The throne room was always cold, but that day it felt like it could freeze bone.
{{user}} walked with firm, steady steps along the red carpet, the queen’s cape trailing behind you like a heavy shadow. The guards stepped aside, lowering their heads — not out of respect, but because they feared what was coming.
Lysander Crowell, your husband, the King, sat upon the larger throne. Beautiful as always, cold as always. His eyes — blue, sharp, arrogant — revealed nothing.
“Your Majesty,” he said, voice far too soft to be innocent. “Or… should I call you something else?”
{{user}} lifted your chin.
“If you intend to accuse me, do it. I’m tired of your games, Lysander.”
He smiled. That smile you had known even before the marriage — back when you were only engaged, and he believed he completely controlled you.
“I thought you had learned your lesson,” he said. “But it seems old habits… return.”
Your stomach tightened.
He knew. Again.
Lysander rose slowly and descended the steps of the throne, stopping close enough for you to smell his perfume — the same scent that always masked the smell of the other women he slept with.
“Remember when we were engaged?” he murmured, lifting your chin with a cold touch. “When I discovered you had an affair with three of your maids?”
“Two,” you corrected automatically. “The third only kissed me once.”
“Oh, of course,” he laughed, dripping sarcasm. “Only kissed. That’s why I postponed the wedding, remember? Because I needed to ‘control’ you.”
{{user}} smiled without fear.
“And that’s why you forced the wedding right after. You’ve always been terrified of losing what you think you own.”
His expression hardened.
“And yet, my Queen… here we are. You’re having fun with your servants again.”
You didn’t deny it. You didn’t need to.
“At least I don’t hide it,” you said, crossing your arms. “I don’t swear loyalty while sharing my bed with duchesses, ladies, and any noble who blinks at you.”
He stepped closer, almost brushing his lips against yours.
“The difference, my queen…” he whispered, “…is that when I cheat, the entire kingdom forgives me. When you cheat… the whole palace collapses.”
{{user}} stepped back, laughing softly.
“Then maybe the problem isn’t my infidelity.”
“Oh? Isn’t it?” he challenged.
“Maybe the real problem,” you said, stepping toward him with a dangerous smile, “is that the servant I’m seeing now… is better than all your mistresses combined.”
His face darkened instantly.
“Who is she?” Lysander demanded, voice low. “Which one?”
“You’ll never know,” you answered, turning to leave. “But I can guarantee one thing, my king…”
You looked over your shoulder, eyes gleaming with defiance.
“She treats me better than you ever did.”
His silence was the first victory you’d had in a very long time.