CHAPTER 547: INTO THE LION’S DEN 2

Two soldiers stepped forward, snapping chains on her hand. Lara didn’t make a sound. When one of the guards tried to drag her, she jerked her wrist free.

"I can walk," she said flatly.

Mara’s smile returned—small, poisonous. "Good. You’ll need that pride where you’re going."

As Lara was led out, Mara called after her, voice echoing through the stone corridor. "Enjoy the banquet, Cousin. It will be... your last supper as a free woman. Even if Alaric could save you, let’s see how he will despise you afterward."

...

In the bathing chamber, steam curled through the air, thick with the scent of lavender oils and rose petals. The opulence of the chamber was almost mocking—gold basins, polished marble floors, silken towels embroidered with the Zuran imperial crest.

Lara stood motionless as attendants stripped away her torn garments. The water was hot, burning her skin, but she didn’t flinch. The women whispered among themselves, glancing at her with a mix of pity and awe.

"Is it true?" one murmured. "That she was chosen by the king himself?"

"Chosen?" another replied softly. "Or taken?"

Lara closed her eyes. While the maids babbled, she drew a mental map of the hallways they had passed through and every possible exits she could take.

The hot bath soothed her aching body and removed the grime in her body. She was actually thankful for that bath.

When they finished, she stood clean and refreshed. Her skin gleamed faintly from perfumed oils. The attendants dressed her in a revealing gown of deep crimson silk.

"She’s ready," the head attendant whispered to the guard waiting at the door.

From the small chamber, she was led through a different corridor that led to the banquet hall.

The vast chamber glittered with gold and candlelight. Nobles filled the space like a field of peacocks, whispering and laughing behind jeweled goblets. At the far end, beneath a canopy of silk, sat King Roman. He wore a cunning smirk on his face, and he was even older than her father.

Lara was led in slowly. The chatter faltered, then died completely.

She felt their eyes on her—their envy, their judgment, their hunger. A beautiful young woman sat to the King’s left, her woman in her cell earlier.

When Lara reached the dais, she was forced to sink to one knee, as custom demanded.

Miranda’s voice cut through the silence, honeyed yet sharp:

"Your Majesty," she said sweetly, "our guest is present. She was most eager to make an impression."

The king’s gaze swept over Lara. His eyes glinted with lust as his gaze lingered on the low neckline of her dress, a red ruby nestled in between her cleavage.. Then, finally, he smiled.

"So this is the woman who turned the so-called Alaric’s heart," he said, voice deep and resonant. "What a captivating beauty."

The words rippled through the room like poison.

Lara raised her head, meeting his gaze without fear. "If that is my crime, Your Majesty," she said softly, "then I am guilty."

A murmur spread through the courtiers. the queen’s smile didn’t falter—but her nails dug into her palm hard enough to draw blood.

The hall shimmered with gold and light. Servants moved in near silence, refilling goblets, adjusting candles, their eyes averted from the spectacle at the center of the table — a prisoner dressed like a bride.

Lara stood at the foot of the dais, the crimson gown clinging to her frame, her ruby necklace gleaming coldly beneath the chandeliers. She did not bow again; her one act of defiance was in the way she held her chin — straight, steady, unyielding.

King Roman’s lips curved in faint amusement. "Such poise," he murmured, his voice low and resonant. "She holds herself like a true daughter of the general."

The queen’s fan snapped open with a flick, the delicate feathers trembling slightly. "Or like one who’s forgotten her place," she said sweetly. "A prisoner shouldn’t be mistaken for nobility, Your Majesty."

The king chuckled. "My queen, it seems you take issue with my taste."

Miranda smirked. "Not with your taste, Your Majesty. Only with your memory. You forget that she is your captive."

The court tittered nervously. No one dared look directly at the Queen, yet her presence pressed over them like a storm cloud.

The king’s expression shifted — still smiling, but darker now. "Careful, my queen," he said, almost tenderly. "There was a time when I found your defiance amusing, too."

Miranda inclined her head, hiding the flare of hatred in her eyes. Her hand trembled just slightly as she lifted her goblet.

"Tell me," the king said, turning his gaze back to Lara. "Do you know why you are here?"

Lara met his eyes. "Because you command it, Your Majesty."

The king’s laughter boomed across the hall, rich and thunderous. He leaned back in his throne, studying her. "Yes," he said slowly. "You are right. You are here because I willed it. And now... I must decide if that makes you a threat or a prize."

Miranda’s voice cut through the stillness. "A threat, surely," she said, her smile sharpened to a knife’s edge. "Unless, of course, you’ve grown fond of replacing one foolish love with another."

The king’s gaze slid to her, unamused. "You forget yourself, Miranda."

"I remember all too well," she replied softly, lowering her eyes — but her fingers clenched so tightly around her goblet that the metal bent beneath her grip.

The kings rose, descending the dais until he stood before Lara. The hall went still. Every courtier held their breath.

He reached out, brushing the underside of her chin with a single, gloved finger. "I used to wonder what Alaric Kromwel saw in you," he murmured. "And perhaps he wasn’t wrong. Beauty, intelligence... fire."

A faint smile touched his lips. "So it does." He turned slightly toward the gathered nobles. "Let it be known — Lady Lara Norse will become my concubine tomorrow. She will dine, dress, and live among the court. Anyone who lays a hand on her..." His gaze flicked meaningfully to Miranda. "...will answer to me."

Whispers erupted around the hall like a swarm of insects. Miranda’s face remained perfectly composed — but her knuckles whitened against her fan, her eyes dark with fury.

"As you wish, my lord," she said at last, voice trembling with restrained venom. "Your protection is... legendary."

The king returned to his seat. "See that it is, my queen. I would not want harm to come to what is mine."

Miranda inclined her head again, her smile so fragile it could shatter.But her eyes — cold, glimmering, unblinking — never left Lara.

And in that moment, Lara understood: the real danger in the palace was not the king’s power...It was the queen’s hatred.

Lara turned to take her seat at the side when a sudden prickle ran down her spine. Someone was watching her. She glanced toward the door and saw several knights standing there, their armor gleaming dully in the torchlight, motionless as carved statues.