The room was dimly lit, a single chandelier casting flickering shadows over the richly adorned chamber. The scent of jasmine and the faint aroma of spiced wine lingered in the air as voices whispered like serpents slithering in the dark.
"He must die," a cold, venomous voice declared.
The speaker, Queen Beatrix, leaned forward, her emerald-green gown shimmering under the light. Her sharp features twisted into a scowl as she addressed the room. Beside her sat her two sons, Alaric, the eldest, wearing a smug grin, and Urek, who looked on with quiet calculation.
Across the table sat Lady Freya, dressed in a deep crimson dress that matched the wine she sipped lazily, her gaze sharp as a blade. Her eldest son, Vort, leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and a cruel smirk on his face. To their right, Lady Seraphina sat gracefully, her golden locks gleaming, with her eldest daughter, Maltida, beside her, her expression a mix of curiosity and malice.
"Kill him?" Freya mused, setting her goblet down with deliberate slowness. "We can't. Not with the King's decree protecting him."
"Cowardice," snapped Beatrix, her gaze narrowing. "Are we to sit idly by while that wretched child lives to eclipse our own bloodlines?"
Freya raised a brow and smiled slyly. "Even though we cannot kill him, that doesn't mean we can't render him… useless."
The tension in the room shifted, curiosity sparking in the others' eyes. Urek leaned closer, and Maltida whispered something to Seraphina, who responded with a knowing nod.
"Go on," Beatrix said, her tone laced with impatience. "How do you propose we accomplish this?"
Freya's smirk widened as she leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "To break the boy, we must first remove his greatest shield."
"The King?" Urek asked, his brows furrowing.
"No," Freya replied, waving a dismissive hand. "His mother. Elyria."
A ripple of understanding spread through the room. Vort straightened, intrigued, while Maltida's lips curled into a wicked grin. Beatrix's expression remained unreadable, though her sons exchanged dark glances.
"And how do you propose we deal with her?" Beatrix asked, her voice low and dangerous. "The King may tolerate her existence, but he won't take kindly to her demise."
Freya chuckled softly, her laughter carrying a sinister undertone. She gestured for them to come closer. "Not by killing her outright. That would draw suspicion. No, we'll isolate her, disgrace her, make her appear unworthy of her son's affection and the King's protection. Once she's out of the picture, the boy will be vulnerable."
The group leaned in, their eyes gleaming with wicked intent. Beatrix's sons exchanged approving looks, and Seraphina's hand rested briefly on Maltida's shoulder, as if to steady her excitement.
Freya's voice dropped further, almost a whisper. "And I already have the perfect plan to achieve it…"
As the group huddled together, plotting their sinister scheme, a sense of foreboding filled the room, the weight of their malice heavy in the air.
**********
The room where Eryndor and Elyria sat was filled with a peaceful silence, his mother's warmth grounding him as they shared a rare moment of tranquility. But the calm was shattered by the sudden thunderous crash of the door bursting open. Guards poured in, their armor clanking ominously as their stern faces betrayed no mercy. Elyria immediately rose, her face etched with confusion and defiance.
"What is the meaning of this?" Elyria demanded, her voice steady, though a spark of fear flickered in her eyes.
The guards sneered as they grabbed her roughly by the arms. "You are to come with us, by the King's orders."
"Unhand me at once!" Elyria ordered, struggling against their iron grips.
Eryndor surged to his feet, stepping forward to intervene. "Leave her alone!" he shouted, only for the guards to push him back with their shields.
"Stay out of this, boy," one guard snarled, before dragging Elyria toward the door. Eryndor attempted to follow, but a line of guards blocked his way. The heavy doors slammed shut in his face, locking him out of the throne room.
"Mother!" he yelled, pounding on the door, his heart pounding with dread.
Inside the throne room, Elyria was thrown to the floor like a common criminal. She staggered up, her face pale but defiant. "My King," she said, bowing slightly. "What is the meaning of this? Why am I being treated like a traitor?"
King Alden sat on his golden throne, his expression cold and unyielding. At his sides stood Queen Beatrix and her sons, Alaric and Urek, their smug smiles betraying their satisfaction. Behind them, Lady Freya and Lady Seraphina observed with veiled triumph, their children standing close by.
Then they shared knowing glances, recalling their earlier discussion.
**********
Back in the dim room, Queen Beatrix folded her hands neatly, her sharp eyes gleaming with malice as she studied Freya.
"Disgrace her?" Beatrix murmured, her voice as smooth as silk yet laced with venom. "Go on, Freya. Enlighten us."
Freya's crimson lips curved into a devious smile as she reclined in her chair, one finger idly tracing the rim of her goblet. "It's simple. Elyria's existence hinges on her perceived loyalty and value to the King. If we strip her of that, she becomes nothing. But to do so, we must paint her as a traitor or, better yet, an enemy."
"A traitor?" Alaric's voice cut through the room like a blade, his tone filled with amusement. He leaned forward, his chin resting on his hand, a sly smirk playing on his lips. "Mother, wouldn't that be poetic? The King's favored toy turned against him. It would break his precious little illusion of her."
Urek, who had been quietly observing, chuckled darkly. "Not just poetic. Brilliant. The boy worships her. Without her, he'll crumble. He's already weak. A few well-placed whispers and a staged incident, and we can turn her into the villain."
Vort, standing by the wall, uncrossed his arms and approached the table, his heavy boots echoing against the polished floor. "If we're doing this, let's not waste time. The longer she's around, the more the boy grows. He's already drawing too much attention, and that pathetic display of his swordsmanship earlier was enough to stir rumors."
