until the King grows tired of your aloofness and your cold smiles. Then we'll see whose name history remembers.
Instead, she stood, brushing invisible dust from her robe. "I must take my leave. There is... preparation to be done for tonight."
Roselin tilted her head. "So soon? You haven't even tasted the tea."
"No need, Your Majesty. I must... prepare to serve His Majesty once more."
The Queen looked her over once, eyes calm as still water. "Then I won't keep you."
With a quick bow—sharper than before—Shithal turned and strode out, the sway of her robe more agitated now.
As the silk curtain fell behind her, silence returned. The air was thick with unspoken venom.
Shiao placed the ginseng box delicately on the low table.
"Shall I instruct the physician to inspect it before use?" she asked.
"No," Roselin said softly. "Bury it. Deep in the eastern garden. Let the roots feed the lilies instead."
Shiao bowed. "As you wish."
Roselin stared out the window, her hand resting gently on her belly. "She thinks she has power because she holds his gaze," she murmured. "But power is not in fleeting affection. It's in legacy."
"Would you like the tea now, Your Majesty?" Shiao asked.
Roselin nodded. "Yes. And bring me the palace chronicles tonight. I wish to review the births of former heirs."
As Shiao poured the tea, Xioli returned to Shithal's quarters.
"She didn't even look at the ginseng," Xioli muttered under her breath as she helped remove her mistress's robe.
"She will regret it," Shithal hissed, pulling pins from her hair. "Let her bathe in her arrogance while she can.
---
The air inside the royal chamber hung heavy with silence, broken only by the distant rustle of pages from a courtier's scroll in the next corridor. King Arthro stood by the arched window, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. The royal physician's words still echoed in his mind.
"The Queen is with child, Your Majesty."
He hadn't flinched. Not even a twitch of the brow. Instead, he had taken a long breath, his expression carved in stone.
If Roselin hadn't been Chancellor Shansha's daughter, he would've ordered the physician to rid her of the worm. Letting her carry his blood meant letting the Chancellor tighten his grip around the throne. A child born of that woman would serve more as a political anchor than an heir.
Arthro's lips curled into a crooked smile.
"Clever, old snake," he muttered. "Poisoning me wasn't enough… now he wants to breed himself into the crown."
He clenched his jaw. There had been whispers among the royal alchemists—faint traces of sedative roots in his nightly wine, subtle shifts in his decisions that he hadn't noticed until it was too late. He knew it now. The sluggishness, the hollow thoughts, the false ease… Chancellor Shansha had been orchestrating it all, inch by calculated inch.
The Queen's sudden affection, the timed seduction, the silks scented with exotic oil—it was all part of it.
And he had played right into their hands.
He turned from the window, his cloak sweeping behind him like a shadow. "Rustom," he called.
The eunuch appeared with a deep bow. "Yes, Your Majesty?"
"Prepare the carriage," Arthro said, voice crisp. "And ensure the finest supplements for the fetus. I don't care what the healers recommend—double it. Triple it if needed. Let the court see my... paternal concern."
His smile didn't reach his eyes.
"It's been weeks," he added with a sigh, as if he were reluctantly rising to his duty. "If I don't visit, the nobles will start wagging their tongues."
The eunuch bowed again. "At once, Your Majesty."
As the door creaked closed behind him, King Arthro's smile dropped, replaced by something colder. He moved to the table and poured himself a glass of crimson wine, swirling it thoughtfully.
"Let them believe I care," he whispered. "Let the Chancellor think his plan is working."
He took a long sip and set the goblet down with a quiet clink.
---