Chapter 99: Qazaethel’s Last Warning

Morning,

The entire palace was silent and the wind was howling outside the palace, a sign that the winter is near. The corridors were cold, the torches are struggling to keep the chill at bay, and the servants moved with hunched shoulders and quick steps, their breath was misting in the air before them.

Frost had begun to creep along the edges of the windows, delicate patterns of ice that spoke of the coming season, and the gardens beyond the palace walls had lost their color, the flowers wilted and the trees are stripped bare.

It was the kind of morning that made people want to stay in bed, to burrow beneath warm blankets and forget the world outside. But for Kariv, the cold was the furthest thing from his mind.

Kariv was called to the throne room, and he was in a good mood as he walked toward the hallway with his head held high, his posture was straight and he walked like he was gaining favor while the ministers looked at him silently. The alpha prince had dressed with care that morning, choosing robes of deep crimson and gold, the colors of his house, the colors of power.

He had spent extra time on his appearance, had ensured that every strand of hair was in place, that every fold of his robes was perfect. He wanted to look his best. He wanted to impress. He had been summoned by the sovereign herself, and he could only assume that this was the moment he had been waiting for—the moment when his mother finally recognized his worth, finally saw him as the heir he was meant to be.

Perhaps she had come to her senses. Perhaps she had realized that Eiravelle was a passing fancy, a temporary distraction, and that the future of the empire rested with him. Perhaps she was ready to elevate him, to give him the position he deserved, to acknowledge him as her successor. The thought filled him with a warm, glowing satisfaction, and he smiled to himself as he walked, his footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor.

Their faces were slightly grim but they kept their heads down, and the third prince was too proud to even looked at them that he didn’t noticed the warning signs on their faces.

The ministers had been summoned to witness the confrontation, though they did not know the full extent of what was about to happen. They had heard the rumors, of course. They had heard whispers of what Kariv had done to Eiravelle, had heard of the incident at the celebration, had seen the cold fury in the sovereign’s eyes when she had returned to the palace.

They knew that this was not a meeting of favor. This was a reckoning. But they did not dare to speak. They did not dare to warn the prince, to tell him to turn back, to save himself while he still could. They simply stood in silence, their eyes fixed on the floor, and waited for the storm to break.

He entered the throne room, and Qazaethel was there. She’s not sitting on her throne, but she was standing in front of it. The throne room was vast and cold, the fire in the great hearth struggling against the chill that had settled into the stone, and the shadows in the corners seemed deeper than usual, as though the darkness itself was waiting.

Qazaethel stood before the throne, her back was facing Kariv, and her hands were clasped behind her back. She was still, utterly still, and there was something terrifying about that stillness—the stillness of a predator before it strikes, the stillness of a storm before it breaks.

The sound of his boots on the marble floor had echoed through the room like a countdown, each step was bringing him closer to the moment when everything would change. Her eyes turned sharp and she straightened her posture. She did not turn around. She did not acknowledge him. She simply waited, and the silence stretched between them like a blade.

Kariv bow and greeted Qazaethel, "greetings, your majesty. Why her majesty summoned me early in the cold morning today?" He asked, and his voice was polite. The words were formal, respectful, but there was a note of eagerness beneath them, a hint of the excitement he was trying to contain.

He had practiced this bow, had rehearsed this greeting, had imagined this moment a hundred times. He was ready. He was confident. He was about to receive everything he had ever wanted.

"Well... I am here to ask you one thing, nothing much." Qazaethel didn’t even turn around to look at him. The words were flat, devoid of emotion, and they landed in the space between them like stones dropped into still water.

There was no warmth in her voice, no affection, no acknowledgment of the fact that the man standing before her was her son. There was only the cold, measured tone of a sovereign who had something to say.

"What is it, your majesty? Ask me anything!" Kariv’s eyes lit up in excitement as he heard Qazaethel’s words. He could not contain his joy, could not hide the way his heart leaped in his chest. This was it. This was the moment.

He had waited so long, had endured so much, had watched Eiravelle take his place in the sovereign’s affections. But now, finally, his mother was turning to him. She was going to give him what he deserved. She was going to make him the heir. He could almost see it—the dragon-phoenix robe, the crown upon his head, the court bowing before him. He could almost taste the power.

"Well, about Eiravelle..." Qazaethel finally faced Kariv, and her expression was clearly displeased. The sight of her face was like a bucket of cold water thrown over his excitement. Her eyes were hard, her jaw was set, and there was no warmth in her expression, no trace of the mother he remembered from his childhood. She looked at him as though he was a stranger, as though he was an enemy, and Kariv felt a flicker of unease.

"What about her?" Kariv asked. The question was cautious now, his earlier enthusiasm was tempered by the warning in her eyes. He could feel the mood in the room shifting, could sense the trap closing around him, but he did not understand what was happening.

"You approach her last time, didn’t you?" Qazaethel asked, she was keeping her voice calm despite the sharpness in its edge. The words were a challenge, a demand for the truth, and there was no room for lies in her voice.

"Uhm... I did, but I approached to ask the Golden Rabbit, her holiness, to dance." Kariv explained, and he haven’t noticed the tremor in his voice as he admit that. He was trying to sound casual, trying to make it seem like a harmless interaction, but the tremor betrayed him. He could feel his palms growing damp, could feel his heart beating faster in his chest.

