(KBTCM) Ch 19: A Mothers Worries, A Royal Distraction!

(Queen Aelira) Queen Aelira walked through the grand stone halls of Vaeloria, her soft footsteps echoing against polished marble. The flicke

(Queen Aelira)

Queen Aelira walked through the grand stone halls of Vaeloria, her soft footsteps echoing against polished marble. The flickering sconces lining the walls bathed her towering form in warm golden hues, casting elegant shadows that danced like spirits behind her.

She had excused herself from the guest dining room with a polite smile and a simple, "I'll return shortly." No one questioned the Queen's words, and no one followed. But it was not the call of nature that pulled her from the table—it was the gnawing weight in her chest. A mother's instinct. A quiet, stubborn knot of doubt that refused to loosen, no matter how many pleasant conversations or forced smiles tried to cover it.

She turned down a quieter corridor, one less frequented by staff and visiting nobles. Her pace slowed. She wasn't in a rush. No, she dreaded what she might find.

"Please," she whispered under her breath, more to herself than anyone else. "Let this be going well."

Aelira had lived long enough to understand that life rarely bent to wishes.

She remembered the look on Thandor's face when he first laid eyes on Prince Karlor—how her golden-haired husband said nothing but offered a smile so slight, so practiced, it almost passed as genuine. But it wasn't. She had seen behind it.

He doesn't like him, she had thought instantly. Not one bit.

Others might've missed it—his stillness, his softened tone—but she had been at Thandor's side for decades. She had seen that look before. The same quiet scrutiny he gave foreign diplomats who tried to veil poison in sweet words. The same look he gave suitors who wanted to marry for power, not love.

Her husband had a strange, almost unnerving way of seeing through people. Of glimpsing something deeper, something real beneath the performance. It was that very intuition that made him a great ruler, one many of their advisors relied upon. Even Aelira, with all her poise and commanding presence, had leaned on it more times than she could count.

Still, she had hoped—genuinely hoped—that this prince might surprise them. That Rowena, so radiant and strong and good, would find something to spark joy in this arranged mess of politics and performance.

Her brow furrowed. She'd seen that look in Rowena's eyes, too. That curiosity. That small, hopeful flame she tried to hide behind regal posture and polite words. Her daughter wanted to love. She deserved to.

Aelira paused at the large wooden door to Rowena's chamber, its surface carved with symbols of the sun and mountain—the emblems of their lineage.

She placed a hand on the doorframe, breathing in slow. Her height made her the most striking figure in nearly every room she entered, but here, in this quiet moment, she didn't feel like a queen.

She felt like a mother.

What if he hurt her already? What if she's in there crying? What if she's pretending everything is fine—just for my sake? Just to hold the family together?

Aelira bit her lip and closed her eyes.

She pressed her forehead gently against the cold frame, and whispered, "If any gods still linger... if any of you still listen... watch over my daughter."

It wasn't a command. Not a demand. Just a mother's small, silent prayer.

She straightened her back and lifted a hand, her knuckles lightly tapping on the chamber door.

"Rowena?" she called, her voice warm, but tinged with careful hesitation. "It's your mother. May I come in?"

There was a pause.

And in that pause, the Queen braced herself—for joy, for awkward silence, or perhaps for a storm already brewing.

She just hoped it wasn't too late to catch it.

***

(Rowena)

Rowena lay stretched out on her stomach, her legs lazily kicking in the air behind her, the soft creak of the bed's grand frame echoing with each movement. Her long, crimson hair spilled across her shoulders and down her back in a river of red silk, and her heavy gaze remained locked on the tiny figure squirming beneath her fingertip.

Prince Karlor.

Pale. Straining. Breathless.

Pinned beneath a single, idle finger.

Her eyes half-lidded, she let out a slow exhale through her nose and stared down at him, her chin resting atop her free hand. He twisted and pushed against her fingertip, clearly trying to roll free, but she hadn't even applied pressure—just enough weight to keep him from scurrying away like a bug. It didn't take much. His sword had been thrown somewhere across the bed during his earlier "heroic" attempt to defend his honor.

Rowena's lips twitched at the memory.

"Oh, I'm not going to be your toy," he'd said, chest puffed out, sword drawn with both hands, trying his best to stand tall. All of maybe four inches of fury.

Rowena had barely stifled a laugh before she snorted—snorted—and the poor prince had stumbled backward in shock, collapsing onto the sheets like a startled rabbit.

She rolled her eyes.

"How pathetic," she muttered aloud, lifting her finger off him and watching him roll onto his side, gasping for air like he'd just climbed a mountain. "This isn't even fun anymore."

With one hand, she plucked him up between her fingers like a wayward marble, holding him at eye level.

He dangled helplessly in the air, his limbs flailing slightly, clothes rumpled, his blonde hair disheveled. His small hands gripped at the tips of her fingers as if he could pry himself free, but it was clear he had already exhausted himself.

Rowena's sharp golden eyes narrowed slightly as she studied him.

This was the prince? The man who would supposedly be her husband? Who would stand at her side to lead their kingdom?

He looked like a joke. A fragile, angry little joke.

And yet... why had she cared so much? Why had she even tried to be kind to him? Why had she gone so far as to kneel down, to smile, to give him a chance?

She frowned slightly, a twinge of disappointment crawling across her chest. Why did she want someone like this to see her as more than just a monster? Why did their fear matter?

With a growing smirk, she slowly lifted the little man higher—above her face—and opened her mouth wide. Her tongue lolled out slightly, a playful hum buzzing in her throat.

Karlor screamed.

"W-Wait! Please! Stop! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!"

His arms flailed wildly, and Rowena tilted her head back, savoring the sound of his fear. No, she wasn't going to eat him—not really—but the panic was... satisfying. In some wicked part of her, it made her feel powerful, in control.

And after everything he had said to her, maybe that was what she needed.

Just one little—

"Rowena!"

The voice snapped through the air like a whip.

Startled, Rowena's hand jerked. The prince slipped from her fingers and landed with a soft plop against the slope of her chest, tumbling downward until he rolled to a stop in her lap, dizzy and groaning.

Rowena blinked and looked toward the door, her eyes going wide.

Standing at the entrance, arms crossed, was Queen Aelira—elegant, imposing, and unimpressed.

"Mother?" Rowena said, sitting up straighter, instinctively brushing her hair behind her ear. "W-What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same," Aelira said with a raised brow. "I knocked. I called your name twice. Loudly, I might add."

Rowena winced. "I... must not have heard you."

The queen's eyes flicked toward Karlor, now dragging himself to his knees on the bed like a shipwrecked sailor. She sighed, walked into the room with graceful steps, and let the door shut softly behind her.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, young lady."

Rowena felt her cheeks flush. "Uh oh," she muttered.

Aelira crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow.

"Well?" she asked.

Rowena scrambled for a response but couldn't think of anything that didn't sound like "He called me a monster so I pretended I was going to eat him." And even she knew that probably wouldn't go over well.

So she smiled awkwardly and gave the only answer she could muster.

"Would you believe me if I said we were bonding?"

The queen sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I thought not."