After Riven agreed with Ashtoria, they walked toward a magnificent building in the heart of the city. It was not a palace but a noble residence, the home of the Rathsture family, which had recently become the focus of the entire city after a grand, lively wedding celebration.

They slipped in through the small back gate and were met with the sight of an enormous manor. Entering through a quiet wing, Riven and Melly slowed their steps, halting at the doorway.

High ceilings gilded with gold carvings, a crimson carpet so thick it swallowed footsteps, and old paintings hanging on the stone walls made them feel as if they had stepped into another world. A crystal chandelier scattered candlelight into tiny rainbows that danced across the ceiling.

Melly swallowed hard and whispered to her brother, “Brother… this is someone’s house, right?”

Riven gave a small nod, his eyes scanning the interior that was far too luxurious to feel comfortable. He was unsure whether to admire it or feel out of place.

Meanwhile, Ashtoria walked ahead without hesitation, her pace brisk and light, like a winter wind that knew exactly where it was going.

No servants or guards dared to stop her. The house itself was silent, as if all its inhabitants knew to vanish when the queen passed by.

She paused only when an elderly servant appeared at the end of the hall, bowing with trembling hands.

“Lord Rathsture?” Ashtoria asked curtly.

“Y-Your Majesty… he is at the city office at present. Urgent matters required his attention…”

“Then who is here in this residence now?”

“The young lord Rathsture is in his chambers with his wife,” the servant replied without daring to meet her eyes, pointing toward the room.

Ashtoria nodded once and continued forward. She stopped at a carved wooden door, eyes narrowing.

Riven watched her back.

With a motion that was both sharp and graceful, Ashtoria turned the handle and pushed the door open.

Candlelight spilled out into the corridor, washing everything in a golden glow.

.

.

.

A short while earlier.

After a long day of ceremonies—welcoming noble guests from distant lands, dancing to endless music, exchanging polite words drilled into memory since childhood—Ethan Rathsture finally felt the weight lift from his shoulders.

He sat at the edge of the massive bed, draped in pale cream sheets, surrounded by sheer curtains that swayed gently with the breeze from a half-open window. Aromatic candles flickered softly in the corners, their golden light soothing the atmosphere.

Ethan drew his wife into his arms. Daphne stiffened at first, letting out a small startled sound, but her innocent reaction only made Ethan chuckle, low and warm.

He leaned back with her until they lay face to face. His hand moved slowly, locking them in place on a bed that suddenly felt too small for the intimacy pressing in around them.

They gazed at each other. Long. Silent, but full of meaning.

Daphne’s cheeks flushed as she closed her eyes and leaned forward, lips pursed shyly but with resolve.

Ethan froze, his heart pounding as disbelief swept through him. Was this moment truly happening? He leaned closer, his lips hovering only inches away. Their breaths mingled, warm and nervous, sweet with anticipation.

And just as the final distance was about to vanish—

Click.

The door creaked open. No knock, no warning.

The groan of old hinges rang like thunder cracking the night sky.

Both turned instantly, still locked in their intimate pose. Their expressions shifted at once—shock, irritation, embarrassment.

But their anger turned to ice the moment they saw who stood at the threshold.

A woman stepped inside. Her crimson hair glowed like embers in the candlelight. Her face was calm, cold, unreadable. She wore a dark cloak, its fabric flowing with quiet elegance yet carrying a menace that had no name. Her steps were light, but each one seemed to bend the air with weight.

She stared at them without the slightest hint of shame. As though she was not intruding upon the most sacred moment of another couple’s wedding night.

Ashtoria Iskandrite.

The Mad Queen.

The blood drained from their faces at the realization.

Daphne froze like stone. Ethan, who had been carefree seconds ago, sat rigid, his face pale.

With a choked voice, both spoke almost at once:

“Y-Your Majesty…”

Behind Ashtoria stood Riven and Melly, equally stunned. Melly quickly covered her face with both hands, muttering, “Oh no, I didn’t see anything…”

Ashtoria advanced with elegance, though coldness trailed in her wake. She did not stop until she reached the side of the bed, fixing Ethan and Daphne with an unblinking stare.

“Prepare chambers for the three of us.”

The young couple scrambled off the bed, hastily straightening their clothes. Awkward and anxious, they approached the queen where she stood.

Ethan stepped forward and bowed. His eyes flicked toward the strangers at Ashtoria’s back, a shabby young man and a weary-looking girl.

“Your Majesty,” he said with measured voice, “forgive us for not welcoming you properly. Today has been overwhelming with the wedding and its countless demands.”

Ashtoria said nothing, only looked.

He continued carefully, “So you require three rooms? Are the other two for… them?” His tone remained polite, though hesitation laced the words.

Ashtoria gave a curt nod.

Daphne, standing beside her husband, glanced discreetly at the two mysterious guests. Her eyes were filled with unspoken questions.

“If I may ask,” Ethan pressed on, cautious, “who are they, Your Majesty?”

Ashtoria paused, weighing her answer. Then with calm finality, she said:

“My saviors.”

Ethan and Daphne exchanged a swift glance. Their eyes swept over the young man and the girl once more. Aside from the sword in his hand, nothing about them suggested greatness. Their stance, their ragged clothes, their tired eyes—everything screamed of common birth. Not Lawbearers, much less saviors of a Sovereign, a level of power reserved for only a rare few across the continent.

But both of them knew one truth: the queen never spoke idly. If Ashtoria Iskandrite declared someone her savior, then no matter how absurd it seemed, it was truth beyond dispute.

Ethan swallowed his doubts and bowed slightly. “Very well. I shall order the servants to prepare three chambers. It may take a little time, since most are still occupied with today’s wedding arrangements.” His voice lingered on the words “wedding,” bitterness creeping in though he dared not show it too openly.

He added politely, “Is there anything else Your Majesty requires?”

Ashtoria turned her head slightly, her face as cold and unmoved as carved stone.

“Hot water and dinner,” she said simply.

Ethan nodded. Before he could summon the servants, a calm voice cut through the silence.

“Ashtoria,” Riven said softly.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep