Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 469. Wounded Pride II
He grabbed her wrist. Not harsh. But firm. She didn't pull away.
"You want to use him like you tried to use me."
"No," she said. "I did use you. That chapter's closed. But you also used me."
His grip tightened. She didn't wince. Just leaned in, lips near his ear.
"And you let me," she whispered.
He shoved her back. She stumbled a step, then caught herself, laughing softly. "Temper temper, Your Majesty."
"I gave you power," he hissed. "Status. Title. I brought you up from—"
"From a witch to a queen," she finished. "Yes, I remember the fairytale."
Her voice turned razor-sharp. "But don't forget why you kept me."
He didn't answer.
"You kept me," she said, stepping forward again, "because I knew how to keep you in power. How to handle court politics. How to smile for the nobles when you didn't feel like being gracious. How to whisper in ears you'd rather cut off."
"You were useful," he said coldly.
"And now?" she asked.
He hesitated.
She smiled again. It wasn't sweet. "Now you're worried I'll whisper in his ears instead."
He turned his back on her.
That was all the answer she needed.
She walked to the window. Pulled the curtain aside just enough to look out. The night sky above Pontus was navy-dark, laced with pale starlight and the long streak of a comet fading somewhere near the horizon. The castle roofs glinted with frost. The Euphorion banners still hung over the guest wing.
And somewhere behind those walls… the dark king slept.
Or didn't.
She exhaled through her nose, slow. There was a tension in her chest she couldn't name. Not desire. Not fear. Curiosity, maybe. Angelus Raizel Moonfall… the King of Euphorion. He wasn't like Darius. Didn't bark. Didn't grasp.
He waited. He watched. He saw things.
And that was dangerous.
Behind her, Darius poured another glass. The sound was slow, precise, like he was trying not to spill what was left of his dignity with it.
"You know why we can't touch Jane now," he muttered.
Seraphine didn't turn around. "Because she's next to him."
Darius swore under his breath. The wine this time was rougher. Less flavor, more heat. "I should've demanded different quarters."
"You didn't think he'd matter this much."
"Neither did you."
Her lips twitched. "True."
He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. "She's too close to him. You think she'll tell him what we tried?"
"She's not stupid," Seraphine said. "She won't risk her own head and came here."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure she still wants to live."
Silence again.
Seraphine let the curtain fall back into place and turned. The room was dim now, lit only by the low fire in the hearth. It flickered against the stones, casting strange shadows across the walls. The air smelled of burnt wood, wine, and barely masked tension.
She walked over to the bed.
Darius was already pulling off his outer coat, the fabric crumpling beside him in a heap of royal arrogance.
She sat beside him. Not close. Just enough.
"You know he's not just some soldier king," she said softly.
"I know."
"He doesn't posture. He doesn't shout. He listens."
"I noticed."
She looked at him. "And that makes him harder to move."
Darius looked back. For a moment, he didn't speak.
Then… quietly, he repeated, "You want him as a puppet."
"Yes."
"And if he doesn't bend?"
She tilted her head. "Then we find someone he will bend for."
His eyes narrowed. "Rose."
Seraphine smiled. "She's already on our soil. Why not?"
"She's loyal to him."
Seraphine's voice went low. "Everyone's loyalty has a price."
The fire cracked.
Neither spoke for a moment.
Then Darius muttered, "And if she bends him… and not for us?"
Seraphine's lips parted slightly. "Then we find a new plan."
He scoffed, leaned back on the bed, and stared at the ceiling. "You never run out of schemes."
"You never run out of enemies."
Another pause. Then, strangely soft, "Do you regret it?"
She looked at him. "What?"
"Us."
The fire hissed. The walls didn't breathe.
Seraphine didn't answer right away.
Finally, she reached for his half-finished wine glass. Took a sip. Let the bitter flavor sit on her tongue. Then swallowed.
"I regret that you stopped being interesting," she said.
Then she stood.
Walked toward the vanity again. Untied her hair.
Darius watched her from the bed. Eyes dark. Thoughts unreadable.
He didn't speak again.
Neither did she.
The room felt colder than before. Not because of the fire dying.
But because of what didn't need to be said anymore.
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