Daphne sat gracefully on a wicker chair adorned with gold carvings, an old book open on her lap. Her slender fingers turned the pages with care, her lips silently forming each word. The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, dancing across the polished wooden floor.

But the peace shattered in an instant.

Click.

The door to her room opened without a knock.

Daphne turned, and the blood in her veins ran cold.

A woman stood at the doorway, her long blood-red hair flowing behind her like a cloak of flame. Her eyes were a deep crimson, her expression empty yet sharp, as if a blade lay hidden behind her gentle smile.

Ashtoria Iskandrite.

The Queen.

That terrifying woman.

Memories of that night flashed in her mind, the night when she was supposed to share her first moment of intimacy with Ethan, only for this woman to pound on their door and ruin everything. Combined with all the dark rumors surrounding her, it was enough to send fear crawling up Daphne’s spine.

“Y-Your Majesty…!” Daphne rose at once, bowing in a panic. The book slipped from her lap and fell to the floor with a soft thump.

“Forgive me… p-please come in! Please, have a seat…!” she said quickly, moving the cushions aside and pulling out a chair for her guest with trembling hands.

Ashtoria stepped inside slowly, silent, without a single word. Her steps were so light they made no sound, yet each movement made Daphne hold her breath.

She sat with elegant composure, taking a moment to look around the room before fixing her gaze on Daphne.

Daphne’s body felt frozen. She had no idea what was happening. Had she offended the queen somehow? Was there a rumor spreading about her?

“Is… is there something I can help you with, Your Majesty…?” she asked softly, struggling to keep her voice steady.

Ashtoria did not answer right away.

She simply studied Daphne, as if examining her, or perhaps comparing.

Then, with a soft, flat tone, she finally spoke.

“I heard that you managed to make a man who rarely falls in love… surrender to you.”

Daphne blinked. “W-What do you mean, Your Majesty…?”

“Young Lord Rathsture,” Ashtoria continued. “They say you pursued him first. Even after being rejected, you persisted. And in the end… he fell in love with you.”

Daphne swallowed. She was beginning to understand where this was going, and that only made her more nervous.

“Y-Yes… that’s true, Your Majesty, but it was just… luck and—”

“I want to know,” Ashtoria interrupted, quiet yet firm. “How you did it.”

Daphne went silent, her eyes widening.

“Tell me,” Ashtoria leaned slightly forward, her face now very close, “how you made a man fall so deeply in love that he couldn’t live without you. Answer me honestly.”

The room seemed to close in.

Daphne stayed frozen, her hands gripping the fabric of her long dress tightly. Her heart hammered violently in her chest. She truly didn’t understand. Why would the queen—Ashtoria Iskandrite, the woman who once dragged her away on her own wedding day—ask something like this?

It was far too personal.

She wanted to believe she misheard.

But that hope shattered when the queen’s voice returned, colder, sharper.

“Answer me.”

The air in the room felt tight. Even the walls seemed to hold their breath.

Daphne knew she couldn’t speak carelessly. One wrong word could mean death. With a trembling voice, she finally spoke.

“I… I seduced him.”

She bowed her head deeply, wanting to hide from the burning embarrassment.

But before the queen could misunderstand her intentions, Daphne added quickly, her voice barely above a whisper:

“But I’m not a shameless woman, Your Majesty! I did it because I loved him. I knew who he was. And I only ever did something like that with Ethan, my husband.”

Her eyes glistened. For a noblewoman from a conservative kingdom, saying such things was already humiliating. Yet now she was forced to confess it before the queen—the one person who could end her life whenever she wished.

Ashtoria’s flaming gaze froze her in place. The queen’s brow lifted slightly, not in surprise, but as a silent signal for her to continue.

Daphne swallowed hard. Her throat felt dry. She forced herself to continue.

“Ethan… is a reserved man, difficult to approach. Sweet words or gentle affection wouldn’t break the walls around his heart. So… I tried something else. I… used my body.”

Her voice was barely audible, each word feeling like a thorn piercing her dignity.

Her face grew hot with shame. She bowed her head lower, praying the queen would not torment her further.

But her hope evaporated when Ashtoria spoke again. This time, flatter. Heavier.

“What do you mean… you used your body?”

Daphne flinched. She closed her eyes as if seeking strength. There was no escape. She had to answer. Truthfully. Barely.

“I slept with him,” she whispered, like a sinner delivering confession.

Ashtoria remained still. But her eyes did not.

Something flickered behind that crimson gaze—curiosity, jealousy, and something deeper… darker.

Sleep together?

She and Riven also slept beside each other every night. Held each other. Shared the same warmth. But… was it the same? Daphne’s deepening blush said otherwise.

There was something more.

“Tell me.” “What did you do… when you slept together?”

The question was cold, but clear. And it felt like a blade slowly pressing into Daphne’s chest.

She stared, stunned. “W-What…?”

Ashtoria didn’t repeat herself. She simply stared. Deeply. Pressuring.

Daphne’s breath trembled. She began to suspect, maybe the queen was doing this on purpose. To humiliate her. To punish her. To reopen old wounds. Was this revenge?

She shook. But she knew. She could not refuse. With a strained, cracking voice, she answered.

“I held him… and then… kissed his lips… and then…” She stopped, lowering her gaze. Her voice shook. “I took off his shirt… and kissed him. His neck, his chest… all the way down. Then… he kissed me back. We kissed each other’s bodies and… and… You understand, Your Majesty!”

The last words burst out in panic. Daphne covered her face with both hands, her cheeks blazing.

Ashtoria did not speak.

But her mind was moving quickly.

She remembered how Riven had kissed her neck. Her ears. Even near her scar. And in those moments she felt something… strange. Not pain. But something like her body melting under his touch.

Yet… they had never taken off their clothes.

They had never gone that far.

Ashtoria’s fingers tightened slightly around the armrest.

So that’s what was missing.

She understood now.

Embraces and kisses were not the end.

There was something more. Something deeper. More intimate. Something that could make Riven not only stay with her, but belong to her completely.

Her eyes narrowed.

“I see…” she murmured, almost to herself.

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