Decreash Imperial Palace.
Three days later.
A small sigh escaped Racheal's lips, chilling, making her bones shiver.
Her brown curly hair was damp, as though she had just stepped out from a bath. She was reclined on the railings of the terrace, hands folded, eyes fixed on the iron gates.
"My lady, we have to get you ready; you have been summoned to the council meeting."
A voice from behind said.
Racheal recognized the voice; it was her handmaid, Rosa.
"I will be there in a moment."
She replied without turning around, her emerald-green eyes still fixed on the iron gates.
Rosa nodded curtly and then retired inside, but Racheal remained where she was, her thoughts deep and shallow. Unconsciously her hand falls to her protruding stomach.
It has been days since she has heard from Ragaleon or his men. They had marched to the battlefield armed and ready, but now she wasn't even sure if he was still alive.
Nothing scared her more than the thought of him leaving this world.
As she leaned away, Racheal straightened up, turning on her heels; she walked out of the terrace and stepped into her chamber, where all her maids were awaiting her return.
Her eyes were cold and unresolved, and her voice was pounding with authority…
"Get me ready."
.....
Click! Click!
Those were the sounds of Racheal's shoes echoing in the vast hallways. Her brown curly hair swerved from side to side as she made her way to the meeting room, with two knights escorting her.
Her eyes seemed distant, but filled with a determination to not look weak, she pushed back all her emotions, emitting only an icy demeanor.
The green gown she was wearing contrasted with her hair but matched her eyes perfectly. The gown billowed behind her, gliding on the floor with subtle grace.
When she reached the door leading to the meeting room, a knight stepped forward and pushed it open.
The hinge of the door groaned, and the double door parted. Racheal stood unwavering, both hands clasped together, eyes still.
What she did not expect to see was Brandon seated at the head of the table, where Ragaleon used to sit.
When she saw this, she remained unfazed, as if it didn't bother her, but it did…greatly.
She stepped into the courtroom, the sound of her shoes echoing like gunshots.
All heads turned towards her direction, her presence commanding an air of sovereignty.
"Lord Hand, who gave you the right to sit at the head of the table?"
Tilting her head sideways, Racheal questioned, her eyes glistening with an ominous dread.
Brandon was more than happy to answer her question. His legs were crossed lazily, some strands of his blonde hair whipping across his face, and those blue eyes held nothing but resentment.
"Welcome, your highness."
Brandon said with a nonchalant tone, as if her words didn't bother him, and they didn't.
"You haven't answered my question."
Racheal's voice cuts across the room before she settles her eyes on the rest of the members seated at the table.
They were okay with this?
No one was rebuking Brandon's supposed unnerving actions?
This didn't sit well with her; she was greatly disappointed.
"The king made me in charge of the affairs of the court, Queen Racheal. Do you have a problem with that?"
Brandon questioned calmly, his brows arched. Racheal retraced her gaze to the rest of the members of the council, but none of them so much as spared her a glare.
Without a sudden resolution, and without uttering a word, she walked up to her seat and settled on it. She remained composed, not emitting a single readable expression.
The conception of the meeting was a bit tense. Most of the time Racheal wasn't listening to a thing they were saying, because they were yet to discuss what she thought really mattered.
"Your majesty, you seem lost."
Leaning in from where he was seated, Drigo whispered in her ears. This caught Brandon's attention, and he paused, then focused his gaze on Drigo.
"Is there anything you want to tell the council, Drigo?"
He retorted blatantly.
Racheal shot Brandon a stern look before rising to her feet.
"I will take it from here."
She muttered, drifting from her chair, making her way to the head of the table.
Her fingers brushed the carved edge of the table as she came to a stop, her gaze sweeping across the room.
"Let there be no confusion," she said, with her gaze fixed ahead.
"The meeting falls under my command now."
"I can handle…"
"I am your queen."
She reminded him, her voice firm, filled with nothing but reproach.
"The king placed the affairs of this kingdom under my control," he declared, his voice steady as steel.
Racheal's jaw tightened.
"And your king has been gone for three days…"
Her gaze pinned him where he stood, unblinkingly.
"But that doesn't seem to matter to you, does it?"
Brandon felt the words like a slap, his authority dismissed, his influence crushed in front of every noble present.
