Her hands gripped Hallie’s shoulders, her fingers digging into her skin as she pulled her daughter closer, her eyes blazing with a fire that could not be extinguished.
“He dared touch you? Choke you? That mixed-blood filth!” Her voice cracked, raw with emotion, before she pulled Hallie into a fierce embrace, holding her tightly.
Then, as quickly as the embrace came, she stepped back, pacing a furious circle around the room.
Hallie sank onto the bed, her body suddenly feeling too heavy to stand. She dropped her head into her hands, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“Yes, Ma, he can laugh at us, he can break us—he has the power to, and we can do nothing.” Her fingers tightened in her hair, pulling it as her voice cracked.
“That beast asked me what I was ready to do for Ivan—taunted me with it, like it was some sick prize. Maybe… maybe if I give him what he wants…” She trailed off, her words hanging thick in the air.
The queen froze, her pacing halting mid-step. She stared at Hallie in disbelief, baffled by what she had just heard.
“What?” she whispered, her hands dropping to her sides. “Give him what he wants? Hallie, what are you saying?” Her eyes widened, horror creeping in as Hallie’s words impaled deep inside her.
She lunged forward, grabbing Hallie’s wrists, pulling her hands from her face. “Look at me! You can’t mean that—you won’t!”
Hallie’s gaze flickered up, tears spilling freely. “What else, Ma?” she complained. “He has everything—the King, the throne, the support—in his grasp. I fought him, I tried, and he—he crushed me like it was nothing. If it’s for Ivan, if it saves him…”
She choked, her words barely a whisper. “Maybe it’s the only way left.”
The Queen’s grip tightened, her face twisting with anguish.
“No!” she snapped, her voice rising, cracking with desperation. “You will not bow to that monster—not you, not for Ivan, not for anyone! He has twisted you already—don’t let him take this too!”
She shook Hallie, then pulled her close again, her own tears falling now. “We’ll find another way—anything but that!”
Hallie didn’t resist, just rested on her mother’s chest. “There is no other way,” she murmured.
The Queen remained silent, but inside, her mind had already raced. She had made up her mind—had to, after what Hallie said. Her thoughts spiraled back to that wretched day when the king had summoned Julian to court.
He had manipulated her, made her suck his cock, all while the king was near, mere feet away from them. A flush spread across her face as she remembered those night
I will give you what you want, she vowed, her silence masking the fire igniting within.
She pulled back from Hallie, her hands sliding to her daughter’s shoulders, her eyes burning with something new—something unyielding.
Hallie didn’t notice, her head still lowered as she repeated, “I only have my body left—I can only offer that.”
The Queen’s grip tightened, but her voice stayed steady and low. “No,” she said, determined now. “You won’t give him anything—not your body, not your soul. I’ll handle this.”
Her tone was final. She would play his game, give him what he wanted, if it meant sparing Hallie and gaining back some shred of power.
Hallie looked up, confusion flickering through her tears. “Ma, what—?” she whispered, but the Queen shook her head, silencing her.
After some time, the queen stood, smoothing her silk gown, and walked to the door without a word. She slipped out, shutting it softly behind her, leaving Hallie lost on the bed, lost in her own despair.
Once outside, the Queen paused, taking a deep breath, steeling herself. The cool air of the corridor hit her flushed face, but it did nothing to soothe the fire raging inside.
She was dressed in her royal gown—rich velvet, adorned with rare jewels and ornaments—the attire that only one woman in this whole kingdom could dare to wear. The Queen.
She scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips as she touched the sapphire pendant at her throat. A queen, she thought, the words dripping with self-loathing. A mighty queen broken down by a mere boy.
The title felt like a mockery now, a hollow crown on a shattered throne. But that wasn’t even the worst of it—what stung deeper was that her own husband had given up on her, handing their legacy to Julian like she was nothing.
She began walking down the empty corridor, her heavy steps echoing in the silence. A few guards stood on watch, their armor glinting faintly in the lantern.
They bowed as she passed, heads dipping low in respect, but each gesture only fueled her embarrassment, twisting the knife. She kept her chin high and her face calm, but inside, she burned—humiliated by their respect, by the weight of a queenship that couldn’t protect her daughter, her grandson, or herself.
Making her way back to her chambers, she quickly slipped inside, locking the door behind her. She moved swiftly, shedding her royal gown, and changed to a light nightgown. The green fabric barely reached her knees, clinging to her curves in all the right places, her cleavage displayed alluringly in a way that felt both tantalizing and hollow.
She paused before the mirror, running a hand down her body, her fingers tracing the curves she had once wielded like a weapon. Her reflection stared back—older, weathered, a queen reduced to this.
No words, just a bitter twist of her expression as she turned away.
Then, she stepped into the inner room and paused. There, wasted on the table, was the king—her husband—passed out. His weathered face was relaxed, and his gray hair spilled over a mess of empty bottles and shattered glass.
The room reeked of alcohol, and her gaze fell on him, tracing the wrinkled lines on his face. Her heart ached, and a bitter understanding swelled in her chest.
She finally realized—it was not that her husband had betrayed her, but that she had chosen to be betrayed.
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