Chapter 2 Eshara's victory

The dungeon beneath the Palace of Flame was unlike any other in the fifty-seven kingdoms.

Carved deep into the rock beneath the royal city, it was said to be the place where Kael's great-grandfather kept traitors, and spies. No light reached its corridorsand no laughter echoed within it.

Only the sound of chains dragging against stone... and weeping. It was there that they took Queen Seraya.

The guards did not meet her eyes as they dragged her, barefoot, through the winding stairs. Her royal robe caught on broken bricks. Her hair fell loose, sticking to her tear-streaked face. The silk that once made her a goddess now hung from her like a shroud. She didn't scream anymore.

Not after the chamber doors were closed behind her, not after Kael walked away, without turning back, not after the blood of the guard soaked into the floor.

She couldn't scream, her voice was trapped between heartbreak and disbelief. When they chained her ankles to the stone slab, she didn't resist. She stared at the wall-one hand trembling, her mind still trapped in that cursed moment. Why didn't he believe me? Why didn't he look at me and know?

Above, the palace returned to music. PBanquet tables were cleared. Eshara and Lina resumed their roles as sweet, dutiful wives. Eshara offered herself to the king's chambers, "to calm his soul in this trying time." But Kael refused them all.

He locked himself in the war chamber, drinking bitter wine and pacing alone. His sword, still red with blood, leaned against the wall.

He slammed his fist into the marble table. And still... he did not summon her.

Seven days passed.

Seraya slept in broken pieces haunted by dreams of Kael's face, the warmth of his touch, the sound of her name on his lips. Now she heard only rats and footsteps above. Her chains bruised her ankles. Her tears had dried.

Then... one night, she heard a whisper. "Your Majesty... my Queen...

Her eyes snapped open. A soft light flickered beyond the bars. A girl in servant's garb slipped into the dungeon, trembling, holding a small basket of herbs.

The dungeon had no clocks, no sunlight only damp stone and the distant dip of water. Time dissolved into shadows. For Queen Seraya, the days bled into each other, each colder and crueler than the last.

She had not eaten in seven days. Her lips were cracked. Her skin, once glowing with royal oils,

had dulled into a pale shell. Her breath came in shallow whispers. Her head lolled to the side, resting weakly against the cold wall. One wrist hung limp in the iron cuff. She was alive.

Barely. But no longer begging.And then footsteps, Light. Careful. A flicker of candlelight broke through the dark. A shadow moved. A figure slipped through the bars of the chamber.

Mila, The handmaiden pressed herself against the stone wall, clutching a cloth-wrapped bundle close to her chest. Her face was pale, her hands shaking, her breath tight with fear.

She had bribed two guards and lied to a steward to get here.

"Your Majesty..." she whispered, eyes scanning the corner where Seraya lay. "Queen Seraya..."

The figure in the corner did not stir.

Mila crept closer, tears already forming in her eyes. She unwrapped the bundle a small portion of rice, seasoned yams, and warm goat broth, hidden beneath thick herbs.

She reached out gently. "Please... eat. Just a little."Seraya's eyes fluttered open-barely. Her gaze was glassy. Distant.

She tried to lift her hand but it collapsed to her side. Her mouth moved without sound.

Mila's throat broke.

"No, no, no..." she whispered, kneeling beside her queen. She dipped a cloth in the broth and gently touched it to Seraya's lips.

The queen winced at first-but then, her tongue moved. A faint taste. Mila continued, slowly feeding her with trembling fingers, one spoonful at a time. Seraya swallowed weakly, her throat bobbing.

"You're not dying here," Mila whispered. "Not like this. I brought herbs roots from my mother's garden. They'll give you strength again. Please, drink."

She carefully placed a crushed blend of sunleaf and deerroot into Seraya's mouth, helping her sip water after.

Then she held her queen's hand. "I will beg the king," she said firmly. "Even if it costs me my life." Seraya blinked slowly. Her voice was thin as smoke.

"Don't... please you will be in trouble ..."

I would," Mila said, pressing her forehead to Seraya's shoulder. "Because you are the only queen who ever treated me like more than a maid. I can't watch them bury you in chains."

Eshara's chamber.

She stood before her mirror, draped in a deep crimson robe, cut low at the front, flowing like smoke around her hips. Her skin glistened with scented oil. Gold chains traced her collarbone, and black kohl lined her eyes like war paint.

She didn't smile she just studied herself.

Everything about this moment had been planned.

"Tonight," she whispered to her reflection, "he will belong to me... or he will belong to no one."

She stepped into the corridor, barefoot and silent. Her presence melted into the dark like a spell.

Two guards bowed without question as she passed. After all, she was still his wife. And tonight, she cared less about shame.

The king's chamber was dimly lit, his armor still resting on the table, his sword resting against the chair.

He stood by the balcony, shirtless, a goblet in hand, lost in thought.

His back was broad, powerful, shoulders tense.

"Kael..." she breathed softly.

He turned slowly. His eyes, once bright gold, were now dull with conflict. He had not slept.

Not truly. Not since the moment he threw the woman he once adored into chains.

"Eshara," he said, voice low.

She stepped forward, slowly, deliberately, like a cat in a lion's den. "You've been alone here since morning, your highness, dont let such a trival matter disturb you, she is not worth your anger, let me ease your pain, give you warmth my love".

"I don't need warmth," he muttered. "get lost." She came closer. "Kael looked at her, eyes narrowing at the boldness in her voice.

Eshara smiled faintly, lowering her robe just enough to reveal more of her flawless skin. "Because I am your wife. I've waited patiently, silently, longing for you. I only want to hold what the world says is too dangerous."

Her fingers touched his chest. At first, he didn't move.

But then... the grief, the rage, the anger... all swirled inside him like a storm with no escape. Her touch became an anchor. Her scent became intoxicating. Her voice, soft and promising. He pulled her close-roughly, hungrily. Their lips met.

And that night, the fifth wife had her way but his heart? That remained chained in a dungeon far beneath them.