Matilda, her golden hair cascading over her shoulder, tilted her head as she played with the edge of her sleeve. "Why not poison her?" she suggested innocently, her sweet voice belying the malice in her words. "Nothing lethal, of course. Just enough to weaken her, make her sickly and frail. The King would lose interest quickly."
Seraphina chuckled, patting her daughter's hand. "Such a creative little mind you have, my dear. But poison is too risky. Elyria is a healer by trade. She'd sense it before it took effect."
Beatrix nodded, her lips pursed in thought. "Freya, you mentioned a plan. Elaborate."
Freya's smirk widened as she leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We manipulate her through those closest to her. The maids, the guards, people who can be swayed. We plant evidence, forge letters, perhaps even stage an 'accident' where she's caught in a compromising situation."
Alaric laughed softly, shaking his head. "You're all thinking too small. Why not go straight for her reputation? Spread rumors that she's been practicing dark magic, conspiring with our enemies. People love a scandal, especially when it comes to someone so… pitiable."
Urek's eyes gleamed with approval. "Dark magic, you say? That would not only disgrace her but also force the King to distance himself for the sake of the court. He wouldn't dare defend her publicly."
Vort sneered. "The court is already watching her closely. A single mistake, a hint of impropriety, and they'll pounce. We just need to give them a reason."
Matilda chimed in, her voice dripping with mock concern. "And if she resists? What then?"
Beatrix waved her hand dismissively. "If she resists, we escalate. But knowing Elyria, she'll crumble under the weight of public disdain. She's soft-hearted and foolish. It's why she's survived this long, she poses no real threat."
Freya's smirk deepened as she gestured to the group. "Let's not forget the boy. He's another piece of this puzzle. We don't just destroy her, we make him doubt her. Turn his love into resentment. Once he sees her as a liar or a threat, he'll be ours to mold."
Alaric's grin turned predatory. "And when he's ours, we break him. Slowly, piece by piece. Let him realize the prophecy was a lie, that he's nothing more than a pawn in this game."
Urek clapped his hands together, his voice cold. "I like this. It's efficient and ensures they both fall without us dirtying our hands."
Beatrix rose from her seat, her emerald gown shimmering as she walked to the center of the room. She turned to face the group, her expression resolute. "Then it's decided. Freya, you'll take the lead. Coordinate with Seraphina and Matilda to ensure every detail is flawless."
The conspirators exchanged nods, their eyes gleaming with wicked intent. Freya gestured for them to lean in closer as she outlined the finer points of her plan, her voice dropping to a near whisper.
As they plotted, the room seemed to darken, the weight of their malice filling the air like a storm on the horizon.
**********
Back in the present, King Alden's fingers drummed on the armrest before he abruptly snapped them. At once, an invisible force gripped Elyria, lifting her into the air. Her feet kicked helplessly as her hands clawed at her throat, struggling to breathe.
"How dare you deceive me!" the King roared, his voice echoing like a storm.
Elyria gasped, her voice barely audible. "Deceive? My King, I do not understand….."
Before she could finish, the invisible force flung her against the wall with a sickening thud. She crumpled to the floor, coughing violently, blood staining her lips.
"You lied to me!" Alden bellowed, his fury palpable. "You claimed that your pathetic whelp is the child of the prophecy. Did you think I wouldn't uncover your treachery?"
Elyria, clutching her side, looked up at him with bewildered eyes. "But you saw the signs, my King! Everyone did. How could I lie about such a thing?"
Alden's hand moved with a swift, practiced motion, hurling a knife that embedded itself deep in her abdomen. Elyria cried out in agony as the blade's hilt shimmered with energy, tendrils of magical power radiating from it and amplifying her pain.
"You dare lie to my face even now!" Alden thundered, standing from his throne. "Did you think I wouldn't find out that you conspired with some witch doctor and delved into dark practices to deceive me?"
Elyria shook her head frantically, tears streaming down her face. "No, my King, it's not true! My child is the child of the prophecy! He is destined…."
"Enough!" Alden snarled, tightening his fist. The energy surrounding the knife surged, twisting deeper into her wound. Elyria screamed, her body convulsing as blood pooled beneath her.
"I should have known," the King spat, his voice filled with disdain. "How could you, a worthless piece of trash, give birth to someone special? You didn't just deceive me; you deceived all of Orinthia and defied the Creators themselves. For that, you and your cursed bloodline shall pay the price."
The King's gaze turned to his guards. "Go to her village," he commanded, his voice icy and devoid of emotion. "Kill every living thing. Spare no one, not even the animals. Burn it to the ground. I want no trace of her wretched clan to remain."
Queen Beatrix exchanged a sly smile with Freya and Seraphina, their earlier discussion playing out exactly as planned. And the outcome more than what they expected, this was a blessing in a thousandfold.
The guards saluted and turned to leave, their faces grim with the gravity of the order.
Elyria's voice broke through the tense silence, weak but defiant. "Please, my King, no… My son..."
Alden cut her off with a cruel laugh. "Your son? You mean the fraud you dared to pass off as our savior? He will be dealt with in due time. But first, I will ensure you suffer a death so agonizing that even your soul will vanish from existence."
Elyria collapsed to the floor, blood seeping from her wound as her pleas turned to broken sobs. The King turned away, his expression impassive as the guards dragged her limp body to the center of the room.