Chapter 9: A Stranger In My Halls
1548 Words
Kaelith POV
I smell her before I even reach my chambers.
Not her scent—she doesn't have one—but the traces she's left behind.
Different soap in the air. A floral undertone that wasn't there before. The faintest hint of something that makes my wolf restless in ways I don't understand and definitely don't like.
My rooms have been rearranged.
Nothing dramatic. A chair moved three inches to the left. Books stacked differently on my desk. The curtains tied back when I prefer them closed. Small changes that most people wouldn't notice, but I notice everything. It's how I've stayed alive this long.
"Captain," I call to Marcus, my head guard, who's been trailing behind me since we entered the palace gates.
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
"Who authorized changes to my chambers?"
Marcus shifts uncomfortably. "I believe... that is, the household staff mentioned they were making the space more suitable for... for when you take a wife, Your Majesty."
When I take a wife.
"And you allowed this?"
"The orders came from the Queen's staff, Your Majesty. We assumed—"
"You assumed wrong." I turn to face him fully, and he takes a step back. Good. "She is not Queen yet. And until she is, nothing in this palace changes without my explicit permission. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Fix it. All of it. I want everything exactly as it was before I left."
Marcus nods quickly and hurries off, probably to terrorize some unfortunate servants about chair placement. I push open the door to my chambers and step inside, my irritation spiking higher.
The bed has new linens. Soft blues and silvers instead of the dark colors I prefer. There are flowers on the mantle—actual flowers, as if this is some romantic fairy tale instead of a political arrangement I'm being blackmailed into.
I rip the flowers out of their vase and toss them in the fireplace.
The eastern trip was supposed to give me time to think, to strategize, to find a way out of this mess. Instead, I spent a week being reminded of exactly why I hate Roland Cade and everything he represents. The man is a snake, and somehow his daughter is living in my palace, changing my space, making herself at home like she belongs here.
She doesn't belong here.
A knock at my door interrupts my brooding. "Enter."
It's James, one of my younger guards, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. "Your Majesty, Captain Marcus sent me. About the... arrangements."
"What about them?"
"Well, sir, the thing is..." He shifts from foot to foot. "The household staff, they're saying Lady Mira specifically requested that nothing be changed. That she wanted to leave your rooms exactly as they were."
I pause in the middle of pulling new linens off my bed. "What?"
"Yes, sir. Apparently she was quite insistent about it. Said she had no intention of presuming to change anything that belonged to you."
That... is not what I expected to hear.
"Then who—"
"Lady Seraphine, sir. She said she was acting on your behalf, making things more appropriate for a married King."
"Dismissed," I tell James, and he practically flees.
I stand there for a moment, staring at the blue and silver linens in my hands. So Mira didn't want to change my space. Seraphine made the changes and blamed it on preparing for marriage. Which means I just spent the last ten minutes being furious at the wrong person.
I hate being wrong.
Another knock. This time it's Captain Marcus again, looking relieved. "Your Majesty, I've spoken with the household staff. Everything will be returned to its original state within the hour."
"Good. And Marcus?"
"Yes, sir?"
"From now on, any changes to my personal quarters require my direct approval. Not Lady Seraphine's. Not anyone else's. Mine."
"Understood, sir."
He leaves, and I'm alone with my thoughts and the lingering scent of flowers I just destroyed.
I need information. About what's been happening here while I was gone, about how she's been settling in, about whether she's causing problems I need to address immediately. I need to know what kind of threat she might represent—not just politically, but personally.
Because the way my wolf reacted to even the faintest trace of her presence in my space... that's a problem.
I make my way to the great hall, where the evening meal is already underway. The long tables are filled with nobles and court officials, their conversations creating a steady hum of background noise. I take my seat at the head table, and the volume drops noticeably as people notice my return.
"Your Majesty," Lord Hawthorne stands and bows. "Welcome back. I trust your journey was successful?"
"Productive," I reply curtly, not interested in small talk.
