CROWN OF FORBIDDEN HEARTS
Chapter 35: LADY OF VAELOR

Chapter 35: 35: LADY OF VAELOR

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The moment Alaric shut the doors of their chambers after the council meeting, Zara exploded.

"You humiliated me in front of them!" she seethed, her hands trembling as she ripped off the heavy crown from her head. "You made me—"

"I made you what?" Alaric interrupted smoothly, stepping toward her with that same maddening smirk he wore all day. "Sit on my lap? Be mine in front of the men who once called you their queen?" He laughed hysterically "You should get used to it." He said as he smiled even more.

Zara’s fury burned through her veins. She launched the crown at him, but he caught it effortlessly. "I will never get used to being your puppet!"

Alaric sighed, shaking his head as if her resistance was nothing but a minor inconvenience. "And yet, here you are. Fighting me, but unable to pull away."

She gritted her teeth, her nails digging into her palms. The spell was stronger than her will. The moment she lashed out, an unbearable pressure clamped down on her chest, forcing her to breathe in shallow gasps.

Alaric tilted his head, watching her struggle. "You know what happens when you fight me, yet you still try." He stepped closer, running a finger along her jaw, and she shuddered, not in fear, but because the cursed spell made her crave his touch.

She hated herself for it.

"I hate you," she whispered, voice raw.

"And yet," Alaric murmured, brushing his lips over her temple, "you can’t resist me."

Zara squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing her rage as the spell’s cruel grip forced her body to lean into him. It wasn’t fair. It would never be fair.

But she had to find a way to break free.

Tomorrow, she would start watching. Studying. Planning. Because she refused to let him win.

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The morning after the disastrous council meeting, Zara woke to the soft clang of metal. She turned her head and froze.

A sword.

A beautiful, deadly weapon rested on a silk cloth at the foot of the bed. The hilt was crafted from silver and black obsidian, its grip molded perfectly for her hand. Strange symbols were etched along the blade, ancient markings of power.

Alaric stood beside it, arms crossed, watching her reaction.

"What is this?" she asked warily.

"A gift," he said simply. "If you’re going to fight, you should have a weapon worthy of a queen."

Zara narrowed her eyes, sitting up slowly. "You mock me."

"Not at all." He smirked, stepping closer. "I told you, Lysandra. I don’t want a weak queen. I want you strong, but only for me."

Her fingers curled into the sheets. She wouldn’t take anything from him, not after everything. But the spell—damn the spell, it made her pulse race with something disturbingly close to gratitude.

She shoved it down. "I don’t need gifts from you."

Alaric let out a dark chuckle. "You don’t have a choice."

Before she could argue, the doors opened, and Scarlet entered, her eerie brown eyes flickering between them. "Your Majesty," she addressed Zara with a slow bow. "You have a visitor."

Zara frowned. "Who?"

"A noblewoman," Scarlet said smoothly. "She claims she is here for trade discussions. But I suspect she is more than what she appears to be."

Zara’s heart pounded. A noblewoman? A possible ally?

Alaric watched her too closely, as if sensing something was happening. But he only ran a thumb over the blade of her new sword and murmured, "Try not to do anything reckless, my queen."

Zara clenched her jaw, standing. Reckless? No. But desperate? Absolutely.

She would find out who this woman was. And if she was here to help, Zara would do whatever it took to use that to her advantage.

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Zara walked into the receiving hall, her hands clasped tightly to hide her shaking fingers. Every step echoed in the vast chamber, the towering stained-glass windows casting eerie patterns of light onto the polished floor. She was still dressed in the regal red silk Alaric had forced upon her, but it felt like a cage, wrapping around her throat like a noose.

At the center of the room stood a woman cloaked in deep emerald, her face hidden beneath a delicate veil of gold mesh. Her posture was poised, but something in the way she held herself told Zara she wasn’t just another noble.

Scarlet stood to the side, watching the interaction like a snake waiting to strike.

The woman curtsied. "Your Majesty," she said, her voice smooth as silk.

Zara took a slow breath, careful to mask the flicker of curiosity in her eyes. "You asked for an audience."

"Yes." The woman lifted her veil slightly, revealing sharp golden eyes, intelligent, assessing. "I have an offer, but not one I wish to discuss before unwelcome ears." She secretly glanced toward Scarlet.

Scarlet smirked. "How bold of you..,say what you must woman, but I will not leave my queen’s side for even a second."

Zara hesitated. Scarlet was always watching, always reporting back to Alaric. But dismissing her outright would raise suspicion and she knew.

