Yettiri scoffs. The Queen looks up at her husband, while Lord Azryn rubs his throbbing forehead, feeling guilty that he knows where Yetsune is but can't say. The tension in the dining hall is palpable, silence weighing heavily on everyone in the hall. He clearly knows where she is but can't tell them.
The Queen rises, her voice weary. "I shall retire for the night," she announces, turning to leave.
"Suddenly feeling guilty?" Yettiri's sarcasm cuts through the air, freezing the Queen mid-step.
Without turning, the Queen responds, "It's late. I've no desire for a battle of words."
As the Queen takes another step, Yettiri's voice lashes out, "You don't deserve to be a mother."
The Queen halts, stunned. Slowly, she turns, questioning, "What did you just say?"
Lord Azryn and the King watch in stupefaction as Yettiri faces her mother, enunciating each word with cruel precision. "You. Are. Not. Worthy. To. Be. A. Mother."
Each word pierces through the Queens heart as she stands there, staring at Yettiri with quivering lashes.
"Enough!" The King and Lord Azryn's voices thunder in unison.
Yettiri's gaze shifts to her uncle, disappointment etched in her features. "Uncle, even you…?"
Lord Azryn's patience snaps. His hand fan slams onto the table. "You will not speak to your mother with such poor manners," he warns, his tone razor-sharp.
A bitter smile twists Yettiri's lips. "Such touching sibling loyalty, Uncle. Pity she's not even your true sister."
Disbelief mars their faces. The Yettiri they know would never utter such a hurtful statement, especially not to Lord Azryn, whom she regards dearly.
Yettiri's eyes widen as realisation dawns on her. Her mouth opens, but apology dies on her lips.
"You've deeply disappointed me tonight," Lord Azryn murmurs, rising with his fan. He exits, the Queen following after him.
"Uncle…" Yettiri's whisper fades as he vanishes from sight. Her gaze drops, frustrated tears spattering the table. Even the King recognizes her self-directed anger.
"You are the future heir to the throne of Asana, even if the formal ceremony has yet to take place," the King begins, trying his best to speak kindly. "But if the commoners witness you leading a search, it will breed unrest."
Yettiri looks up, desperation clinging to her words. "I'll search in secret. No one will know."
Disappointment clouds the King's face. "Can't you grasp the gravity of this? Yetsune vanished without a trace. What if you meet the same fate?"
"Father!"
He stands abruptly, distancing himself. "I'm King first, father second," he repeats, steeling himself for the blow he must deliver. "We can weather the loss of a spare princess. Losing the heir is unthinkable. If need be, we'll find a replacement for the alliance."Yettiri freezes, shock etched on her face. "Father…" Her voice barely registers above a whisper.
"Heed my warning. One step beyond the palace walls, and I'll order every East Palace maid executed, your aide included," he threatens, then walks out.
"Your Majesty!" she screams with every ounce of strength she possesses.
Arya enters, finding Yettiri frozen in place and absently staring into the distance. Yettiri had instructed her not to enter with her, since she planned to cause a stir over dinner.
After exiting the dining hall, Lord Azryn part ways with the Queen to allow her some time alone. He watches the soft glow emanating from her room, the silhouette of her figure visible through the mulberry paper doors.
"Your Majesty, Lord Azryn is here to see you," the Queen's aide announces.
"Let him in," the Queen responds.
Lord Azryn enters, carrying a tray with a tea set. He places it on the center table before her and takes a seat opposite.
"I thought you'd retired to your courtyard," she remarks, retracting her arm from the table's edge.
"I did intend to," he replies with a theatrical flair. "But a thought struck me. What if my dear sister requires companionship this very evening? And so, with a heavy heart, I bid adieu to my tranquil abode to bask in your enchanting presence."
The Queen stares at him, suppressing her amusement before yielding to a soft laugh at his humour. She playfully taps his nose.
"You have quite the silver tongue, little brother," she remarks, shaking her head in feigned disapproval, a smile tugging at her lips.
Lord Azryn's face brightens, delighted to have coaxed a smile from her. He pours fragrant chrysanthemum tea from the exquisite porcelain teapot, its delicate aroma filling the air as steam dances upwards. He places a teacup before the Queen.
The soothing scent reaches her. Their eyes meet in silent gratitude as she lifts the cup, cradling it gently before taking a sip. "Don't let Yettiri's words weigh on your heart," she says as she sets the teacup down.
Lord Azryn chuckles softly. "Of course not. She merely spoke out of anger," he replies, sipping his tea.
"Does Your Majesty recall when we first met?" he asks, his voice taking on a nostalgic tone.
A reminiscent smile graces the Queen's face as she allows herself to drift back to the past—the moment that led to Lord Azryn becoming a member of the Halan Clan.
"Back then, I was just an orphan wandering in the forest, and you were still the Second Young Mistress of the Halan Clan. How time flies," he sips his tea again, a lopsided smile on his lips.
She takes another sip of the tea and stands to pace about the room as she begins to recount the tale. "It was a year after Zehra and I lost our parents. Zehra took up the mantle as the clan leader, and my impending marriage into the Aisin royal family was set to happen within a month."
Lord Azryn keeps his eyes on her, his gaze following her every movement.
"But I didn't love the King yet, and I didn't want to leave my home." The Queen turns back to Lord Azryn. "Who would have thought I'd stumble upon a young boy facing a wolf in the hunting forest?!" she exclaims, laughing at the memory of Lord Azryn as a little boy, desperately fending off the beast.
Lord Azryn's eyes sparkle, his attention wholly captivated by her words, reliving that moment alongside her. The Queen recounts how the wolf had severely bitten him, leaving him near death. She'd built a quick fire and hurled a burning log at the wolf with a scream. Fortunately, the flames scared off the predator.
"When you carried me in your arms and ran, I thought you were an angel sent to save me," Lord Azryn adds, and they both burst into laughter.
Lord Azryn falls silent, leaving only the Queen's hearty laughter echoing in the room. It is the most joyous sound he's heard from her in ages.
"Zehra thought you resembled our father and decided to add you to the Halan family genealogy as our adopted brother. But you adamantly refused, throwing tantrums about not being able to marry me if you became my brother—" Her hand flies to her lips.
The Queen returns to sit, averting his eyes his gaze. The room falls into an uncomfortable silence. She has unintentionally broached that topic, one they have both carefully avoided for years. She sips her tea and clears her throat to speak.
"Since I have succeeded in cheering you up, I will take my leave now, Your Majesty," Lord Azryn interrupts, bowing before leaving.
"Wait!" she hastily calls, rising from her seat but he pauses with his back turned.
"Zehra vowed not to wed in order to protect her position as clan leader, but are you also determined not to get married?"
"I thought we agreed not to bring up my marriage?"
"But I—"
Lord Azryn cuts her off, "I appreciate your concern but living as your brother and an uncle to my nieces is enough for me." He walks out, before she gets the chance to say anymore.