"Why would you approach them, then? Are you aware of the distress that you have triggered upon Eiravelle?!" Qazaethel was still trying hard not to lash out on him. Her voice was rising despite her efforts, the anger bleeding through the cracks in her composure.

She had promised herself that she would be calm, that she would handle this with the cold authority of a sovereign, but seeing him standing there, seeing the confusion on his face, made it almost impossible.

"B-But... Your majesty, I was really—" Kariv tried to explain, tried to defend himself, but the words died in his throat.

Qazaethel didn’t let him finish. "What? And you talked to her. Did you really think I won’t find out what you did to her? Kariv, you almost violated her in the garden before." Qazaethel said, and Kariv’s eyes widened. The words hit him like a physical blow, knocking the air from his lungs, and he felt the blood drain from his face. He had not expected this.

He had not expected her to know. He had thought that the incident in the garden had been forgotten, buried beneath Eiravelle’s meekness, shyness, weakness, and silence. He had thought that Eiravelle would never tell anyone, would never dare to speak of what had almost happened. He had been wrong.

"H-How—" Kariv stammered, his voice barely a whisper. His mind was racing, searching for an escape, for a way to explain, to lie, to do anything that would make this better. But there was no escape. There was no lie that could save him.

"How did I find out? Eiravelle told me." Qazaethel cut him once again, and Kariv’s legs trembled that he immediately rush toward Qazaethel and kneel in front of her. The alpha prince, who had walked into the throne room with his head held high, was now on his knees, his pride shattered, his confidence gone.

"Your majesty, she is lying! I am your son, believe me. Don’t believe an outsider, please! She seduced me and she did it because she wanted power!" Kariv said, and pressed his forehead on the floor, prostrating in front of Qazaethel to show his absolute sincerity.

But Qazaethel’s face remain neutral. She looked down at him, at the son who had caused so much pain, at the alpha who had tried to destroy the woman she loved, and she felt nothing. No pity, o sorrow, o affection. Only a cold, burning fury that had been building for weeks, for months, for years.

She walked away and saunter around Kariv. The sound of her footsteps echoed in the silent throne room, each step a countdown, each step a promise of what was to come. "Why should I believe you? Just because you are my son? Just because you carry my blood and that you perceived yourself as the rightful heir to the throne?" Qazaethel stopped behind Kariv. The words were soft, almost gentle, but they were laced with a venom that made Kariv’s blood run cold.

"You are a disgrace, Kariv! You are my greatest stain! You are shameless and cruel, and you are too proud." Qazaethel said, and sweat beads formed on Kariv’s forehead. It is slowly cascading down but he didn’t dare move and wipe it.

He could feel it dripping down his temple, could feel it tracing paths along his skin, but he did not dare to move. He did not dare to breathe. He simply knelt there, his forehead was pressed to the cold marble floor, and waited.

"I do not care what you are. But know this... This is your last warning. If I ever find out you approach Eiravelle and caused distress to her, you will find out what I will do if you once again provoke me." Qazaethel said, then walked toward the throne and sat on it. The words were a death sentence, a promise of destruction, and Kariv knew that she meant every syllable.

She would not hesitate. She would not show mercy. She would destroy him if he gave her a reason.

"You’re dismissed! Do not make me see your face not until you’re not proving something to me...! And if you want to tell what happened here to your Opa, I do not care! You and your omega father had been the ones to always make my patience thinner!" She yelled, and Kariv got scared that he nodded and immediately left.

The words echoed through the throne room, bouncing off the walls, and Kariv scrambled to his feet, his legs nearly gave out beneath him. He did not look back. He did not speak. He simply ran, his footsteps echoed in the corridor as he fled from the sovereign’s wrath.

The door swung closed and all Qazaethel can do is sigh. The sound was heavy, weary, the sound of a woman who had been carrying a burden for too long. She knew she played a part in Kariv’s life and she failed. She had failed to discipline her children, had failed to teach them right from wrong, had failed to be the mother they needed.

She had been so focused on her duties, on the empire, and on the endless demands of ruling, that she had neglected the most important responsibility of all. She had created a monster. And now, she had to live with the consequences. She had failed to discipline her children and all she can do is to show her authority as the sovereign. It was a hollow victory, a bitter consolation, but it was all she had.

The ministers outside murmured when Kariv came out in a rush and clearly in panic. The alpha prince’s face was pale, his eyes were wide, and his composure was shattered. He did not look at them. He did not speak. He simply ran, disappearing down the corridor, and the ministers exchanged glances, their expressions was a mixture of satisfaction and unease. They had known this was coming. They had seen the signs.

And now, they had witnessed the fall. Arielle smirked and kept it hidden, all to herself, that she was relieved that Qazaethel had scare Kariv away. The prime minister had been waiting for this moment, had been hoping for it, and had been praying that the sovereign would finally see Kariv for what he was.

She had wanted to destroy him herself, had wanted to make him pay for what he had done to Eiravelle. But this—this was almost as good. Kariv was terrified. He was humiliated. And he would never dare to cause any distress on Eiravelle again.

In this way, he will never dare to cause any distress on Eiravelle again. The thought brought a small, cold smile to Arielle’s lips, and she allowed herself a moment of quiet satisfaction before turning and walking away, and her footsteps echoed in the cold corridor.