REVENGE OF THE BURIED QUEEN

Mommy

Chapter 10: Mommy

The following evening, the royal family dined in the private family hall — a rare intimate setting away from the full court.

Crystal glasses sparkled under candlelight. Platters of roasted meats, honey-glazed vegetables, and fresh bread covered the long table. Soft music played from a hidden alcove where musicians performed quietly.

Elara sat at one end of the table in a simple but elegant silver-grey gown, her posture perfect, her face a mask of queenly composure. Inside, she was a storm contained in silk.

Theron sat at the head, tension radiating from his powerful frame. He had tried to speak with her multiple times since last night. She had refused every attempt with ice-cold politeness.

Rian, five years old and blissfully unaware of the tension, sat between them, kicking his legs under the table as he ate honey cakes with sticky fingers.

Seraphine had been invited to join them.

Of course she had.

The golden-haired woman sat directly across from Elara, looking radiant in soft lavender silk, violet eyes sparkling with quiet triumph. She kept stealing glances at Theron, her smile soft and intimate.

Elara cut her meat with precise, controlled movements, the knife scraping lightly against the plate.

Rian suddenly perked up, eyes lighting up as he looked at Seraphine.

“Aunt Sera, can I have more cake?” he asked sweetly.

Seraphine smiled warmly and reached over to wipe a crumb from his cheek with motherly tenderness. “Of course, darling. Here, let me cut you a bigger piece.”

She served him another slice, her movements graceful and familiar.

Rian took a big bite, then looked up at Seraphine with pure, innocent adoration.

“Thank you, Mommy!”

The word dropped like a stone into still water.

The entire table went deathly silent.

Elara froze, fork halfway to her mouth.

Rian continued chewing happily, completely unaware of the devastation his words had caused. “Mommy makes the best honey cakes. Right, Daddy?”

Theron’s face drained of color. His golden-amber eyes darted between Elara and Seraphine, panic flashing across his features for the first time.

Seraphine’s violet eyes widened with feigned surprise, but the corners of her mouth twitched with barely concealed satisfaction. She placed a gentle hand on Rian’s dark curls.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed softly. “You’re such a precious boy.”

Elara felt the final fracture inside her chest snap completely.

Not with rage.

Not with tears.

With cold, crystalline clarity.

The boy she had carried for nine months. The child she had rocked through sleepless nights. The son she had softened her every edge for — had just called another woman “Mommy” in front of her.

In front of the man who had f****d that woman in their own palace.

The mating bond screamed in agony, phantom pain lancing through her body as it echoed the breaking of something sacred.

Elara slowly set her fork down.

She rose from her chair with graceful dignity, every movement controlled.

“Rian,” she said softly, voice steady. “It’s time for bed.”

Rian looked up at her with innocent confusion, honey smeared on his cheek. “But Mommy—”

The word hit her again like a fresh wound.

Elara smiled — a small, terrifyingly calm smile that didn’t reach her storm-grey eyes.

“No, my sweet boy,” she whispered. “Not tonight.”

She turned and walked out of the dining hall without another word.

Behind her, she heard Theron’s chair scrape back frantically.

“Elara— wait!”

She didn’t stop.

She didn’t look back.

When she reached her private chambers, Elara closed the heavy doors and locked them.

Then she walked straight to the hidden compartment beneath the floorboards.

The blade came out smoothly, gleaming with lethal promise under the moonlight streaming through the windows.

Elara stood before the mirror, shed her silver-grey gown, and let it pool at her feet like surrender.

The woman staring back was no longer the gentle Luna they had spent five years molding.

Her eyes burned with feral, unyielding fire.

She fastened the blade to her thigh with steady hands.

“Let them have their stolen crown,” she murmured to her reflection, voice low and deadly. “Let them play house in the bed they defiled.”

Her lips curved into a cold, terrifying smile.

“They’ve only won the opening move.”

By dawn, the palace would wake to find their Luna gone.

And the Storm of Eldor would finally be unleashed.