Chapter 340: A Queen Is Always All Right
Chapter 339: A Queen Is Always All Right
The chamber fell into a heavy silence after Evander’s words settled over them.
Lucian was the first to break it, releasing a long, measured sigh. His eyes flickered with something that might have been reluctant agreement, and he shook his head slowly.
"I hate to admit it," he said, his voice carrying a note of grudging honesty, "but it is true."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the assembled gentlemen.
"I would rather put forth my utmost effort and compete against all of you, who seem sincere and would do nothing to harm her, than against those who pose a genuine threat to her and would likely sell her to the enemy at the first opportunity."
Evander’s gaze rested upon him.
"Then you will do it?" he asked.
Lucian nodded once, the gesture firm and decisive.
"I will," he said. "But I must go now. If I delay any longer, I cannot guarantee that Julian will remain."
He rose from his chair, but before he could take more than a step, Benedict’s voice stopped him.
"Before you leave," the Earl said, "who is the weakest opponent among the suitors?"
The question lingered in the air for a brief moment.
Then, as though by some unspoken agreement, three voices answered at once.
"Marquess Blackvale."
Lucian, Evander, and Alistair exchanged glances, a flicker of grim amusement passing between them.
Alistair shrugged, his expression one of casual disdain.
"The man is rather disgusting as well," he added, as though it were merely an afterthought.
Benedict nodded slowly, committing the information to memory.
Lucian inclined his head towards the others.
"I shall take my leave now," he said.
Then he turned to Evander, his voice lowering ever so slightly.
"Do something about your position in the popularity poll."
Evander raised an eyebrow.
"What of it?"
"Twice in succession, you have placed second from the bottom," Lucian replied.
A faint, knowing smile curved Evander’s lips.
"Someone clearly wishes me to remain there," he said simply.
Lucian regarded him for a long moment before giving a single nod. His expression revealed nothing.
Without another word, he made his way towards the door. It closed behind him with a soft click.
For a few moments, the remaining four gentlemen sat in silence.
Then Benedict spoke, genuine bewilderment evident upon his face.
"Who would wish for you to remain in that position?" he asked.
Alistair let out a low, knowing chuckle.
Julian groaned and pressed his fingers against his temples.
"Surely you cannot be serious with that question," he said, his voice coloured with exasperation.
Benedict blinked.
His confusion lingered for only a heartbeat before his eyes widened in sudden understanding.
"Oh," he said slowly. "Them."
Alistair laughed, the sound echoing pleasantly through the chamber.
"You truly must learn to keep pace with a conversation, big man," he said, shaking his head.
Benedict scratched the back of his head, looking faintly embarrassed.
"I truly did not believe they would stoop to something of that sort," he admitted. "Though, in hindsight, I ought to have expected it. They have been displeased ever since you arrived."
His words were directed towards Evander.
Alistair merely shrugged.
"He does not even care," he said. "That is precisely what makes it so entertaining."
Evander, who had listened to the exchange with quiet detachment, rose from his chair.
"Train him well," he said to Benedict, gesturing vaguely towards Julian.
He paused before turning to Alistair. His eyes swept over the Duke, and he shook his head slowly.
"My headache is worsening," he announced. "I must excuse myself."
Alistair’s grin widened.
"You are lying," he said without hesitation. "You merely seek an excuse to escape."
Evander offered no reply.
Instead, he raised two fingers in a casual wave as he walked towards the door.
A moment later, it clicked shut behind him.
Benedict turned towards Julian.
"We should make our way to the training grounds," he said. "There is much work to be done."
Julian rose with a resigned sigh, though there was determination in his eyes.
"I suppose there is little point in delaying the inevitable."
"There is none," Benedict replied with an encouraging smile. "The sooner we begin, the sooner you improve."
Julian muttered something beneath his breath that neither of the others quite caught.
Alistair leaned back comfortably in his chair, watching the pair with mild amusement his gaze shifted towards Benedict.
"Do you know precisely how Marquess Blackvale fights?" he asked.
Benedict nodded.
"I merely wished to know who the weakest opponent was," he said. "As for the rest, I know the martial strengths and weaknesses of every candidate. Preparation demands nothing less."
For the briefest of moments, Alistair’s smile faltered.
Something flickered across his face—surprise, perhaps—but it disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared.
"Then it seems my assistance is unnecessary," he said.
Benedict smiled, warm and genuine.
"You are not going anywhere."
Before Alistair could rise, Benedict reached over and firmly pulled him back into his seat.
Alistair laughed, offering only the faintest token resistance.
"You are a bully."
Benedict merely smiled.
---
Meanwhile, Lucian made his way through the dimly lit corridors of the palace. His footsteps were measured and unhurried, his expression carefully composed as he approached the Queen’s private chambers.
The palace had grown remarkably still.
Most of the servants had already withdrawn from the royal wing, leaving only the occasional footman or maid moving quietly about their duties. Candlelight flickered along the walls, casting wavering shadows over polished marble and gilded portraits whose solemn faces seemed to watch every passer-by.
Lucian scarcely noticed them.
His thoughts remained occupied by the conversation he had just left behind.
Evander’s proposal had been unexpected, yet the more he considered it, the more reasonable it seemed. If there truly were those among the suitors willing to place the princess in danger for their own ambitions, then removing them from the competition before they could advance was a necessity.
He disliked involving himself in such schemes.
Yet he disliked the thought of Lyria falling into dangerous hands far more.
His steps eventually slowed as he reached the familiar doors.
The guards stationed outside the Queen’s chambers recognised him immediately and stepped aside without a word. He had been granted access to Her Majesty’s private chambers on numerous occasions over the years, and neither man saw any reason to question his presence.
Lucian offered them a slight inclination of his head before approaching the entrance.
He was about to announce himself when he heard it.
The sharp, unmistakable sound of glass shattering against stone.
It rang through the chamber with startling force.
Then came the Queen’s voice, sharp with anger and trembling beneath restrained emotion.
"Get out!"
Lucian’s steps faltered.
His wolf senses immediately detected another scent lingering within the chamber.
The King.
There was no mistaking it.
For a brief instant, Lucian considered withdrawing and returning at a more appropriate hour.
Whatever dispute had taken place between Their Majesties was undoubtedly a private matter.
He had scarcely turned to leave when the doors flew open.
The King strode out without so much as a backward glance.
His expression was thunderous, every line of his face drawn tight with barely restrained fury. His jaw was clenched so firmly that the muscles along it stood out beneath his skin.
He swept past Lucian as though the younger man were not even there.
Within moments, his retreating footsteps disappeared into the corridor.
Lucian remained where he was for another heartbeat before quietly stepping inside.
The chamber was in disarray.
Fragments of shattered glass glittered across the polished floor near the hearth. A silver vase lay on its side, its flowers scattered where they had fallen.
The Queen stood with her back to him.
She was hurriedly brushing tears from her face, her movements quick and almost desperate. The immaculate composure she wore before the court had cracked once again—a sight Lucian had witnessed more times during his childhood than anyone else would ever know.
At the sound of his footsteps, she quickly straightened.
When she turned to face him, the familiar royal mask had already begun settling back into place.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice clipped and sharp.
Lucian regarded her quietly for a long moment.
Then, in a voice far gentler than before, he spoke.
"Are you all right?"
The Queen’s jaw tightened.
"A queen is always all right," she said.
Lucian stepped closer.
"I am not asking as a subject," he said quietly. "I am asking as a nephew. As your family. You can be honest with me."
He paused, his blue eyes meeting hers.
"Are you all right?"