Fated Eclipse: The Illegitimate Princess And Her Alpha Suitors

Chapter 4: Behind the Queen’s Door

Lyria’s POV

The door loomed before me like a judgment waiting to be delivered.

It was a tall door, carved from dark oak polished to a mirror sheen, inlaid with silver filigree shaped into crescent moons and thorned vines. Twin torches burned on either side, their flames flickering softly, casting long shadows that stretched like reaching fingers across the stone floor.

The Queen’s chambers. I hated being summoned here because it meant the queen had plans for me, or in this case, words and a punishment.

The main issue was that I was so used to it that even as my back throbbed with pain and dread from what was about to come, I didn’t cower.

The fabric of my tattered gown clung uncomfortably to my skin, still carrying faint traces of perfume from the Grand Hall. My mask rested firmly over my face, its cool porcelain pressing against the scar I had learned to hide as instinctively as breathing.

I hadn’t even slept for long, which wasn’t surprising, before I was summoned. The ball had just ended too. There were carriages still outside the castle, and some stragglers remained in the castle as well, but none on this floor.

I drew in a slow breath.

Then another. Time to face what awaited me.

Raising my hand, I knocked on the door.

The sound echoed louder than it should have, each rap reverberating through my bones.

Almost immediately, the heavy doors were pulled open by the two guards stationed outside. Their faces remained blank, their gazes sliding past me as though I were furniture.

I wondered why they waited until I knocked to even open the door, but that was the least of my worries right now.

I stepped forward, and the doors closed behind me with a soft thud.

The Queen’s chamber was nothing like the suffocating grandeur of the Grand Hall.

This space was quieter and more... intimate. Numerous times, I’d stood in this room, watching from the shadows as my father and the queen pleasured each other.

No, I didn’t watch because I took sick pleasure in it. Instead, it was because the queen was every bit as brutal as her daughter — and my father too.

The queen made me watch. She had done it since I was young, after finding out that her husband had been sleeping with... no, it wasn’t consensual. My father had taken my mother unwillingly, and she had me.

Life was sweeter when it was just me and my mother. She escaped with me, but we didn’t get far before we were found. Mother fell sick, so we couldn’t even make it to our destination... the Black Mere territory.

And who would have thought that the king was searching for my mother because he hated that she escaped? The queen was furious when she found out that I existed. Jacinta wasn’t born then.

Since my mother’s health declined and she wasn’t able to move, the queen, in her sick way, thought making me watch my father and her having sex was some sort of revenge or punishment — to show that it didn’t matter what we did or if my mother had seduced the king... she hadn’t — that the king would always come back to her.

Honestly, I didn’t understand the logic. I didn’t understand most things that went through the heads of my stepfamily, so that wasn’t surprising.

Tall windows lined one wall of the chamber, veiled in sheer ivory curtains that allowed muted moonlight to spill across the polished wooden floor. A grand fireplace crackled softly, its embers glowing like stars. Shelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound books, porcelain figurines, delicate glass vials, and ornate jewelry boxes. The air carried the scent of lavender tea and polished wood.

A sitting area occupied the center of the chamber, furnished with velvet chairs, a small gilded table, and an elegant chaise lounge embroidered with silver thread.

The Queen sat in one of the chairs.

Her legs were crossed with relaxed authority, her posture flawless, a delicate teacup balanced effortlessly between her fingers. Steam curled lazily upward from the porcelain rim. Her blonde hair was styled impeccably, not a single strand out of place. Her gaze lifted slowly to meet mine, cool and assessing.

Jacinta stood nearby.

Her arms were folded loosely across her chest, lips curved in a smile that held no warmth whatsoever.

I lowered my head immediately and dropped into a deep bow.

”Your Majesty,” I greeted, my voice respectful.

The porcelain teacup touched its saucer with a soft clink as the Queen set it down.

Jacinta’s blue eyes sharpened as they locked onto me, her pleasant mask slipping into irritation.

The Queen regarded me for a long, deliberate moment before speaking.

”And who,” she asked calmly, ”granted you permission to leave the ball?”

My fingers curled faintly into the fabric of my skirt.

Silence stretched.

I kept my head bowed, eyes fixed on the polished floor.

”Have you forgotten,” she continued smoothly, ”the terms of our agreement?”

My throat tightened.

She spoke calmly because that was the best intimidation tactic she knew — speaking quietly and evenly.

”You attend when instructed. You remain where you are placed. You do nothing without approval. In exchange, your mother continues receiving treatment.”

A cold knot formed in my stomach.

The image of my mother flashed through my mind — her pale skin, her fragile breathing, the way her hands trembled when the illness flared. The way her once-strong body had betrayed her, and how it had worsened once we started living in the castle.

I swallowed hard.

”I... I apologize, Your Majesty,” I murmured. ”It will not happen again.”

A faint scoff escaped her lips.

”Your apologies hold no value to me,” she said coolly. ”Actions do. And tonight, you failed.”

My chest tightened painfully.

”Because of your lapse in obedience,” she continued, lifting her teacup again, ”your mother will not receive her dosage for two days.”

I gritted my teeth as I calculated how much the herbs would cost. I’d need to dip into the little savings I had amassed — the money I had been gathering to take my mother away from here once she recovered enough to move.

The queen knew that this punishment hurt me more than the marks on my back. I’d prefer if she hit me instead, but I wasn’t going to beg. I never wanted to beg them again... they wouldn’t even answer me either way.