CHAPTER 232: QUEEN

Chapter 232

Daphne

Seriously. I’m exhausted. Irritated. Bone-deep drained.

Two straight weeks of meetings—sitting amongst wrinkled old men who reek of incense and politics—arguing over budgets, revised laws, infrastructure, trade developments. Every noble trying to protect their little slice of power while pretending it’s "for the good of the kingdom."

At one point I almost regretted taking this damned position. Almost.

By the time the day ends, I can barely think. I drag myself to my assigned quarters within the royal palace.

The chamber is the same one every Nyxclaw duke or duchess has occupied when summoned here. Minimalist by palace standards—muted silvers and deep stone gray, accented with velvet drapes. Far less gaudy than the rest of this place where every hallway screams gold-plated opulence.

I prefer it this way. Luxurious, yes, but not obnoxious.

I close the door behind me, peel off my clothes, and sink straight into the wide marble tub steaming with hot water, prepared by the staff. One good thing about the palace is that the staff here, is top tier.

The sigh that leaves my lips feels like it could empty my chest. My tail swishes lazily against the tub’s edge. My thoughts drift, inevitably, to her—my sweet little bunny. Gods, I can almost smell her fur, feel her warmth in my lap. I’ll see her soon. Just hold out until tomorrow.

That’s when my ear twitches.

Someone’s in my room.

The bathroom door creaks open. Footsteps. A presence.

I don’t move. Not yet.

Then a hand brushes my shoulder.

I strike. My hand shoots up, wrapping around a throat, squeezing tight. The intruder collapses to their knees beside the tub, gasping as I drag them closer by the neck.

I open my eyes.

A blonde woman stares back at me, choking, nails clawing weakly at my grip. Ears like mine. A tail, sleek and spotted—though faintly, almost invisibly so.

I release her. She collapses to the floor, coughing violently.

"Well," I murmur, resting my elbow on the marble rim, "what do we have here?"

Her face lifts, sharp and beautiful. Also extremely farmiliar.

Jessica.

What are the bloody odds?

"Trying to kill me? I don’t know who you are, I don’t think you have any reason to," I say, elbow propped against the marble edge of the tub.

Her body shudders as the last cough rattles out of her throat, but when she lifts her head, her glare is sharp.

"No reason to?" her voice is raspy, cracked. "You killed my fiancé."

I raise a brow. "Fiancé?"

"Your older brother," she spits, defiant even as her throat bears the red imprint of my claws.

Ah. Right. I did, didn’t I?

"So," I murmur, voice silken, "you’re here to avenge him?"

"Of course not." She rises unsteadily, tugging the knot of her robe loose. The silk slides down her shoulders and pools at her feet, leaving her standing in the steam—unashamed, perfect in every sculpted line.

Once, another life, I might have been tempted. Now? My attentions are reserved for my beloved.

"I’m here to seduce you," she says, stepping toward the tub.

My tail flicks, ears angling forward. "Another step, and I’ll actually snap your neck this time."

She freezes. The anger in her eyes burns hotter than the water I sit in, but still—she doesn’t reach for her robe.

I sigh, rising from the bath, water streaming down my skin. Her eyes widen, but I ignore her and wrap myself in a robe. "Dress up," I order flatly, striding from the bathroom without sparing her another glance.

When I return, towel working briskly through my hair, she’s perched on the velvet seat, legs crossed, robe tied once more. Her composure is back in place, though the flush on her cheeks betrays her.

"Why?" I ask simply. "Why seduction?"

Her smile curves sharp, practiced. "I’ve heard about you... and the Longear. Since my fiancé is dead, I thought I’d try my luck."

Shameless. Bold. Jessica all over again. Her soul shines through those faint leopard ears and her spotless tail.

"Unfortunately," I say, lips curling, "I only have eyes for my bunny."

Her smile flickers, then fades. She exhales softly. "So what now? Will you kill me?"

I study her in silence.

She’s from the Veyren family—counts, leopard shifters. Their history is laughable if it weren’t so tragic. Centuries ago, one of my ancestors—some pompous panther duke—spurned his betrothed because of the spots on her pelt. Spots. That was all. He sent her back humiliated, muttering about blemishes, about imperfections, a bullshit excuse really because what’s a leopard without it’s spots?

But the Veyrens are just that Leopards without spots. Through trial and error, marriage contracts and gods-knows-what sort of "breeding programs," they erased the trait from their bloodline.

Dear Jessica here is proof of that.

My lips curl. People in this world really are insane.

"Of course I’m not going to kill you," I say at last, tying the sash of my robe loosely around my waist. My smile curves sharp as a blade. "Almost sister-in-law."

Her jaw tightens, but her chin lifts, as if the title means something.

I take a step closer, watching her shoulders stiffen, her hands knot in her robe. My tail flicks lazily behind me as I lean down, letting the weight of my shadow swallow her where she sits.

"What do you think..." I murmur, grin widening until my fangs flash, "...about becoming queen?"

"Queen?" she repeats, her voice a whisper, like she’s still testing the weight of the word on her tongue.

Exactly as I thought.

If she really is like Jessica in soul as well as face, she won’t resist when the prize is dangled before her nose.

"Yes, my dear," I purr, twirling a lock of her golden hair between my claws.

"Queen."

The repetition drips like honey, deliberate. A temptation and a trap, both at once.

Her eyes flicker. Not defiance, not outrage—hesitation. Calculation. The little glimmer of greed she tries to hide.

I lean closer, my voice soft, coaxing, the way a predator hums before the bite. "Just think about it. You would be the first Veyren to rise above the ceiling your ancestors built. Not merely a duchess in my line, but royalty in your own right."

I circle around her chair, brushing the tips of my claws across the wood, slow, deliberate. "Picture it. You. Crowned. Elevated above every spotless little cousin and aunt they parade at court. Queen. The only seat higher than a duchess. Yours."

She swallows, her breath quickening.

I smile wider, satisfied. Sweet words are the easiest chains to bind with.

"What do I need to do?"