Emily sat gracefully beside Niklaus, still warm from the joy of the carole, but the moment his hand rested on her thigh beneath the table, her pulse quickened. His fingers lingered, inching ever closer to her core. Though he was engrossed in conversation with his ministers, his touch was a reminder that she held his focus, even when surrounded by politics and power. Emily fought to steady her breath, her mind racing as the heat between them grew. To distract herself, she reached for a wine glass, hoping its contents would cool the fire building inside her.
Just as her fingers brushed the glass, Mr. Harring, one of the ministers, spoke up, his tone teetering between concern and patronizing condescension. "Your Majesty," he began with a smile that barely masked his disrespect, "that wine is quite strong. Women cannot handle it."
The room seemed to freeze for a moment. Emily's eyes snapped to the minister, a mocking laugh escaping her lips. Across from her, Niklaus leaned back, clearly entertained by the brewing storm. He said nothing, allowing his queen to handle it in her own way.
"Mr. Harring," Emily began, her voice a touch too sweet, "are you a woman?"
Her question left the minister dumbfounded, his brow furrowing in confusion. "No, Your Majesty, I am not," he answered, unsure of her intention.
Emily's expression darkened. "Then how would you know what a woman can or cannot handle?"
The cold bite of her words sent a ripple of unease through the ministers, but before Harring could sputter a reply, Lord Erhall, a staunch traditionalist, spoke with a smug grin. "If I may, Your Majesty, men and women are not the same. Women are... delicate. Their strengths lie elsewhere." His insinuation was clear, as was the disdain in his voice.
Emily's patience snapped. Her sapphire eyes blazed with indignation as she turned to face him fully. "In what way are we not the same, Lord Erhall?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with venom. "If you're referring to physical appearance, I might agree. But I suspect you're speaking of something more insidious—strength of mind, perhaps? Because if that is the case, I can assure you, women are far more resilient than men when it comes to mental fortitude."
Erhall opened his mouth to speak, but Emily wasn't finished. "Do you know what holds kingdoms back, Lord Erhall? Men like you. Men who believe that women are meant to be kept in the shadows, used only for their convenience. If women were treated as equals, this entire peninsula would thrive."
Her fury was palpable, and instead of sipping from her own wine, she boldly reached for Niklaus's glass. She tilted it back and drained it in one go, unaware that it was filled with the strongest wine in the kingdom—known for its slow but overwhelming effects. A few gasps escaped from those seated nearby, but Emily remained unfazed, her anger burning hotter than the alcohol.
Lord Erhall, clearly agitated, made a move to argue, but before he could utter a single word, Niklaus's deep, dangerous voice cut through the air like a blade. His crimson eyes locked onto Erhall, gleaming with a darkness that silenced the entire table.
"Erhall," Niklaus began, his voice calm but underlined with deadly intent, "if you wish to keep your head attached to your body, you will hold your tongue." The room seemed to shrink, the very air thickening with the weight of his words. "No one speaks to the queen in such a manner. Not while I draw breath."
His eyes bored into Erhall, the promise of violence clear. "You dare question her worth? You dare suggest that she is lesser than any man in this room?" Niklaus leaned forward, his voice lowering to a menacing whisper that made every hair on the back of Erhall's neck stand on end. "If you ever disrespect her again, I will ensure your death is slow. Painful. So brutal that it will haunt the memories of all who witness it. You will beg for the mercy of death, and none will come."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Erhall's face paled, and he could barely breathe under the weight of Niklaus's threat. The other ministers dared not move or speak, for the king's wrath was a force they all feared.
Niklaus's hand, still resting on Emily's thigh, tightened ever so slightly, a possessive gesture that spoke volumes. His next words were softer, but no less terrifying. "Understand this, all of you. The queen is not to be trifled with. Her strength is greater than any of you can comprehend. Should anyone dare to insult or undermine her again, I will personally see to it that your blood stains these very floors."
His eyes scanned the room, ensuring his message was clear. The lords around them nodded frantically, too terrified to do anything else. Erhall, now trembling, lowered his gaze, utterly defeated.
Emily sat beside him, her anger still simmering, but she couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips. She knew Niklaus would never let anyone harm her, but his fierce protection, his willingness to threaten the lives of men without blinking, sent a thrill through her.
As the silence lingered, Emily's hand slid over Niklaus's, offering a brief squeeze of gratitude, though her expression remained regal and composed. The ball continued, but no one dared look at the queen or the king for too long, the memory of Niklaus's dark promise etched into their minds.
As the final guests filtered out into the night, the atmosphere around the royal grounds became quieter, the energy of the evening dimming with each passing moment. Emily and Niklaus lingered for a few moments longer, exchanging pleasantries with Lord Garett once more before retreating toward their awaiting carriage. The cool evening breeze gently tugged at the edges of Emily's gown, but her mind was focused on something else entirely—the slow, dizzying warmth that had begun to flood her body.
Each step she took toward the carriage seemed a little heavier, the alcohol working its way through her system. She felt her balance shift awkwardly, her normally graceful movements faltering. Noticing this, Niklaus turned his head slightly, the corner of his lips curling into a knowing smirk.
"Need help?" His voice was teasing, but there was a softness behind it, a quiet concern hidden beneath the playful edge.
Emily, ever proud, lifted her chin. "No, I can walk," she replied, her voice steady, though her body swayed slightly. Determined to prove herself, she continued toward the carriage, her pace slower but deliberate.
When they reached the carriage, Emily reached out to step inside, but her foot slipped from the step, and she stumbled. Before she could fall, Niklaus's strong arm wrapped around her waist, steadying her in one swift motion. He pulled her close, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "Careful, princess." His voice was low and intimate, the sound sending a wave of heat through her already flushed body.
With his help, she managed to sit inside the carriage, her heart racing slightly—not from the stumble but from his touch, his presence so close and overwhelming. Niklaus followed her in, settling across from her, his eyes never leaving her. The carriage door clicked shut behind them, enclosing them in a small, private world as the carriage lurched into motion.