Chapter : 953
From the secluded vantage point of an upper gallery, a space of cool shadows and quiet observation that overlooked the main corridor, Duchess Milody Ferrum watched the magnificent, raw, and utterly beautiful drama unfold. Her posture was one of serene, regal grace, her hands resting lightly on the carved stone balustrade. A slow, deeply, and profoundly satisfied smile graced her lips. This was not the chaotic, embarrassing scene that a lesser woman might have perceived. This was a culling. A necessary, glorious, and long-overdue test of her son’s heart.
She observed Faria Kruts, a living inferno of passion, her every word a testament to a fierce, loyal, and wounded heart. She saw the way Faria’s love for Lloyd was not a simpering, courtly affection, but a challenging, demanding force. She saw a woman who would not be a passive consort, but an active, vibrant partner. A woman who would fight for him, who would challenge him, who would keep the fire in his soul from being extinguished by the cold, hard calculus of his own mind. That, Milody thought, her heart swelling with a fierce, matriarchal approval, is the fire a man like my son needs to keep him warm in the long, cold winter of his reign.
Her thoughts then turned, with the swift, cold precision of a striking viper, to her daughter-in-law.
The Siddik alliance, she mused, had been a masterpiece of pragmatic, political engineering. It had been the perfect move for the boy Lloyd was—a quiet, unassuming, and politically vulnerable heir. Rosa Siddik, with her immense power, her family’s influence, and her cold, unbreachable composure, had been the perfect shield, a fortress of ice that had protected him during his years of weakness.
But her son was no longer that boy. He was a man. No, not a man. He was a force of nature. A terrifying, brilliant, world-altering entity whose power was growing at a volcanic rate. He was a ship of state, a magnificent vessel forged in fire and shadow, destined to sail into the heart of a global storm. And for that ship, Rosa Siddik was no longer a shield. She was an anchor. An anchor of ice, threatening to drag his magnificent destiny to the bottom of a cold, sterile, and forgotten sea.
The final, irrefutable proof had come in the days following Lloyd’s catastrophic collapse. The news had been sent to the Siddik estate via an urgent, high-priority courier. It had been a test, a deliberate move on Milody’s part to gauge the true temperature of their alliance. The response had been a profound, absolute, and deeply insulting silence.
No message of concern had been returned. No offer of aid from their famed healers. No personal visit from her father, the Viscount. Nothing. In a moment of profound crisis, in a moment where a true ally would have rushed to their side, the House of Siddik had chosen to retreat into their fortress of cold, pragmatic calculation. They had seen a potential weakness, a liability, and had chosen to observe from a safe distance rather than risk entanglement. They had failed the most fundamental, most sacred test of allegiance.
In that moment of profound silence from the south, Milody’s grand, long-term plan, which had once been a nebulous, hazy dream, had crystallized into a thing of sharp, cold, and ruthless certainty. Her son’s future court, the dynasty she was now meticulously building in her mind, had no room for a queen of winter.
She envisioned a new power structure, a new kind of royal family forged not from sterile contracts, but from true, powerful, and synergistic partnerships. She saw a future where her son was flanked by two magnificent queens, each providing a different, vital pillar of support. On his one hand, the brilliant, politically astute, and powerful Princess Amina of Zakaria—a partner of the mind, a fellow sovereign who could help him navigate the treacherous waters of international politics. An Empress for his Empire.
And on his other hand, this girl. This beautiful, fiery, and fiercely loyal artist. Lady Faria Kruts. A partner of the heart. A queen for his soul, a woman who would fuel his passion, champion his art, and defend his legacy with the ferocity of a lioness.
They were the future. They were the fire and the mind that would forge a new age.
Rosa Siddik was a relic of the past. A beautifully crafted, but ultimately cold and lifeless, contract that had outlived its usefulness. A contract that now needed to be… dissolved.
Chapter : 954
The path would be long. It would be dangerous. It would require a level of political and social manipulation that would make the Great Game of kings look like a child’s pastime. Annulments of such high-level political marriages were almost unheard of, and the fallout could be catastrophic. But the decision was made. The pieces were on the board, and the Matriarch of House Ferrum was ready to play.
“A beautiful, passionate child,” a new voice, quiet and melodic, murmured from the shadows behind her. “She will be a fine addition. Her fire will balance the princess’s ambition.”
Milody did not turn. She did not need to. She had been aware of the other woman’s presence all along. “She will,” Milody agreed, her gaze still fixed on the drama below. “But the winter is long, and the ice is deep. Breaking it will require a delicate touch.”
“Ice can be shattered, my lady,” the voice replied, a hint of ancient, chilling amusement in its tone. “Or it can simply be allowed to melt away when a brighter sun rises.”
Milody’s smile widened. “Indeed,” she whispered. The reign of the Ice Queen, she thought with a final, chilling certainty, was coming to a beautiful, glorious, and absolute end.
The conversation below had reached its fragile, uncertain conclusion. Lloyd’s raw, clumsy confession had seemingly disarmed Faria, her fiery rage giving way to a stunned, confused silence. He had offered her the truth, a currency she had not expected, and she was now left to weigh its value. Milody watched, her mind a cold engine of calculation, analyzing the shifting emotional dynamics, predicting the possible outcomes.
The optimal result, she knew, was not a tearful reconciliation in the corridor. That would be too simple, too messy. The optimal result was for the seed of his confession to be planted, for Faria to retreat with this new, complex understanding of him, allowing her anger to cool and her admiration to re-forge itself into something stronger, something more patient.
"He is learning," the voice behind her murmured, its tone one of quiet, academic approval. "He is beginning to understand that honesty, when deployed strategically, can be the most potent weapon in his arsenal. He has disarmed her not with a lie, but with a confession of his own weakness. A masterful, if unintentional, maneuver."
"He is my son," Milody replied simply, the words carrying a universe of pride. "He has the heart of a poet and the mind of a butcher. The combination is… formidable."
She leaned slightly against the balustrade, a picture of serene, maternal contemplation. But her mind was already moving, plotting the next several moves in her grand, dangerous game. The Faria variable was now in a state of flux, a positive development. The Amina variable was an unmitigated triumph, a gift from the gods of political chaos. The final, most difficult variable remained: Rosa.
Dissolving the marriage contract would be a Herculean task. The Siddik family, for all their recent political failings, were still a powerful and proud house. A direct annulment would be seen as a profound insult, a declaration of a feud that could destabilize the entire southern border of the kingdom. It could not be done with force. It had to be done with a subtle, insidious grace. Rosa herself had to be the one to initiate the separation, or at least be seen as the party at fault.
A new, cold, and beautifully cruel idea began to form in Milody’s mind. A plan that would use Rosa’s own greatest strengths—her pride, her composure, her unbreachable emotional fortress—as the very weapons of her undoing.
"The girl is defined by her devotion to her mother," Milody mused aloud, her voice a soft, contemplative whisper.
"A noble, if strategically crippling, sentiment," the voice from the shadows agreed.
"Indeed," Milody said. "And what happens to a fortress when its very foundation is threatened? When the one thing it was built to protect is in danger?" She turned away from the balcony, her back now to the corridor, her gaze fixed on the unseen horizon of her own ambition. "My son is a healer of impossible renown. The whispers from Zakaria have already reached our court. He has promised to see the Siddik matriarch."
"A noble gesture," the voice said, though the tone implied it was anything but.
"It is a catalyst," Milody corrected, a slow, predatory smile touching her lips. "He will go south. He will perform his miracle. And he will, of course, fail."
The statement hung in the air, a chilling, absolute certainty.
"You believe he cannot cure her?" the voice asked, a flicker of genuine surprise in its tone.