Loved by the Vixen Alpha Queen

CHAPTER 3

Queen Astrid sat by the arched window of her private study, the cold gold of her crown weighing heavily upon her brow. Below, in the cobblestone courtyard of the Artesian palace, a sea of ragged peasants huddled in the biting wind.

Their voices rose in a pathetic, rhythmic chant, begging for the abolition of the tax laws that had turned their lives into a slow march toward the grave.

Astrid watched them with her lips curling into a sharp, cruel smile. To her, their suffering was not a tragedy; it was a repayment. Every tear shed by an Artesian mother was a drop of tribute to the Samarian parents she had lost.

Standing behind her, Axel watched his sister with a heavy heart. He saw the way she looked at the subjects, not as a ruler, but as a predator watching wounded prey.

"They are at their breaking point, Astrid,"

He said softly.

"The children are skeletal, and the elders are dying in the gutters. Is this the kingdom our parents would have wanted?"

Astrid didn't turn as her heart had become a fortress of flint and iron.

"Our parents were soft, Axel. And they were slaughtered for it. I am building a world where no one will ever dare strike a Samarian again. If the price of that safety is the comfort of these vermin, so be it."

She stood abruptly, the silk of her gown hissing against the stone floor.

"I find the sound of their whining tedious. I shall be in the gardens."

Before heading to the grounds, she retired to her bathing chamber. It was a room of white marble and steaming heat, centred around a deep pool filled with warm milk and strewn with the crimson petals of a thousand roses. Astrid stripped and sank into the liquid, closing her eyes.

The warmth usually brought her peace, but today, the steam seemed to form ghosts. She saw the flash of Artesian steel, she heard the wet thud of arrows hitting flesh. She had never seen her parents' final moments, only the aftermath, the broken crowns and the silent throne room.

"I won't stop until I discover what went wrong,"

She whispered to the empty room with a single tear cutting a path through the milk on her cheek.

"How could the greatest wolves in the world be slaughtered like cattle?"

A soft knock interrupted her grief. One of her trusted handmaidens approached and whispered into her ear. Astrid nodded, her expression hardening instantly.

"Send him in."

A man draped in a heavy, soot-stained hood entered the lavatory. This was Priest Ganval, a man whose soul was as scarred as his face, and whose loyalty was bought with the promise of Samarian protection.

"Have you found the truth of that day?"

Astrid asked, remaining in the tub with her voice echoing off the marble.

"I have, your highness,"

Ganval said with his voice a low rasp.

"It was not a failure of steel or courage. It was the witch."

"Explain."

"The Queen of Artesia, Hellia. She was not merely a royal; she was the scion of a dark lineage. On the eve of the m******e, she cast a sprawling, silent curse across Samaria. It was a dampening spell, woven into the very air. It didn't kill, but it did something worse. It severed the connection between your people and their inner beasts. For twenty-four hours, no Samarian could shift. You were all trapped in human skin, weak and vulnerable. You were the only one spared, Princess, for you were away at the hunting lodge, outside the radius of her spite."

The milk in the tub rippled as Astrid’s fists clenched beneath the surface. A silent, white-hot wrath filled her. Her parents hadn't lost a fair fight; they had been neutralized by a coward’s trick.

She rose from the bath with her skin shimmering. A servant rushed to wrap her in a thick white cloth. Astrid turned to Ganval with her golden eyes glowing with a terrifying intensity.

"The witches of Red Mountain... they are the last of Hellia’s kin, are they not?"

"They are, my Queen."

"Then you know your task."

She said with her voice like the cracking of ice.

"Go to Red Mountain. Take the weapons we developed, the ones forged with the essence of the Ursula flower. I want their lineage erased. Bring me their heads."

Three days passed in a tense, unnatural silence. On the afternoon of the third day, as the sun reached its zenith over Artesia, an impossible shadow fell. The sky didn't cloud; it simply went black, as if an invisible hand had snuffed out the sun.

Astrid stood on the palace balcony, looking up at the void. A cold, triumphant smile touched her lips. Axel hurried to her side, his face pale with dread.

"What is the meaning of this darkness?"

He asked with his voice trembling.

"Is it an omen?"

"It is a signal,"

Astrid replied.

"They have succeeded. I am merely waiting for the special gift they promised me."

"A gift?"

Axel stepped back.

"I feel a sickness in the air, Astrid. What have you done?"

"I have avenged our blood!"

