**Chapter Seven: The Queen Mother's Game**
Lorenzo was gone.
The palace felt colder without him, though I would never admit that out loud. He left before dawn, armored and silent, flanked by guards on black horses. I watched from the window of my chambers as his procession rode through the misty courtyard, disappearing into the gray horizon.
It was the first time I realized how much space he filled—even in silence. Even in absence.
By mid-morning, the whispers started again.
"She's alone now."
"Without the prince, she's nothing."
"She'll slip."
I ignored them, or at least I tried to. But every pair of eyes I passed felt heavier than the last. Every smirk, every half-bow from the nobles and staff felt rehearsed—taunting.
Then Elira entered my room with my breakfast, looking unusually tense. She placed the tray down, her fingers tight on the silver handles.
"What is it?" I asked, already knowing I wouldn't like the answer.
"You've been summoned," she said carefully. "By the Queen Mother."
I froze mid-breath. "The Queen Mother?"
"She sent her personal maid. You're expected in the East Wing. Immediately."
The Queen Mother hadn't spoken a word to me since the wedding. I'd seen her twice in passing—once at the coronation ball and once during a closed meeting in the council chambers. Each time, her stare felt like frost against my skin.
And now, with Lorenzo out of the palace, she wanted a private audience.
It was a trap. My gut screamed it. But refusing her was not an option.
I dressed in silence, choosing a lavender gown with sheer sleeves and pearl buttons down the back. It was simple, soft, nothing that screamed power—but elegant enough to hold my title.
Two guards escorted me through unfamiliar corridors. The East Wing was older than the rest of the palace. The marble floors were duller here, the tapestries faded, the chandeliers lower. The paintings on the walls were of rulers long dead, most with cold eyes and thin smiles.
Finally, we stopped before a set of grand doors carved with lilies and lions.
One of the guards knocked once.
A voice like velvet called from within. "Enter."
I stepped inside.
The Queen Mother sat beneath a high arched window, bathed in light that made her silver hair shimmer like woven ice. She wore a deep violet gown and pearls that clung to her throat like armor.
She didn't rise. Didn't smile. She simply watched me, eyes cool and unreadable.
"Your Majesty," I greeted, bowing low.
Her voice was smooth and sharp. "Come closer."
I walked toward her slowly, every step feeling heavier than the last.
"Sit."
I obeyed, folding my hands in my lap.
She poured tea into two delicate china cups, her movements graceful and deliberate. She slid one across the table to me. I didn't touch it.
"You're smarter than you look," she said after a moment, her lips curling slightly. "Most girls would've drunk it out of politeness."
"I was taught not to accept gifts from strangers," I replied, steady.
She raised a brow. "Strangers? You married my son."
"Marrying him didn't come with a family manual."
She took a sip from her own cup and set it down gently. "You have caused quite the stir in this palace."
"That wasn't my intention."
"Of course it was," she said sharply. "Every move a woman makes in this court is intentional. Don't insult us both by playing the innocent."
I met her gaze without blinking.
"You've caught Lorenzo's eye—for now. But attention is fickle. Favor is a flame. It burns, then vanishes. Do you truly believe you can outlast the court's hunger?"
"I don't need to outlast it," I said. "I just need to survive it."
She studied me for a long time, then stood and crossed the room slowly. Her presence was regal, overwhelming. She reminded me of a queen from ancient paintings—dangerous and untouchable.
"Do you love him?" she asked without turning.
"I don't know him," I answered truthfully.
"Good," she said. "Love is a weakness. One that doomed me. One that will doom you—if you let it."
She turned, her face still calm but her voice sharper. "Have you considered the heir?"
I stiffened. "That's not your concern."
"It's the kingdom's concern," she replied coldly. "Your womb is no longer yours. It belongs to the throne. If you don't give the people a child, they'll look elsewhere. Trust me. I've seen it happen."
I said nothing. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing my shock.
She took a slow step closer. "Let me offer you advice—woman to woman. You have the crown. Now use it before it crushes you."
"I didn't come here to be crushed," I whispered.
She leaned down, close enough for me to smell the lavender oils on her skin.
"Then you'd better learn to bite back."
She turned away, her voice softening once more. "Do you know why the North Wing is sealed?"
I didn't respond.
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Because that's where the kingdom buries its sins. Your husband is one of them."
Her words were like ice slipping down my spine.
"Dismissed."
I left her chamber with my heart pounding and my legs like water.
* * *
Back in my room, I sank into the nearest chair. Elira entered minutes later with a fresh pot of tea.
"She summoned you," she said.
"She threatened me."
"She always does."
"She spoke of an heir. Of… my womb." I grimaced just saying it.
Elira sat beside me. "She's reminding you that nothing in the palace is private. Not even your body."
"Is that supposed to comfort me?"
"No," she said simply. "But it might prepare you."
I was quiet a moment, then asked, "What happened in the North Wing?"
Elira hesitated.
Then, slowly, she said, "Lorenzo's younger brother, Prince Alric… died there. He fell from the tower window."
"Fell?"
"That's the official story."
I froze. "And the unofficial one?"
She looked me straight in the eyes.
"Some say the Queen Mother pushed him."
The room spun.
"She wouldn't—"
"She would," Elira said. "She would do anything to secure Lorenzo's rise to the throne. Even sacrifice blood for a crown."
I felt sick.
"Why would she tell me that?"
"To rattle you. To remind you that you are replaceable. That power belongs to those who are willing to play the game, no matter how dirty."
I sat in silence, staring at the fire flickering in the hearth.
"She told me the palace eats girls like me," I whispered.
"It does," Elira said. "But only if you let it."
* * *
That evening, I walked through the gardens alone.
A thin fog rolled along the trimmed hedges. Lanterns lit the path in soft orange glows. I kept walking until I reached the marble statue of the first queen—the one who led the rebellion against the ancient kings.
She stood tall, a sword in one hand, a baby in the other.
Strength and legacy.
I touched the cold marble at her feet.
"If you're watching," I whispered, "tell me how to survive this."
But the statue said nothing.
Only the wind answered.
* * *
Before bed, a message was delivered.
It wasn't signed.
It was a single sheet of cream parchment.
> "They are sharpening their knives while your back is turned.
> Smile. Bow. Kiss the serpent.
> And never forget—it only takes one whisper to ruin a crown."
I stared at it for a long time.
Then I burned it in the fireplace.
And didn't sleep at all that night.