I scan the hall, looking for her, but she's not here. Either she's eating elsewhere or she's not eating at all. I'm not sure which possibility irritates me more.
The conversations gradually resume, and I catch fragments as I eat.
"...heard she tried to practice healing again..."
"...High Priestess was furious..."
"...completely inappropriate for someone of her... condition..."
My fork pauses halfway to my mouth. They're talking about her. About Mira.
"What was inappropriate?" I ask, my voice carrying clearly across the nearby tables.
The conversations stop abruptly. Lord Hawthorne clears his throat uncomfortably. "There was a small incident yesterday, Your Majesty. Nothing that requires your attention."
"I'll decide what requires my attention. What happened?"
Lady Cordelia, an older woman who's been at court longer than I've been alive, speaks up. "A child took ill, Your Majesty. His mother was... desperate. The Lady Mira attempted to help, despite being explicitly forbidden from practicing any form of healing."
"Forbidden by whom?"
"High Priestess Calla, Your Majesty. She felt it was... dangerous... to allow someone without proper training or divine blessing to—"
"Is the child well?"
The question seems to surprise her. "I... yes, Your Majesty. The fever broke completely. But that's not the point—"
"That's exactly the point." I set down my fork and lean back in my chair. "A child was ill. She helped. He recovered. Where's the problem?"
"Your Majesty," Lord Hawthorne interjects carefully, "surely you understand the concerns about... unregulated healing practices. Especially from someone who lacks the proper... qualifications."
"What qualifications would those be?"
"Well, a wolf's scent, for one. The ability to channel divine energy. Proper training in sacred arts—"
"So you're telling me that divine energy is more important than actual results?"
The silence that follows is deafening.
I look around the table, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "A child was dying. She saved him. And you're concerned about... what? Protocol?"
"It's not just protocol, Your Majesty," Lady Cordelia says stiffly. "It's about maintaining proper order. About ensuring that people know their place."
"Their place." I repeat the words slowly, tasting the arrogance behind them. "And what, exactly, is her place?"
"She's..." Lady Cordelia falters, suddenly realizing she's walked into dangerous territory.
"She's what?" I lean forward. "She's my intended Queen. The woman who will sit beside me on the throne of this kingdom. Are you suggesting that her place is somehow beneath any of you?"
"Of course not, Your Majesty," Lord Hawthorne says quickly. "We would never—"
"Good. Because it sounded like you were questioning my judgment. Both in my choice of bride and in my understanding of what constitutes appropriate behavior for a future Queen."
The nobles exchange nervous glances. This is not how they expected this conversation to go.
"Perhaps," I continue, "some of you have forgotten that I didn't ask for your opinions on my personal arrangements. I don't recall soliciting your advice on who belongs where or what qualifies someone to help a sick child."
Lady Cordelia's face has gone pale. "Your Majesty, we meant no disrespect—"
"Didn't you?" I stand slowly, and every person at the table goes completely still. "Because from where I'm sitting, it sounds like you've been spending my absence gossiping about my future wife and undermining her position in my court."
"We were simply concerned—"
"About what? About whether she's good enough for me? About whether she deserves to be here?" My voice is getting colder with each word. "Let me make something very clear. I chose her. I brought her here. And anyone who has a problem with that is welcome to find service elsewhere."
The threat hangs in the air like smoke.
"Now," I continue, settling back into my chair, "perhaps someone can explain to me why the High Priestess believes she has the authority to forbid anything to the woman who will be your Queen."
More uncomfortable silence.
"I'm waiting."
Lord Hawthorne finally speaks up. "The High Priestess... she believes that Lady Mira's... unique situation... makes her unsuitable for certain sacred duties. She was trying to prevent any... complications."
"Complications such as healing sick children?"
"Complications such as... well, there are concerns about her methods. About whether what she does is truly healing or something else entirely."
I raise an eyebrow. "Something else?"
"Dark magic," Lady Cordelia whispers. "Unnatural influences. The kind of power that comes from... questionable sources…like the devil.”
- Writer