She snapped, turning on him with a look of such ferocity that he flinched.

"The world is finally right. The architects of our misery are screaming in the dark."

She left him there and descended into the palace gardens. Behind the high walls, she had built a private sanctuary, a tomb for her parents.

She sat by the cold marble monument, the weight of her victory feeling strangely hollow. For a full day and night, she remained there in a vigil of hate and sorrow, waiting for her hunters to return.

When the sun finally returned, it shone upon a grim procession. Priest Ganval and his soldiers returned, carrying sacks that dripped with dark fluids.

They had used the Ursula flower, a rare bloom that acted as a spiritual poison to those with magic to bypass the witches' wards.

Astrid met them in the great hall. She felt a manic surge of joy as Ganval displayed his trophies. The extinction of the black witches was complete. She was the last power left on the board. She began to laugh, a high, jagged sound that lacked any real warmth.

"Now,"

Astrid declared in the hall,

"We wait for my greatest achievement. My weapon. My sister-in-shadow."

As if summoned by the words, the great doors swung open. A woman in a black travel cape, her hood pulled low, walked slowly toward the throne.

The court fell silent. The woman reached the center of the room and pushed back her hood, revealing the sharp, beautiful face of Celia, the Princess of Artesia.

Astrid’s smile widened. She stepped down from the dais and embraced Celia, pulling her toward the private council room.

"I knew you would return to me. You have accepted my offer, then? To be my right hand?"

Inside the quiet room, Celia turned to face the Queen. A strange, knowing smile played on her lips.

"I have spent a long time in the dark, Astrid. I have made my decision."

"And?"

Astrid leaned forward with her eyes bright.

Celia leaned down with her breath hot against Astrid’s ear.

"I decided to take your crown, your highness."

Celia’s eyes flared a brilliant, cursed red. Astrid’s eyes instinctively flashed gold as her body tensed to shift into the great wolf, but a sudden, paralyzing weight hit her. Celia had whispered a syllable of power, a spell that felt like lead in Astrid’s veins.

"What... what is this?"

Astrid gasped. She managed to surge forward with her fingers catching Celia’s throat with the last of her supernatural strength, and

she flung the witch across the room. Celia hit the wall with a sickening thud, falling unconscious.

But the victory was short-lived. A roar of terror erupted from outside.

Astrid stumbled to the balcony and froze. The sky was filled with shrieking spirits. The heads that Ganval had brought back, the trophies of the m******e, were levitating in the air, trailing ethereal, shadowy bodies. The Ursula flower had killed their flesh, but it had not touched their souls. The witches had used their own deaths as a gateway to haunt the palace.

Axel appeared at her side, grabbing her arm with frantic strength.

"We have to go! Now! This was a trap, Celia led them here!"

"I can fight!"

Astrid roared, though her limbs felt like water.

"You can't fight ghosts and a kingdom in revolt!"

Axel pulled her toward a secret servant’s passage.

"The Artesian guards have turned on us! We have to hide!"

They fled through the dark tunnels, a small band of Samarian loyalists forming a rearguard. They emerged into the dense forest surrounding the city, the sounds of the burning palace fading behind them.

After hours of running, they stumbled upon a small, isolated cottage.

Axel knocked desperately. A middle-aged woman and a young girl opened the door, looking terrified.

"Please,"

Axel gasped.

"We need shelter. We mean no harm."

The woman looked at Astrid, whose hood had fallen back. Her eyes widened, and she immediately dropped to her knees.

"My Queen! It is an honor to serve you."

Astrid blinked, stunned by the genuine warmth in the woman’s voice.

"You... you don't hate me? After the taxes? After the laws?"

"Hate you?"

The woman looked up with tears in her eyes.

"You took my Estelle to your school. You gave her a bed, food, and an education I could never provide. You gave her a future. I am

forever in your debt."

She pulled her daughter forward.

"Tell the Queen your name, child."

"My name is Estelle,"

The girl whispered with a shy smile.

Astrid looked at the child, and for the first time in years, the iron around her heart cracked. She saw not a subject or a tool, but a person.

"It is a beautiful name, Estelle. It suits you."

The mother quickly set the table with what little bread and soup she had. For a brief moment, the Queen of Cinders sat in a humble hut, rediscovering the humanity she had buried in the name of revenge.

But the peace was shattered by the distant, rhythmic thunder of hoofbeats. The witch’s soldiers were closing in.