"Enter," the Queen Mother's voice floated from the other room, sharp and commanding. Given could already feel the familiar weight of the situation pressing down on him. He sighed, rolling his shoulders back and forcing a sense of composure. His role here had always been a delicate balance, and today, like every other, he'd have to endure it with his own flair. After taking a moment to steel himself, he pushed the door open and entered the room.
"Given!" The Queen Mother's tone was syrupy sweet, as though she had been expecting him for days. Her eyes gleamed with that knowing, unsettling look she always wore when someone was under her watchful eye. She was sitting by the window on her favorite couch, draped in heavy, luxurious fabrics, while a young man—too handsome and far too young—sat in front of her, knitting.
Given could feel his stomach churn at the sight. He'd seen enough of these arrangements to know exactly what this was. A little piece of him recoiled at how she called his name, the way she always seemed to see him as a mere tool, nothing more. And as if on cue, the Queen Mother waved a hand dismissively, shooing the handsome young man away. He passed Given with a brief, almost pitying glance. Too attractive, too smooth—just like all the men she favored. It disgusted him.
"Come, come," the Queen Mother coaxed in that breathy, fake sweetness. Her wrinkled hands dangled in the air as if they were a beckoning trap. Given subconsciously took a step back, not wanting to get too close to her. But he obeyed, stepping forward and taking a seat at her command, though every muscle in his body wanted to do the opposite.
"It's been so long," she said, her voice sugar-coated as always. "How was the trip?" But Given knew, deep down, she didn't truly care. And before he could even form a response, she cut him off. "I really don't care," she waved her hand dismissively, mirroring the gesture her granddaughter Lyric so loved to use. A habit, it seemed, ran deep in the bloodline.
The Queen Mother's eyes wandered over him, assessing every inch of him like she always did. "You're more tan," she purred, eyes lingering on his muscles, "and more... muscular." There was a seductive undertone to her words, and although Given didn't show it, it made him uncomfortable. The way she looked at him made his skin crawl, but he kept his composure, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of seeing his discomfort.
"The brothel ladies there must be treating you better than this one the Lunareth Kingdom has, huh?" she mused, her smile growing at the thought. Given's brow furrowed for a moment, but he quickly masked his irritation.
"Unfortunately, I cannot compare, Your Grace. The Lunareth Kingdom doesn't allow prostitution," he replied, his tone calm but firm.
The words were innocent enough, meant to deflect and maintain his respectability, but the Queen Mother's face darkened. The mention of Lunareth, of its laws, reminded her of something she hated—the memory of the Queen of Lunareth, a woman she could never quite control. The former Queen. Given's mention of the kingdom seemed to stir something in her, something that set the air in the room heavier.
The Queen Mother's scowl returned, her lips twisting into an almost grimace as the years of bitterness showed in the lines on her face. "Unless your King has informed you," she began, her voice hard and unyielding, "Your Queen is back... but not quite your Queen entirely. She's the people's queen now, our queen."
Her words were meant to sting, and they did. Given's stomach tightened. "And you know, Given, you're living a free life because of me," she added, her eyes narrowing into slits. "Don't do anything stupid, or I'll give the reins to Theron or Harrison."
She paused, watching him carefully, as though waiting to see if he'd flinch. Her eyes softened for a moment, though the mischief behind them remained. "What I called you here for... well, it's for two reasons," she continued, her voice lowering into a tone that sent chills down his spine. "But the big one is that Queen Elara is awake. We'll be using her to our own liking ." She leaned in closer, her smile now sickly sweet. "And to warn you, if you try anything stupid, she has no idea who she was, or who she is. So don't try anything funny that might make her erase all of us."
Given froze, his breath catching. The Queen Mother's eyes never left his, her gaze sharp and calculating. "You'll take care of her, win her heart," she said, her smile now dripping with intent. "But not too much—half of it must go to Theron. So no funny business, Given." She chuckled darkly, her laughter making his blood run cold. "I begged Theron to let you near her for my reasons. But the other reason... well, my grandchildren are getting too fond of you, and I don't like that."
Her voice held a sharp edge as she finished, a cruel chuckle escaping her lips. "But then..." she added, her tone shifting, "they won't get you, right? You're off the market. Anyway, go tend to your Queen. That egoist Alpha almost spoiled the fun for all of us - almost ending her life."
At the mention of murder, Given's eyes widened. His heart skipped a beat. "What," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper as his hands instinctively balled into fists. The anger boiling in his veins was sudden, intense. He couldn't hold back the fury any longer. "The Lycan attacked the Queen?" he asked, barely able to keep his voice steady.
"Yes," the Queen Mother said, standing up with a gleam in her eyes, her smile almost mischievous. "But don't worry, it's all been taken care of."
Given's breath hitched. The anger in him was rapidly shifting into something darker, something he didn't want to feel. His chest tightened, and without another word, he backed away. He bowed low, his voice sincere. "Thank you for all that you've done, Your Grace. I'll go and see if the Queen is alright."
The Queen Mother's smile lingered as she waved him off. "Go, Given," she cooed. "Don't disappoint me."
As Given was just a few steps from the door, the Queen Mother's voice called out after him, soft and laced with an unsettling sweetness.
"Given..." she purred, her tone almost musical in its slowness. "We'll be going back to those musical times in the garden scrolls."
Her words were heavy, thick with memories of a past neither of them truly wanted to revisit, yet it was something neither of them could escape. Given paused mid-step, his hand on the door handle. He didn't turn around, but the weight of her words pressed against him like a vice. He knew exactly what she meant.