As King Arthro reclined on the luxurious cushions of his royal chamber, basking in the dim glow of the ornate lanterns, a soft knock echoed through the chamber doors. One of his royal guards entered, bowing deeply before relaying the message:
"Your Majesty, High Chancellor Shansa requests an audience."
King Arthro lifted his gaze from the parchment he had been perusing, his mind already whirling with calculations. He had long observed the Chancellor's nature—an aloof man, high maintenance, and cunning. During the time of Arthro's controversial ascension to the throne, Shansa had neither openly supported nor opposed him. That neutrality was dangerous, and the king knew he must tread carefully. Was the Chancellor a hidden ally, or a lurking foe?
With an unreadable smile, he waved his hand. "Lead him in."
A moment later, High Chancellor Shansa stepped into the grand chamber. Dressed in flowing robes of midnight blue embroidered with gold, he carried himself with the composure of a man who understood the intricacies of power. As custom dictated, he bowed before the king, his voice smooth as silk.
"May Your Majesty's reign be long and prosperous."
King Arthro gestured for him to rise, his expression warm but his mind sharp. "Chancellor Shansa, what brings you to my chamber at this hour?"
The Chancellor engaged in polite conversation at first—trivial matters regarding the kingdom's grain supply, the new irrigation plans for the eastern provinces, and the training regiments for the royal knights. King Arthro listened with interest, but he knew these were mere appetizers to the true subject the Chancellor wished to discuss.
As their conversation continued, the doors opened, and a procession of servants entered, carrying an exquisite tea set. They poured the rich, aromatic brew into delicate cups, placing them before the king and his guest. The Chancellor took a measured sip before setting the cup down, his sharp eyes meeting the king's.
Then, finally, he cut through the pretense.
"Your Majesty, I am certain you are aware that I have a daughter. She will soon reach the age of maturity." He paused, letting the words settle. "And as of now, your throne remains without a queen."
King Arthro remained silent, waiting for him to continue.
"What if," the Chancellor said smoothly, "you take a liking to my daughter and coronate her as your queen? By doing so, you will secure my full support to rule the kingdom without opposition."
A moment of silence stretched between them, though in the king's mind, a thousand thoughts raced. It was an enticing proposition. Though he had once considered Shithal, his beloved, for the position, she was the daughter of a mere concubine, born to a maid. Marrying the Chancellor's daughter, on the other hand, would grant him formidable political strength. The High Chancellor was not just a man of wisdom—he was an influential pillar of the court, with deep ties to the nobility and military.
King Arthro lifted his tea cup, inhaling the delicate fragrance of jasmine before taking a slow sip. He had to weigh this decision carefully. If he accepted, he would gain the unwavering support of the Chancellor's faction. If he declined, he risked alienating one of the most powerful men in the realm.
After a long pause, he set his cup down, his lips curving into a smile. "Chancellor Shansa, your proposal is indeed a wise one. I have long admired your family's honor and influence. Marrying your daughter would not only strengthen our alliance but ensure the kingdom's stability."
A flicker of satisfaction crossed the Chancellor's face. He had anticipated the king's agreement, but Arthro noticed how carefully he concealed his true emotions. This was a calculated move, not a mere offer of loyalty.
"In that case," the king continued, "I shall make the necessary preparations. My personal servants will prepare a grand betrothal gift fit for your esteemed house."
The Chancellor bowed deeply, his voice filled with reverence. "Your Majesty's wisdom knows no bounds. It will be an honor to have my daughter serve as your queen."
With that, their conversation shifted to the details of the betrothal ceremony. The wedding would be grand, a spectacle to solidify the union between the crown and the High Chancellor's faction. Precious jewels, silks, and rare artifacts would be sent as gifts to the Chancellor's household, a declaration of the king's commitment to this alliance.
As the night deepened, the Chancellor finally took his leave, bowing once more before departing from the royal chamber. Once alone, King Arthro leaned back against the cushioned seat, exhaling softly. The decision had been made, but the weight of it settled on his shoulders. He had secured an alliance of great power, but in doing so, had he also placed himself within the Chancellor's web?
The next morning, the palace was abuzz with activity. The finest artisans were summoned to craft an elaborate betrothal gift. Golden ornaments, embroidered silk robes, and the rarest of gemstones were selected. Even exotic spices and perfumed oils from distant lands were included, ensuring the grandeur of the offering was unmatched.
King Arthro's personal scribe was instructed to draft an official decree, announcing the upcoming royal engagement. The court, though already rife with speculation, would soon have confirmation.
In the West Palace, Shithal traced her fingers over the glimmering array of jewels laid before her. The phoenix hairpin, the embroidered gown—she envisioned herself in them, a vision of power and seduction. A queen.
The sharp sound of hurried footsteps interrupted her thoughts. Xioli, her maidservant, burst into the chamber, breathless, and quickly bowed.
"My lady, bad news!" she stammered. "The king… he is getting married."
Shithal's hand paused over a sapphire bracelet. A chill ran through her, but her expression remained composed. Slowly, she turned, her gaze piercing. "What?" Her voice was soft, but dangerous.
Xioli swallowed nervously. "It's the Chancellor's daughter. He is marrying her as his queen."
A bitter laugh almost escaped Shithal's lips. Of course. The court had never wanted her. Despite the king's favor, they saw her as nothing more than a beautiful woman of low birth. This—this was inevitable.
