The morning sun rose soft over Hira's green valleys, painting the palace walls in golden light as Queen Shala's army rode through the grand gates. Cheers echoed from the people lining the streets—word of the victory over Jingis had spread fast. Flowers rained down, children waved, guards saluted sharp. Shala rode at the front, armor dusty from the road, face tired but proud. Her men followed close, horses stamping, weapons sheathed but ready.
But something felt off the moment they entered the courtyard. King's personal guards—men in crimson capes, loyal only to Harlan—were carrying heavy bags and chests out of the royal wing. Shala's things: her crowns, robes, jewelry boxes, personal scrolls.
She pulled her horse to a stop, voice sharp. "What's the meaning of this? Stop right there!"
The guards froze, bags in hand, faces tight. One older captain stepped forward, bowing stiff. "Your Majesty's things, by the king's order."
Shala's eyes narrowed, anger rising quick. "By whose authority do you touch the queen's belongings? Put them back. Now."
They hesitated but didn't move, relentless under orders. "The king's word, Your Majesty. We must obey."
Behind her, the army shifted—Hira generals and warriors from the battle, Magda allies mixed in. Swords whispered from sheaths, bows half-drawn. The lead Hira general, a tall man with scars from the Jingis fight, rode forward. "On your order, Your Majesty," he said loud and clear, "we will kill these insolent men. Anyone who tries to take your position. We will even overthrow this kingdom if needed."
Silence fell heavy. The king's guards paled, seeing the power she held—thousands of battle-hardened men ready to draw blood for her in a heartbeat. Hands trembled on hilts, but they regained composure, standing ground loyal to Harlan.
Shala raised a hand calm. "That won't be necessary." Her voice steady, though guilt gnawed inside from the night before—with Ban, secret and burning. She'd seen enough blood this week, bodies piled in snow. "The king is still my husband. Above me. I swore an oath to be led by him."
She dismounted graceful, walking past the guards into the palace. Couldn't shake the guilt—cheating, wrong time wrong man. Head high, but heart heavy.
In the throne room, the new "queen"—young village girl in royal silks—inspected everything like it was hers. Touching the throne arm, admiring murals. Shala walked past, giving her a mocking look cold and quick. Wanted to rip those clothes off her back—her own queenly robes on this stranger? But held together, no drama now.
Straight to the bedroom. Door slammed open.
King Harlan sat on the bed, looking better but still pale. The new wife hovered nearby, but Shala ignored her.
"A new wife, dear?" Shala said voice low seething with rage. "Seriously? We could talk this out."
Molik stood invisible behind Harlan, spell weaving stubbornness. At first, the king had been scared—fearing she'd died in battle, longing for her safe return. But now words came nonchalant, cold. "You broke the rules, Shala. Led an army against my word. Betraying the king is treason. You should be lucky I didn't have your head cut off the moment you stepped inside this palace."
She wasn't the woman to argue with her husband. Pride swallowed, she took off her crown slow, then robe, remaining in battle armor only. Knelt on the ground before him, head bowed. "Forgive me, my lord. I was sad from the loss I saw in Magda… sought to help. Please."
He stood looking down, face hard. Slapped her hard—echo loud through the palace, her cheek turning red instant. She held ground, didn't flinch, continued begging soft.
Outside, the slap carried. Guards and armies drew weapons furious—swords out, bows strung, ready to slay the king for laying hand on their queen.
But the main guard captain raised voice. "Stand down! Interfering in a marriage like that is a losing battle. Focus on other issues."
At that moment, Molik's spell faltered—something blocking it strong. Maybe distance, maybe heavenly watch. The king softened, eyes changing.
Shala begged longer, kneeling face down now. "Never again, my king. I promise not to disobey your words."
He knelt down gentle, held her up. "Never disobey me again."
She looked up, saw his eyes soften, tear up. He made her stand, hugged her tight, kissing the bruised cheek soft. "I'm sorry, love. Don't know what came over me." Voice breaking. "With your word, the new queen can be done away with."
She shook head in his embrace. "No. It's your right to be angry… my right to receive punishment." Tone strict now, spiking something in him—desire flashing eyes. "The new queen can stay. But promise—she has her own room. Not your bed. No political power, no attending meetings in your place. Just ceremonial."
He nodded listening.
"She has queen status and treatment, but cannot make laws. Can sire children for you… but they won't be direct heirs. Royalty, but nobility status only."
All said strict in his arms, bodies close. He felt the power shift, drove him crazy heat rising.
"It is done," he whispered, memory sharp—he'd remember every rule.
She smiled small, hugged tighter until he added weak "Still unwell… loosen the hug a bit."
She did gentle, holding him close. Peace fragile, but hers again—for now.