The soft glow of evening lanterns illuminated the polished stone floors of Orchid Manor as Queen Priscilla walked to her private chambers. Her attendants awaited her, silent and efficient as they moved around her, their hands expertly dressing her in her silk nightgown, woven with golden threads and intricate designs. The queen’s face remained impassive, as though her mind were still trapped in the dark memories of the past that had resurfaced during her bath.
As they prepared her for the evening’s family dinner, Priscilla dismissed her thoughts about the Witch Clan and the curse she had placed on Queen Olivia. Now, there were other matters to attend to—matters that required her to don the mask of composure and calm that had served her so well over the years. She would join her family at the Royal Dining Hall, where her husband, King Gerald, and his sons would gather for what appeared to be a normal dinner. Yet beneath the surface, she knew that nothing in the royal family was ever without its subtle tensions.
Once dressed, Priscilla made her way to the dining hall, her posture elegant, her expression unreadable.
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The Royal Dining Hall, also known as the Sunset Pavilion, was vast and opulent, its high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings of celestial creatures. Tall windows lined the room, allowing the fading light of day to cast a golden hue over the long dining table, where the royal family had already begun to gather.
At the head of the table sat King Gerald, his face as expressionless as ever, though his attention was clearly fixed on the small figure seated beside him—little Princess Nastra. The young princess, only four years old, sat on a raised cushion, her plump face filled with joy as her grandfather gently fed her pieces of fruit. Nastra giggled, completely absorbed in the affection she received from the king, who, for once, seemed to show a sliver of warmth.
Seated around the table were the king’s four sons, and the atmosphere, despite the air of formality, was charged with unspoken tension.
Prince Damien, the eldest, sat closest to the king. His sharp features were marred with barely concealed impatience as he exchanged a glance with his mother, Queen Priscilla, who had taken her seat across from him. His fingers drummed idly against the table as he watched the king dote on Nastra, his little niece.
To Damien’s left sat his younger brothers—Prince Edric, the Second Prince and father of Princess Nastra, and next to him was Prince Gerrafin, the Third Prince, who always bore a dark, calculating look. Finally, the youngest, Fourth Prince Nathaniel, sat with an air of detachment, his eyes scanning the room as if he were already bored of the evening’s proceedings.
On either side of the table sat the king’s other consorts. The Second Royal Consort, Selene, was a striking woman with dark hair and pale skin. Her eyes narrowed in jealousy as she watched the king's open affection for Nastra, her lips tightening each time the little princess giggled at her grandfather’s gentle teasing.
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The Third Royal Consort, Evelyn, sat further down the table, her expression was calm, though her knuckles whitened as her hands clenched around her goblet. Both consorts bore sons, yet none received the attention or love the king so freely gave to the little girl.
The air around the table was thick with tension, yet King Gerald seemed completely unbothered. His stoic face revealed no hint of his thoughts as he continued to feed the young Nastra, oblivious to—or perhaps deliberately ignoring the rising resentment that simmered among the others.
Prince Damien finally broke the silence, his voice tight with irritation as he glanced at his brothers. "You seemed rather quiet during the court today, Edric," he said, his words pointed. "No doubt distracted by... other matters." His eyes flicked meaningfully toward Nastra, the insinuation clear.
Edric, who had been quietly watching his daughter, smiled coolly in response. "I prefer to speak when I have something of value to add, unlike others," he replied, his tone measured.
Damien’s jaw tightened, but before he could respond, Prince Gerrafin let out a low chuckle. "Oh, come now, Edric. Don’t pretend you're uninterested in what happens at court. Or is it that you rely on father's favor for all your dealings?"
The jab landed, and Edric's eyes flicked toward the king, who continued feeding Nastra without so much as acknowledging the conversation happening around him. The king’s indifference was a familiar but bitter pill for Edric to swallow—no matter how much love he had for his daughter, he knew his father’s favoritism for the young princess only added fuel to the fire burning between the royal factions.
Nastra, blissfully unaware of the tension, smiled brightly at her grandfather. "More, Grandpapa!" she demanded, pointing at another piece of fruit.
The king’s expression softened slightly as he handed her the fruit, his large hand gentle as it brushed her cheek. "As you wish, little one," he murmured, a rare trace of tenderness in his voice.
Across the table, Queen Priscilla observed the exchange in silence, her face perfectly composed, but her mind was already working through the implications of the scene before her. She could feel the jealousy radiating from the other consorts, and even her son Damien’s growing impatience with the situation. Edric had always been a thorn in their side, and the king’s show off favoritism toward Nastra only solidified his influence. It was a dangerous game they were playing, and Priscilla knew that if they weren’t careful, the balance of power in the court could shift against them.
Prince Nathaniel, the youngest, finally broke the silence again with a dry remark. "I wonder if the rest of us will have to beg for the king’s attention like little Nastra does," he said with a smirk, though his eyes were sharp, watching for a reaction.
Queen Priscilla gave the Fourth Prince a warning look, but it was the Second Royal Consort, Selene, who spoke next, her voice dripping with resentment. "She is but a child," Selene said, her eyes locking onto the princess. "Surely the court would not concern itself with the whims of a little girl."
Edric's gaze darkened at Selene's words, but he remained silent, unwilling to rise to her bait. The conversation had shifted from court politics to veiled attacks against him and his daughter, and the tension at the table was becoming palpable.
Yet through it all, King Gerald remained impassive, seemingly deaf to the undercurrents swirling around him. He continued to focus solely on Nastra, his actions speaking louder than any words could. His love for the young princess was plain, and his disregard for the rest of his family, even more so.
As the dinner continued, each member of the royal family played their part, masking their true feelings behind polite conversation and hollow smiles. But beneath the surface, anger, jealousy, and ambition simmered, waiting for the right moment to boil over.
Priscilla observed it all, her mind racing as she silently plotted her next move. She knew that tonight's dinner was just another reminder of how delicate the balance of power had become, and she would not allow her carefully crafted plans to be undone by the whims of others—not even by her own son.