Her fingers curled around the delicate silk of her robe, her nails pressing into her palm. She could not rage. She could not fight this. The court despised her. She had no power.
But power was not always won with force Shithal exhaled, releasing the tension from her body. She let her expression soften, her lips curve into a knowing smile. Xioli watched in confusion as the fury drained from her mistress's eyes, replaced by something else entirely—something dangerous.
"So," Shithal murmured, turning back to her mirror, "he thinks he can replace me." She reached for a rouge container, delicately dabbing the deep crimson onto her lips. "Then I shall remind him why he could never forget me."
Xioli hesitated. "My lady…?"
Shithal met her own reflection, adjusting the silk of her gown to reveal just enough skin—just enough to drive a man to madness. She was no queen, but queens could be discarded.
She? She would be irreplaceable.
Her voice was smooth as honey as she said, "Prepare my carriage. I shall visit the king tonight."
Xioli bowed and hurried out, though uncertainty lingered in her eyes.
Shithal smiled. If the court would not let her be queen, she would become something far more dangerous.
The king would have a wife. But in the dead of night, in the secret corners of his desire, he would only belong to her.
The grand halls of King Arthro's palace loomed before Xioli as she approached the heavily guarded entrance. With a poised expression, she addressed the guard stationed at the door.
"Concubine Shithal requests an audience with His Majesty," she announced, her tone laced with confidence.
The guard gave a nod before disappearing inside. Moments later, he returned with a swift bow. "His Majesty has granted permission."
Shithal adjusted her sheer, flowing robe before stepping into the king's private chamber. The scent of incense lingered in the air, mixing with the fragrance of the exotic oils on her skin. As she entered, she gracefully bowed before the king, her silken hair cascading over one shoulder in an alluring display.
King Arthro, seated on his grand throne, allowed a smirk to play on his lips as he took in the vision before him. He rose, crossing the space between them in slow, deliberate strides. His hand slid around her waist, pulling her close, his breath warm against her ear.
"You smell exotic, Shithal," he murmured, his voice thick with intrigue.
Shithal's lips curled into a soft, knowing smile. "It's because of your love, Your Majesty."
King Arthro chuckled, his fingers brushing over the exposed skin of her shoulder. "You must have come to inquire about the marriage to the chancellor's daughter, haven't you?"
Shithal placed a delicate hand on his chest, looking up at him through thick lashes. "Oh, Your Majesty," she whispered, feigning hurt. "You wound me. You are giving the position of queen to another?"
The king exhaled, rubbing his thumb along her jawline. "To secure my throne, I must forge alliances. The chancellor holds great power, and making his daughter my queen will solidify his support." His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "But no matter what, you will always be my queen, Shithal."
Despite his words, rage simmered beneath Shithal's flawless exterior. However, she knew better than to let her true emotions surface. King Arthro did not tolerate disobedience or defiance. Swallowing her fury, she pressed closer, her fingers tracing the embroidered patterns on his royal robes.
"If that is your wish, Your Majesty," she murmured, her lips brushing against his jaw, "then let us not waste this night with politics."
King Arthro smirked, his eyes darkening with desire. Without another word, he swept her into his arms and carried her toward his massive, silk-draped bed. Laughter spilled from Shithal's lips as he playfully tossed her onto the luxurious sheets. She stretched her arms above her head, her expression coy yet inviting.
The king's hunger was evident as he leaned over her, fingers grazing her cheek before traveling lower. "You always know how to make me forget my troubles," he murmured.
Shithal's smile remained, though deep inside, she seethed. One day, she would claim the throne—not as a concubine, but as queen. But for now, she would play her role to perfection.
The night was long, and Shithal knew exactly how to make the king hers—if only for the moment.
...
The royal decree had spread like wildfire across the kingdom—King Arthro would take Chancellor Shansha's daughter, Roselin, as his queen after her coming-of-age ceremony. The court was abuzz with whispers, noble families sending their regards, and the palace servants preparing for the grandest wedding in years.
Shithal sat before her gilded mirror, her nails pressing into the polished wood of her vanity. Her reflection trembled with barely contained fury.
"Ruby... is this your curse?" she whispered, her voice laced with venom. "No matter how close I come to the throne, it is always just out of reach. That position should have been mine. But no... no, that's impossible. You are dead. Killed by the very man you loved—King Arthro himself. How could a mere woman like you cast a curse on me from beyond the grave?"
She let out a sharp, mirthless laugh.
Curses were mere superstition, whispers meant to scare foolish nobles. And yet, Shithal couldn't shake the unease coiling in her chest. Ruby had been nothing—just a girl, an obstacle, someone easily erased. Or so she had thought. And now, as she watched the throne slip through her fingers once more, she couldn't ignore the nagging sensation that Ruby's shadow still loomed over her.
But this was no time for paranoia. She needed to think.
"The chancellor's daughter is no ordinary rival," Shithal murmured, her gaze darkening. "She is untouchable... for now."
Her mind raced through possibilities, searching for weaknesses, hidden cracks in Roselin's perfect, untarnished image. No one was without flaws. No one was truly invincible.
"There is always a way."
A slow, knowing smirk curled at her lips. If fate had once again denied her the throne, she would simply carve her own path. And this time, she would ensure there were no more ghosts left to haunt her.
No more Rubys. No more mistakes.
Just victory.