The Royal Study – Early Morning
The King sat alone, reading through dispatches when the royal advisor was announced.
"Your Majesty," the advisor bowed low, his voice grave. "I bring troubling news."
The King didn't look up. "Troubling? That word is losing meaning in this palace."
"It concerns Prince Henry… and two members of court. The rumor is widespread already. People are saying—" he swallowed, "—that on the night of his wedding, and even the eve before, he was entangled in... a threesome with Councillor Edward and Countess Rebecca. They claim it's an ongoing affair."
The King's fingers froze mid-scroll. Slowly, he raised his eyes. "Who is 'they'?"
"Whispers from the market. The servant halls. Foreign ears are listening. The Zareth ambassador sent an urgent message this morning asking for an audience."
The silence that followed was not stillness. It was dread pooling.
"Does the Queen know?" the King asked.
The advisor hesitated. "Not yet."
----
The Queen's Solar – Midmorning
Sunlight streamed through the tall stained-glass windows, casting jewel-toned shadows across the marble floor. The Queen sat among silk cushions, a porcelain teacup poised delicately between her fingers, surrounded by three high-ranking noblewomen—their laughter too bright, their smiles too sharp.
They weren't friends. They were vultures in silk.
"Oh, my Queen," Lady Mirena drawled, swirling her tea with an ivory spoon. "You look absolutely radiant today. That brocade is divine—Zarethian, is it? A bold choice, given the circumstances."
The others tittered behind their cups.
Lady Vanira leaned in, voice dripping with mock concern. "And how is dear Henry faring this morning? We've heard such… peculiar things. I suppose Countess Rebecca wasn't in attendance last night because she was recovering, hmm?"
More giggles. The Queen's hand tightened on her teacup.
"I always said your family had such flamboyant tastes," Lady Selene added, eyes glittering with spite. "Feasts for banquets that don't happen. Jewels no one dares wear. Sons who play dress-up with councilors in private wings—truly, you're raising the standards of royal etiquette."
The laughter turned cruel now, echoing off the cold stone walls.
The Queen's lips barely moved. "Mind your tongues."
"Oh, forgive us," Mirena cooed, not meaning it. "But you must admit—it does explain why your future heir would rather play bride with Edward than bed his own."
Selene smirked.
A crack sounded—her teacup shattering as it slipped from her hand onto the polished floor. The Queen rose slowly, her face a mask of cold fury.
"Get out," she whispered.
They hesitated.
"Out!" she bellowed, and this time, the guards moved. The women gathered their skirts and fled, mock apologies trailing behind them like perfume.
The Queen stood alone now, chest rising and falling, humiliation curling in her gut like rot. Then she turned sharply, skirts swishing, and marched toward the King's wing.
She had to know if the rumors were true.
----
The King stood by the tall window, eyes fixed on the horizon, though his mind was clearly elsewhere. His hands, clasped behind his back, trembled slightly—the only visible crack in his usually stone-carved composure.
The royal advisor bowed low, voice low and urgent.
"Your Majesty, the rumors have gained traction. They speak of... a scandal involving Prince Henry, Councillor Edward, and Countess Rebecca. It is spreading like wildfire—across court and common streets alike."
The King did not turn. "How much truth is there to these whispers?"
The advisor hesitated. "Enough, sire. Too much. The servants speak openly, merchants smirk behind their stalls, and even the clergy whisper behind their sleeves. Zareth will hear of it—if they haven't already."
The King exhaled, the sound closer to a growl than a sigh.
"And what of Henry?" he asked.
"Silent," the advisor replied. "He refuses to address the matter, and has shut himself in his wing. Countess Rebecca has not returned. Councillor Edward was last seen riding toward the southern borders."
As the weight of the disgrace settled over the room, the doors burst open.
The Queen swept in, her gown trailing behind her like the tail of a comet—fiery, furious, magnificent in her wrath.
"Have you heard?" she spat. "Have you heard what they're saying about our son? About us?"
The King turned, finally meeting her gaze.
"I have."
"And you just stand there?" she cried, voice rising. "Do you know what they said to me? That our 'precious little prince' couldn't even manage to bed his bride, too busy preening with his council boy-toy!"
She hurled the crushed remnants of her fan across the room.
"This court is laughing at us. Laughing!"
Before the King could speak, a soft voice cut through the air—measured, calm, and almost amused.
"Then perhaps it is time they stop laughing."
From the shadows of a side alcove, Prince Asher emerged, dressed not in royal regalia but in sleek black—less like a prince and more like a predator with a plan.
The Queen spun around.
"You—"
"I have a proposal," Asher said, walking slowly into the light. "One that will silence every whisper and give the people something far more interesting to talk about."
The King raised an eyebrow. "Speak."
Asher looked between them, his voice as smooth as silk and sharp as steel.
"Announce my marriage to Princess Lilian—publicly. As a rebound. Frame it as the House salvaging a broken alliance with dignity. It redirects the scandal, reclaims the narrative, and gives Zareth no reason to accuse us of dishonor."
The Queen's jaw clenched. "You want to parade that girl like a pawn? Zareth is proud. If they sense insult, they may demand retribution. What if they see this as humiliation? As us tossing their daughter aside and throwing her to the spare?"
"I want to protect the throne," Asher replied coolly. "And if you're smart, you'll let me. Plus Lilian will become queen one day, not Henry's discarded bride. Zareth will have no choice but to accept it. The alliance stands—and their daughter thrives."
A tense silence followed. The Queen looked to the King, her fury slowly retreating into calculation.
And the King—after a long, heavy pause—gave a single nod.
"Make the arrangements."