Chapter 22

Miu’s POV

“By the way,” I said, glancing toward the bustling hall beyond the kitchen doors, “I saw some of the royal staff preparing the Great Hall. Is there an upcoming celebration?”

“Oh, yes,” Daliah replied. “That’s for the return of Duke Christian and Major General Jayden, along with their men, from their agenda out west.”

“Agenda?” I frowned.

“The Duke met with several dukes and lords out west under Her Majesty’s orders,” Daliah explained. “They were there to discuss the Charter of Liberties. They’ve been away for almost two months, but they managed to reach agreements with the cities and towns. They’re on their way back now.”

I let the information sink in.

My gaze drifted, thoughts inevitably circling back to one person.

Lena… She’s leading the kingdom well.

“I see…” I said slowly. “Do you happen to know when their exact arrival will be?”

“They’ll be here the day after tomorrow,” Daliah answered, already turning back toward the task she had left earlier.

“That soon?” I followed after her. “How are the preparations for the welcoming going?”

“The Queen instructed us to prepare a feast in the Great Hall,” she said, reaching for a clipboard covered in neatly written lists. “So that’s what we’ve been focused on.”

I hesitated, then spoke again. “But… winter is coming soon. You said they’ve been away for almost two months. Have their rooms been prepared for the cold?”

Daliah paused.

“Oh… right,” she murmured, staring down at her list as realization dawned on her.

Those people who went with the Duke weren’t just ordinary royal staff.

They had been entrusted with sensitive political matters—tasks important enough to carry out on the Queen’s behalf. That alone meant they were far more than servants or attendants.

They were the ones who had stood by the Silverveins through the worst of it. The ones who watched their backs during the rebellion, who remained when loyalty was dangerous and survival uncertain.

Comrades.

People the Duke and the Queen trusted enough to keep close—not just in war, but in maintaining peace.

If Lena was welcoming them home with a feast, then it wasn’t just a celebration.

It was a homecoming—for family forged in fire.

“Daliah, please prepare their rooms as soon as possible,” I said gently. “Make sure they’re warm and comfortable for the coming winter.”

“Understood,” she replied at once. “I’ll inform the Queen—”

“Don’t worry,” I interrupted softly. “I’ll speak to her myself.”

She paused, giving me her full attention.

“Winter is probably only two weeks away,” I continued. “They’ve been gone for nearly two months. I’m sure some of them will bring their families when they return—wives, children—after being apart for so long.” I glanced up at her. “The cold would be too harsh for children, especially if the rooms aren’t properly prepared.”

As I spoke, I reached for the pen resting on the counter and leaned over the clipboard in her hands. One by one, I added notes—extra bedding, sealed windows, fresh firewood, heated baths, winter garments.

When I was done, I handed the clipboard back to her.

“Here you go.”

Daliah stared at the list for a moment before looking up at me, something unreadable flickering across her face.

“Young lady…” Daliah mumbled.

I lifted my head, meeting her eyes, and for a heartbeat the rigid lines of her face softened. It caught me off guard. Daliah was never one to wear gentleness so openly.

“Very well. I understand,” she said at last. “I’ll make sure to have everything prepared for their return.”

Relief loosened something tight in my chest. “Thank you, Daliah.” I offered her a small smile, and to my surprise, she returned it.

With that settled, I turned toward the door. I still had matters to attend to at the service court—duties waiting, expectations pressing down on me as always.

The moment I closed the kitchen door behind me, the world tilted.

My head suddenly felt light, as if all the blood had rushed away at once. I staggered a step and quickly leaned against the cold stone wall, pressing my palm to it to steady myself.

The corridor swayed faintly, the sounds of the palace dulling, stretching as though I were underwater. I closed my eyes and drew in a slow breath, willing my body to obey me.

Why do I feel… dizzy?

—

Lena’s POV

The prison ward smelled of damp stone and iron—unchanging, unforgiving. I stood with my hands clasped behind my back as Commander Alric reviewed reports laid out across his desk.

“That was the name,” I said, breaking the silence. “Miu slipped it while she was… speaking to me.”

Alric looked up at once.

“Marcus.”

The effect was immediate.

The commander froze, his brows knitting together as if something old and unpleasant had just clawed its way to the surface. “Marcus…” he echoed slowly.

He turned away from me and faced the investigation board pinned along the stone wall of his office—maps, sketches, witness statements, strings connecting faces and places. His fingers hovered, restless.

“Marcus… Marcus…” he muttered, scanning left to right. Then his eyes widened.

“Marcus Valeen,” he said sharply.

He reached up and tore a portrait from the board, the parchment crinkling under his grip. When he turned back and handed it to me, my chest tightened.

The man in the image was around my age—too young to carry that kind of arrogance so effortlessly. Well-dressed. Smiling. The kind of smile that knew it would never be punished.

“He’s the youngest son of Duke Edric Valeen,” Alric explained grimly. “From the city of Ravaryn.”

My jaw clenched. Ravaryn.

One of the cities that had refused to discuss the charter of liberties. The stubbornness of their leader didn’t surprise me.

His grudge against the royal palace ran deep. I had read the reports, the old correspondence, and pieces of his history were painfully clear. It wasn’t just politics for him. It was personal.

His wife had been one of King Arthur’s victims.

The details made my stomach tighten. The King had seen his wife during a feast at the palace. An elegant woman, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had instantly taken a liking to her, and then issued a cruel command: Duke Edric was to hand over his wife as the King’s new mistress.

The Duke had refused.

But King Arthur had threatened him, stripping him of his title and promising the execution of his entire bloodline if he did not comply.

Fear had twisted the Duke’s hand. Against his will, he sent his wife to the palace. And the King… indulged himself without mercy.

The Duchess could not endure it. She could not survive the violation of her body and spirit. By the next day, she had hanged herself.

I closed my eyes, letting the information settle in my mind.

I could only imagine the fury in Duke Edric’s heart, even now. The rage, the grief, the unyielding resentment—it had festered for years, passed down to his son Marcus. And now, that rage was poised against the very crown I wore.

The weight of history pressed down on me. Ravaryn wasn’t just a city refusing discussion. It was a wound still raw, a reminder that the past could never be ignored—and that the consequences of cruelty lingered far longer than any crown or charter could contain.

I straightened my shoulders, my gaze hardening.

“Marcus has been tied to multiple criminal accusations over the years,” Alric continued. “Abuse of power. Threats. Intimidation. Eventually, every case vanished before it could reach a formal trial.”

I looked back at the portrait, my fingers tightening around its edges.

“What kind of accusations?” I asked, though I already felt the answer settling like lead in my stomach.

Alric hesitated—just briefly. “Women, Your Majesty. He was accused of attempting to hold them hostage. Some were from his own household staff. Others were women he encountered in pubs, private gatherings, even noble parties.”

My blood went cold.

“He’d corner them,” Alric went on. “Use his name. His father’s title. Promise protection or ruin—depending on whether they complied. Victims who tried to come forward were silenced. Paid. Threatened. Or disappeared from the records entirely.”

I exhaled slowly through my nose, fighting the surge of fury rising in my chest.

Marcus Valeen.

And Miu knew his name.

That alone told me everything I needed to know.

I lifted my gaze to Alric. “If Miu remembered him,” I said quietly, “then these accusations aren’t just a rumors.”

“No, Your Majesty,” Alric agreed, his voice hard. “It would have been very real.”