Red Shadow in the Night

The Throne Room “The enemy is at our gates, Your Majesty! Please, issue the decree at once—summon the Lord Regent and his elite forces to confront the foe and save us from this dire crisis!” In the grand throne room, the courtiers knelt in a unified plea, their voices of counsel and urgency reverberating through the vast hall. Yet the king, who should have been the most alarmed, seemed entirely detached. Lounging upon the throne, his eyes half-lidded with lust, he let out occasional stifled moans, heedless of the ministers below. The Kingdom of Valthor had long coveted Eldoria, biding its time for a chance to strike. Now, with a feeble king on the throne, they seized their moment, closing in like ravenous wolves. The veteran ministers, remnants of the late king’s reign, gazed upward with reddened, tear-streaked eyes, their faces shadowed with despair. “Your Majesty!” The elderly Prime Minister, unable to endure the sight any longer, shuffled forward on his knees and struck his forehead against the stone floor in a resounding kowtow, desperate to rouse the king’s senses. “Please, Your Majesty, put the kingdom first!” The king’s brow furrowed faintly, but he remained unmoved. He drew the newest concubine in his lap closer, tugging at her robe to reveal her pale skin. She let out a feigned gasp, then leaned in with a coy smile to whisper something in his ear, further delighting him. He pinched her chin, poised as if to kiss her. Far from flustered, the concubine reveled in the attention, her every gesture a calculated seduction. The king, utterly smitten, had indulged her for nights on end and now even brought her to court. Eager to secure her position, she shamelessly teased him, slipping off her embroidered shoes to trail her foot along his leg, ensuring his focus remained on her alone. Lost in desire, the king ignored the ministers’ cries. One courtier, unable to restrain himself, shouted in anguish, “Your Majesty! Command the Lord Regent to lead our defense!” His voice trembled with sorrow—for the kingdom under such a ruler, and for himself, bound to serve him. The king’s mood soured at the interruption. Muttering, “What a nuisance,” he cast a fleeting glance at the sea of kneeling figures. “Why the panic? I know the old king of Valthor has long lusted after the queen. Send her to him in a marriage alliance—no need to waste a single soldier.” He spoke as if it were a trifling matter, then turned back to the concubine, his hand slipping beneath her robe to caress her soft skin. Many ministers clenched their fists, faces pale with fury. The sounds of flirtation from the throne underscored the king’s decadence. This sacred seat, reserved for a wise ruler, now held a lecherous fool who, in a national crisis, casually suggested surrendering the queen. It was beyond absurd. “Your Majesty! This cannot stand!” the ministers cried in unison. The Prime Minister, voice breaking with grief, added, “The queen is the mother of our nation! How can she be given away so lightly? Please, reconsider!” Too enthralled by his concubine, the king waved them off. “My word is final.” The Prime Minister, desperate, raised his voice again. “Please, Your Majesty, think again!” The king’s patience snapped. He slammed his hand on the throne’s armrest, and the ministers bowed lower. “You fools!” he bellowed. “A marriage alliance with the queen will bring peace to Eldoria without costing a penny. Why keep dragging the Lord Regent into battle? Do you know how much war costs—troops, supplies, all from my treasury? That money’s better spent on new concubines to bear me an heir!” The Prime Minister’s legs buckled, his face ashen with despair. He closed his eyes, questioning silently if backing the legitimate heir had been a mistake. The Lord Regent was the true leader, a man of vision, yet they had yielded to royal blood. “It’s settled. No more debate!” The king smirked at the silenced ministers, then returned to his concubine. Hearing the queen would be sent away, the concubine hid her glee behind a mask of concern. “Your Majesty, will the queen agree?” Her voice was honeyed, alluring. A flicker of malice crossed the king’s eyes, swiftly replaced by smugness. “She will.” The Queen’s Chambers “I refuse!” In the queen’s chambers, Lady Isabella dashed her teacup to the floor upon hearing the news from her maid, Beatrice. Her usually lovely eyes blazed with fury. Scalding tea splashed her hand, and Beatrice hurriedly wiped it away with a cloth, soothing her. “My lady, don’t fret. The king hasn’t issued the decree yet—there might still be hope.” Lady Isabella shut her eyes, trembling with rage. “The king despises me. What hope could there be?” Beatrice, flustered, ventured, “Perhaps you could write to your father, ask him to sway the king?” Lady Isabella let out a bitter laugh, her lips curling in scorn. She glanced at Beatrice. “Do you think my father wasn’t among the courtiers today? He didn’t speak for me then—why would he risk the king’s wrath for a cast-off daughter now? My family can replace me with another.” Beatrice fell silent, knowing the truth. As the queen’s closest maid, she understood the family’s cold pragmatism. “What can we do?” Beatrice murmured, searching for a solution. “Who else could sway the king?” Lady Isabella’s hand tightened on the table, then clenched with resolve, nails digging into her palm unnoticed. After a long pause, she spoke, her voice low and hoarse. “Beatrice, help me dress.” Startled, Beatrice hesitated, then guided her to the dressing table at a prompting glance. Before the mirror, Lady Isabella studied herself. Her skin was flawless, her almond eyes both sultry and innocent, captivating yet refined. Arched brows lent her an elegant air, and a mole beneath her right eye heightened her allure. Her lips, naturally crimson, glowed like spring blossoms. Her beauty, once her pride, was now her weapon—her final chance at survival. She let her hair fall like a cascade, then had Beatrice pin it into an elegant updo with a red plum blossom hairpin. She slipped into a sheer red gown, then stood, arms slightly spread. “How do I look?” Beatrice nodded eagerly. “Stunning, my lady—the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.” Lady Isabella smiled faintly, the expression not reaching her eyes. “Truly?” “Yes!” Beatrice paused, puzzled. “But where are you going, dressed so finely? To plead with the king?” Disdain flashed in Lady Isabella’s eyes, as if the king’s name alone repulsed her. Her lips parted, her voice firm. “To the Regent’s Manor, to see the Lord Regent.”