After the king stormed out of the courtroom, leaving a heavy tension in his wake, we all stood frozen in silence for a few moments. Then, slowly, the room began to stir, filling with hushed murmurs and whispered conversations. I could hear the ministers talking amongst themselves, their voices laced with frustration and worry.
One of the ministers muttered, "Maybe we shouldn't have brought up the marriage issue today."
Another responded quickly, "Why not? The custom must be upheld. Yes, I know the darkness has our king in a difficult state, but the kingdom must go on. He needs to find a queen." He spoke in a low voice, as if the words were risky to say aloud.
Around the room, similar complaints and frustrations spread, their tones growing louder and more anxious by the minute. Some ministers sounded tired, others simply fed up with the strain of the kingdom's troubles. I stood there, listening to their arguments as the quiet murmurs gradually rose into heated conversations, a mix of anger and weariness filling the air. It was clear that the darkness was wearing down even the strongest among us.
Just then, I noticed Marcus moving toward the door, his expression calm but focused. Without a word, I followed him, slipping out of the courtroom and leaving the tense atmosphere behind us.
Marcus and I slipped quietly out of the courtroom and into the palace corridors. I followed closely behind him, my mind reeling from what had just happened. The king's fury kept playing over and over in my head.
"He was almost like the devil" I whispered to myself.
"Those eyes! If I want to survive another day as his personal maid, I must stay far from his bad side" I warned myself.
As we approached the corridor leading to my quarters, I slowed, deciding to go back to my room to gather my thoughts. There was no way I'd dare approach the king after seeing him like that. I took a different turn, my steps quiet, lost in thought.
"Mara!"
Marcus's voice called out just as I started down the hallway toward my quarters.
The sound of my name jolted me out of my thoughts, pulling me back to reality. I'd been completely lost in my mind, but I quickly turned back to face Marcus. "Yes, sir," I replied.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.
"My quarters," I answered quietly.
"You're the king's personal maid," he replied, his tone nearly harsh. "You weren't assigned to hide away in your quarters all day. Now, report back to your duties."
"Report back to my duties?" The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. His order hit me hard, sending a chill down my spine.
"Yes, to your duties," he repeated firmly. I didn't dare question him further, and reluctantly, I turned back toward the king's quarters, the fear of what awaited me tightening in my chest. But as I walked, I noticed Marcus was following close behind. He was kind enough not to let me face the king's wrath alone, especially after what we'd just seen in the courtroom.
We moved silently down the corridor together. Marcus was just behind me, but the fear of what lay ahead filled my mind. As we drew closer, I heard the rhythmic footsteps of an approaching procession. Glancing down one of the other corridors leading to the king's quarters, I saw her—the queen. She was moving toward us, surrounded by her maidens, her presence as always both cold and unnerving.
We lowered our heads in respect, greeting her in unison. "Greetings, my queen." But as expected, she passed by us without a glance, as though unaware of our presence. She carried that usual air of authority, her eyes fixed ahead, head held high, shoulders squared—a picture of cold, almost chilling confidence. I wasn't surprised; I hadn't expected a reply. This was how she always was, her presence sharp and intimidating, trailed by her maidens like silent shadows.
Marcus and I followed behind, keeping a safe distance to avoid any trouble. As we neared the king's quarters, her attendants came to a halt a few steps back. Without needing instruction, Marcus and I also stopped and positioned ourselves to the side, quietly watching.
The queen walked to the king's chamber door with a graceful, almost practiced elegance and knocked, calling softly, "Hello… my king. Please, it's your mother. Open up." Her voice startled me. It was soft and motherly—unexpectedly gentle—yet beneath it, I sensed a hint of something less genuine. Yes, the tone was calm and affectionate, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. It was as if the warmth in her voice was a layer of pretense, a role she played but didn't truly feel.
But there was no reply. She knocked again, this time in silence, and waited a few seconds. Still, nothing. Finally, she knocked a third time, then spoke softly, "I know this isn't easy, and I know you're not ready for all of this. But please, you need to calm down and remember who you are. Just open the door. Please." Her voice was steady and calm, but still, there was no response.
She stood there for a few moments, and I watched as her expression shifted. Slowly, a look of frustration began to creep onto her face. She was clearly trying to maintain the calm, motherly tone, but the king's silence seemed to chip away at her composure, revealing the sharpness underneath. She struggled to hold on to her gentle facade but could only manage it for so long.
After a long pause, she seemed to brace herself, straightening up as if shaking off the act she had just put on. The warmth faded from her expression, replaced by that familiar, cold intensity. With a look of thinly veiled disappointment, she turned and walked back down the corridor with her usual icy elegance.
Her maidens scrambled to catch up, quickly arranging themselves behind her as the guards fell into line at the back. Marcus and I remained frozen in place, our heads bowed low, not daring to make eye contact. Her frustration was almost tangible, radiating from her in waves as she passed. We stood there in silence, doing our best to remain invisible, unwilling to risk even the slightest misstep.
After the queen had disappeared down the corridor, I finally raised my head and exhaled, a wave of relief washing over me. I glanced over at Marcus, expecting him to say something or make a move, but he simply stood there, his expression unreadable, a trace of confusion flickering in his eyes. I understood his hesitation, so I didn't ask any questions.
We remained there in silence, the minutes stretching on until nearly an hour had passed. My legs began to ache, and I knew I couldn't stand much longer. Without a second thought, I slid down onto the floor, leaning back against the cool stone wall. Marcus gave me a look of disappointment, but I ignored it.
A few moments later, he sighed, then sank down beside me, which brought a chuckle to my lips that was a little too loud.
"What's so funny?" he asked, trying to keep his serious tone, though I could see a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Nothing, sir," I replied, fighting back my grin.
The smile on my face was yet to fade off when I saw the court mistress approaching, her face lined with worry. We scrambled to our feet, the smile vanishing as we resumed our positions.
"Did he answer his mother?" she asked, ignoring our greeting, her voice tight with concern.
"No," Marcus replied, his tone subdued.
She let out a weary sigh, her shoulders drooping slightly, before she turned toward the large double doors that led to the king's chamber. With a moment's pause, she collected herself, then stepped forward to knock.