A few lords shifted uncomfortably, watching the humiliation unfold but daring not to intervene.
Racheal slowly sets both hands on the table's edge, leaning forward just enough to make her dominance unmistakable.
"If you are finished overstepping your station," she continued, "we may finally proceed."
"With all due respect, Your Majesty," the Master of Coin, Josiah, began, tapping his finger lightly on the table in a slow, deliberate rhythm.
"We are under obligation to see the Hand as the next in authority since the king's departure."
Racheal did not move.
Her eyes slid toward the Master of Coin with a calm that was far more chilling than anger. The finger-tapping halted almost instantly.
"Obligation?" she repeated, her voice soft but carrying across the chamber.
"Your obligation lies with the throne…"
"And the one appointed to command in the king's absence."
Josiah interfered.
Racheal lifted her chin slightly.
"Unless you intend to dispute your queen's own decree, Lord Josiah, I suggest you choose your next words with care."
Her eyes hardened, filled with only a chilling stillness, the kind that made grown men rethink their courage.
Josiah's throat bobbed. He shrank back before he even realized he had done so.
Racheal's gaze drifted over them all, assessing the countenance of their faces. When she saw no one was ready to reprimand her or so much as look her in the eye, a satisfaction settled in.
"Now," she said, reclaiming the room in a single breath, "shall we continue with matters that actually serve this kingdom?"
Brandon was forced to retreat to his chair.
He moved with calmness, as though conceding the moment was a choice rather than a necessity.
His cloak settled around him as he sat, hands clasped neatly before him.
Around the table, the council members pretended not to notice.
"We have to take serious measures in tracking the whereabouts of the king," she began, then paused.
She allowed her words to sink in, then slowly lifted her gaze.
"Any ideas?"
Her question was simple and straight to the point.
"The Hand already made arrangements," Priest Tailbon retorted, folding his sleeves neatly as he spoke. "Two spies have been sent to Galvestone. We are yet to receive any feedback, but rest assured—we are expecting one."
Racheal's expression didn't shift.
"Expecting," she repeated quietly, as though tasting the word.
Brandon remained seated, calm on the surface, but his eyes remained fixed on Racheal… watchful.
"Why wasn't I informed of this?"
Racheal questioned, her eyes trailing slowly toward where Priest Tailbon sat, her gaze settling on him like a weight he could not shrug off.
He met her eyes; a brief flicker of discomfort crossed his features before he masked it with practiced neutrality.
"In your condition, we didn't deem it fit to concern you with such matters," Brandom answered, crossing his legs with a lazy, careless elegance.
His gaze held a glint of quiet defiance.
"My condition," she repeated, giving him a twisted look.
"You are heavily pregnant and should be in bed," he retorted.
"My pregnancy doesn't stop me from doing my duty," she added, refusing to let him undermine her authority.
"Then why have you refused to attend the council meetings for the past two days?"
He snapped, the controlled calm he had worn out like armor cracking under her gaze.
"That is irrelevant to the matters at hand!" She barked, her voice sharper than she intended, her fingers tapping the table nervously, betraying the tension she tried so hard to hide.
Brandon sprang to his feet at once, the chair scraping sharply against the stone floor as it lurched backward.
"The matter at hand," he said, voice firm and rising, "is that you have refused to respect the orders of the king."
"You are the queen, yes… but your authority cannot overrule the commands of the king!"
Racheal's eyes did not waver; they held him in place, cold and unyielding, as if daring him to try the same insolence again.
She remained seated, her posture unshaken, though the faintest curl of a smile tugged at her lips.
"Cannot?" she repeated, her voice laced with a cunning snare, "Or rather, will not?"
With that, Brandon cast her one last stern glare, heavy with unspoken grudges, before pivoting sharply on his boots as he made his way toward the door.
Racheal's eyes followed him, her posture as composed as ever.
Her silence spoke louder than any words.
As the door swung shut behind him, a faint hush lingered in the room.
The council members exhaled collectively, some with relief, others with unease.
Racheal leaned slightly on the table, her gaze drifting to the maps and letters spread before her.
Readjusting in her chair, she let out a soft sigh and then spoke.
"Let's proceed."