“Queen, you’ve been experiencing that pain since your pregnancy. Shouldn’t you tell the Alpha King about it?” my servant asked, concerned.
I shook my head, keeping my focus on the parchment before me. The letters I needed to send to the human world were crucial. Their accusations had grown louder, blaming our kingdom for their missing persons. Their suspicion fell on Lucas and his regency, convinced his kind couldn’t suppress their primal urges—their hunger for human flesh—just as we, vampires, constantly battled our thirst for blood.
Beyond that, the humans never trusted Lucas—they despised him and preferred to deal with me. But my condition made meeting them impossible, so I relied on these letters to ease the rising tensions—tensions Lucas struggled to contain and had borne for weeks.
“Your birthday is tomorrow. Will the Alpha King celebrate it privately with you?”
“I still don’t know. He’s busy, isn’t he?” I replied with a small smile, though I already knew the answer.
My servant said nothing, merely pushing forward a small bottle of yellow oil—the one I was meant to mix into my drink. By now, it was routine.
“Your tonic, Queen,” she murmured, not quite meeting my eyes.
“We both know it’s not a tonic,” I said softly, though I still reached for it.
She lingered as I wrote another letter, this time addressing an issue Lucas struggled to handle. He had made it clear—I was never to interfere in his leadership. He didn’t rely on me or need my help. So I did it in secret, ensuring my involvement remained hidden. He was a man—an Alpha. Accepting a woman’s help would make him appear weak.
Or so I thought.
“Let’s have a round of applause for Amethyst,” Lucas’s voice rang out, loud and confident.
On the night of my birthday, a feast was held—but not in my honor. The humans had received the letter, strengthening our alliance after I helped locate half of their missing people.
“She made this possible,” Lucas declared. “She truly is our miracle.”
Then he chuckled, guiding her forward—giving her the recognition I had fought so hard for.
Draped in white, her dark hair woven with delicate flowers—flowers I knew well. They came from Lucas’s personal garden, his favorite place. He had never given me flowers. Amethyst, his first love, had everything. I, his wife, got only what was left.
“Queen, the credit is yours, isn’t it?” my right-hand man asked, his voice tight with anger.
He knew the truth—how many sleepless nights I had spent commanding my servants to find the missing.
I smiled, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He had stood by me since we were thirteen, and I knew he hated seeing me like this. But despite Lucas’s cruelty, despite his indifference, my heart still found a way to love him.
He didn’t.
Later that night, as Lucas left the gathering with Amethyst by his side, I called out, “Lucas…”
They both turned to face me. The celebration was over, and all I wanted was a moment—just a sliver of acknowledgment. Maybe even a greeting.
But I should have known better.
“Go to your chambers, Selene. I’m staying with Amethyst. We have something important to discuss,” he said dismissively, his tone void of any warmth.
With a flick of his hand, he dismissed me—like I was nothing. Like I wasn’t his wife.
Amethyst smirked, rolling her eyes as if I were pathetic. Triumph was etched across her face as she followed him.
Pain struck deep, sharp and suffocating. My vision blurred with unshed tears, but I stood frozen, foolishly hoping he would turn back. That he’d realize his mistake. That he’d at least remember my birthday.
But he didn’t.
Instead, his right-hand man approached, holding a goblet of thick, crimson blood.
“The King requests that you rest, my Queen. He instructed you to drink this. It will help you sleep peacefully.”
My fingers trembled as I took the cup. It nearly slipped from my grasp. I did not drink it. Not yet. Not when something inside me felt… wrong.
I made my way to Lucas’s office. The door was slightly ajar. He wasn’t inside. But beyond the grand bookshelf, the hidden passage to his private chamber was left open.
And when I looked inside—I saw them.
Lucas sat upon his throne. Amethyst was astride him, bare-skinned and writhing. Their bodies moved in perfect sync.
She moaned his name, nails digging into his flesh. He groaned in return, gripping her hips with the same possessiveness I had once longed for. The sounds of their pleasure echoed through the dimly lit room, slicing through the air like a cruel symphony.
The betrayal crashed into me, stealing the breath from my lungs. My body convulsed. My lips cracked, my chest tightened, and I felt the warmth of blood trickling from my nose. I could withstand this—I had withstood so much already. But not now. Not when I carried our child.
Tears blurred my vision. My heart screamed inside my chest. I looked down at the goblet still in my hands. Without hesitation, I raised it to my lips and swallowed it.
The blood was not a tonic.
It never had been. It was a potion. A carefully crafted remedy designed to suppress the effects of my husband’s infidelity. To numb the agony of my breaking soul. To silence the pain inside me as he stoked the flames of his passion with another woman.
