The Oppressed Queen

Chapter 6

As soon as my door and windows are sealed, I craft another elixir to add to the chest of various elixirs I plan to gift to my husband on our wedding day. This specific one is to help reduce stress. All he’ll need is three drops on his tongue, and the stress will melt away, giving him clarity in what he’s working on. It is one of my favorites. I used it often while doing schoolwork at the academy.

Once everything is cleaned up, I pull out my copper bowl and fill the pitcher with water. I find a seat on the floor and begin casting the spell. I quietly chant the spell as I pour the water into the bowl until it is full. I prick my finger and begin swirling it in the water, “Show me what my future will be if I marry Ignacio Vengar of Gorthen,” I call out before removing my finger and leaning forward to see what the spell reveals:

As the murky water clears, I find myself standing at an altar with Ignacio Vengar. The ever-permanent scowl is still on his face as we say I do. His black hair is slicked back, with no hair out of place as always. Though I half expected a bit of joy on his face for this occasion, instead, as I look into his dark eyes, I see yellow flecks in them as if they are on fire. The loathing and contempt coming off him in waves cannot be mistaken.

When the ceremony is over, he walks me up to a room, opens the door, and states, “This is your chamber. You will remain on this side of the estate, always, unless we are hosting in the banquet hall. In such cases, you will be present but silent by my side. I have no time or patience for aimless drawl. I will leave you in peace and grant you a monthly allowance as is expected, but do not expect me to visit your bed chamber. I have a mate already to fill my needs.” He turns and walks away back down the corridor we came from.

I sit on the large bed in disbelief. He already has a mate, yet still went through with the wedding? How is this possible? Why would he marry me only to have a mate who is not me? The questions swirl in my head as I change for the evening.

I’m awoken by loud banging on my door. I get up to answer it and find a very drunk Ignacio standing there. “Get in the bed, and remove your clothing,” he ordered. When I stood in place, looking at him, confused, he grabbed my hand, dragging me to my bed, where he removed the covers before tearing my nightgown off me. “Lie down,” he instructed as he fumbled with his pants. I sat on the bed, still trying to figure out why he was here. With a groan of annoyance, Ignacio grabbed my legs and flipped me onto my stomach. I was about to protest when I felt his manhood enter me with force. Everything in me froze as he grunted and panted with every thrust into me. At one point, he slapped my bottom, causing me to cry out, which seemed to excite him. “f**k, Lyra. You always feel so good on my c**k. I’m going to fill you and give you a child,” he grunted as he continued. Lyra must be his mate, but in his drunkenness, he’s here with me.

When he finished, he pulled out and stumbled out of the room. The door clanged hard when he slammed it shut. I lie still, not daring to move as I feel his semen searing a path through my loins. I knew that to mate with a fire-born, I needed to prepare my body with a special elixir, but when he told me he had a mate, I didn’t bother taking it. The elixir helps cool his semen that enters my body to ensure the fire produced from his loins doesn’t burn. Without the elixir, my groin is on fire. I summon all my power, force myself to my feet, and walk to my trunk where I packed an elixir to take for our wedding night. It’s supposed to be taken beforehand, but I’m praying it will help ease the pain.

The murky water swirls around me before changing the scene. I’m standing in an elegantly decorated hall with crimson colored drapes against the black walls. I’m in a gold ball gown, dripping in gold jewelry fit for a Queen. As I scan the room, my heart sinks when I see Ignacio enter with a tall, slender woman with Ivory skin, clothed in a gown that matches his red tux. It’s clear to me that she is wearing the royal rubies from this realm, and that she is swollen with child. As they near me, I hold my breath, assessing this woman I’m assuming is Lyra, judging by the way Ignacio is protectively walking with her. Her black hair is pinned ever so meticulously in ringlets on top of her head, her lips are bright red, forcing you to look at her face, where her yellow eyes captivate you.

“Mira, you look lovely this evening,” Lyra comments when they stop in front of me.

“As do you, Lady Ashenvele. Congratulations on having another child,” I smile.

“Number six. What can I say? Ignacio can’t keep his hands off me. Though I suppose you wouldn’t know much about that,” Lyra commented.

“Do not provoke her, Lyra. Not here,” Ignacio hisses at her.

Just then, a loud banging sounded, calling attention to the main stage from everyone. When I look, I see Fennarion standing hunched over a cane. “Welcome, everyone. As you know, neither Princess Mira nor Princess Phoebe has yet to produce an heir, which causes grave concern for the Kingdom as a whole,” Fernnarion begins. I feel Ignacio’s hand slide around my waist, digging into my skin beneath the dress. “We will be sending medicine women to both realms to inspect the reasons why this is the case. We need to rectify this issue post haste, as the King is aging, and we know he needs time to pass the torch. Please, enjoy the banquet.”

Ignacio pulls me aside. “What does he mean you need an heir to become King?”

“Only if I have your child,” I reply. “The rule is, the first Valariel to have a child, the husband shall become King.”

“You’re just now telling me this? I thought you were the only Valariel. It was proven that Phoebe was not the real princess years ago,” Ignacio hissed.

“For those who were on stage, the stone glowed faintly enough to believe that Phoebe was a Valariel,” I explained. “But, between us, I am the true Valariel heir.”

“I thought all I had to do was marry you to become King,” Ignacio glowered.

“If you spoke to me, I could have told you about it. We have kept to our respective sides of the estate.”

“This better not be a ploy to get me to sleep with you more. I’m still paying for our wedding night. Lyra is a very jealous woman, and she was not happy when she learned we consummated the marriage.”

“I never asked for that. You forced yourself on me that night.”

“I will come to your chamber every Tuesday and Saturday night until we conceive. Make me King!” He whispered in my ear. The anger in his voice caused shivers of fear to run down my spine.

“As you wish, husband,” I nodded, not wanting to argue with him. I do not want to know how he will be as King, but at least he’ll be pleased with me for once.

With a rush of air, I’m back in the present, sitting on my floor, staring at a bowl of murky water. I shiver. I think I’d rather Phoebe kill me than live like that. Fennarion was right, Gorthen should never become King, or at least through my choices.

I stand up, clean up everything, then change for bed. It’s a bit fascinating that in the seer spell for both Gorthen and Qador, Phoebe doesn’t produce an heir. Could the timeline of when she kills me in the Seer spell for Stork be around the same timeline as the premonition for Qador? If so, then that means she would kill me, only to lose her offspring and have no heirs, leaving the Kingdom to have a civil war until a new King is named. I shouldn’t be amused by this thought, yet I am. If I do not produce an heir, my parent’s naiveness will finally come back to bite them. I can sleep peacefully knowing now that Phoebe will surely be my parents’ downfall.