So she smiled, cold and practiced. "Scarlet stays," she said smoothly. "If your offer is so delicate that it cannot be spoken in front of my own lady, then perhaps it is not worth my time."

The woman studied her for a moment, then inclined her head. "Very well." She reached into the folds of her cloak and withdrew a small parchment, pressing it into Zara’s palm with the swift precision of someone who had done this before.

A thrill of danger ran down Zara’s spine.

The woman’s voice dropped to a whisper. "Read it when you are alone." Then she stepped back, all courtly grace once more. "I hope we may speak again, Your Majesty."

Zara tightened her grip around the note, her heart pounding. Whoever this woman was, she wasn’t just here for trade.

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Zara barely made it back to her chambers before her fingers tore open the parchment. Her heart pounded as her eyes scanned the message, written in an elegant but hurried script:

You are not alone. Watch the council. Watch the members of the court. Watch everyone.

Her breath caught. The council? The members of the court? Someone was working against Alaric, but who? And why warn her?

Before she could think further, the air in the room shifted. The warmth of a familiar presence sent a shiver down her spine, and she turned just as Alaric entered.

He looked pleased with himself, his dark cloak hanging loosely around his broad shoulders. His smug expression made her stomach twist.

"I hear you had a visitor," he mused, stepping closer. "A noblewoman, was she? What did she want?"

Zara forced her expression into indifference. "Nothing of importance."

Alaric’s sharp eyes darkened. "Don’t lie to me, Lysandra."

The command in his voice made her flinch, it made the spell coil around her heart like a serpent, punishing her disobedience. Pain bloomed in her chest, She gasped, clutching at the silk of her gown, her body betraying her.

Alaric caught her before she collapsed, his arms securing her against him. "Tsk," he murmured, amused. "You still think you can resist me?"

Hatred burned beneath the surface of her skin, but the spell twisted it into something dangerous, something more humiliating nedy. The longer he touched her, the more her body craved him. The bond was getting stronger.

His fingers brushed against her jaw, tilting her chin up. "You will learn, little queen," he whispered, his lips ghosting over hers, "that every time you fight me, I will remind you who you belong to."

Zara wanted to spit in his face, to shove him away. But her body trembled in his grasp, caught in the cruel dance between love and hate, between resistance and submission.

She was running out of time.

She needed to break this spell.

Before it broke her.

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Zara sat by the window long after Alaric had left, gripping the letter so tightly the parchment wrinkled.

The words echoed in her mind. Someone inside these walls wanted her to fight back. But who? And what did they mean??

She had to move carefully. If Alaric even suspected she was planning something, he would tighten the bond, she couldn’t let that happen.

The next morning, she played her role perfectly. She allowed herself to be dressed in fine silks, her hair woven into intricate braids, and sat beside Alaric as he received visitors in the throne room. Her hands remained folded in her lap, her expression a serene mask.

She watched. She listened.

The council discussed plans to strengthen Calithea’s army, now Alaric’s army. They spoke of trade negotiations with Zethro and new laws Alaric planned to enforce. Each word was another thread in the web tightening around her.

Then, a voice cut through the discussion.

"My King, my Queen," a woman in a deep green gown stepped forward, her blonde hair cascading over one shoulder. "I am Lady Seren of House Vaelor."

Zara knew that name. The Vaelor family had always been loyal to Calithea, loyal to her, Alaric had no idea about this.

Alaric leaned back in his seat, eyes glinting with curiosity. "And what brings Lady Vaelor before the throne?"

Selene curtsied gracefully. "I wish to offer my services to Queen Lysandra as her lady-in-waiting."

Zara kept her expression still, but her heart raced. Was this the ally she had been warned about?

Alaric studied seren for a long moment, then smirked. "You are bold, Lady Vaelor. But my queen already has a lady assigned to her."

Scarlet, standing at Zara’s side, said nothing.

Selene lowered her gaze. "I only wish to serve, my king."

Zara seized the moment. She placed a hand lightly on Alaric’s arm, leaning closer as if seeking permission. "It would ease my mind to have someone from Calithea by my side." Her voice was soft, sweet, the perfect mask of a devoted queen. "Scarlet is wonderful, but she serves you, my king. Allow me another servant who serves me."

Alaric glanced at her, intrigued.

Then he chuckled. "Very well," he said lazily. "But Lady Vaelor, know this, if you disappoint the queen, you disappoint me."

"You must work as second in command to scarlet, she is first the QUEEN’s Court lady because I said so"

Selene bowed. "I understand, Your Majesty."

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