Chapter seven

Leyora sat stiffly in her chair, her fingers gripping the armrests as the maid worked through her hair. The young servant’s hands trembled, making Leyora clench her teeth in irritation. She wore a lavender silk nightgown that shimmered in the candlelight, her sharp hazel eyes watching the maid’s every move through the mirror.

When a knock came at the door, Leyora’s lips curled into a faint scowl.

"Come in," she said curtly, her tone icy. The maid froze, her comb hovering in midair.

"Did I say stop?" Leyora snapped, her voice cutting through the room like a whip. The maid muttered a hasty apology and resumed combing the reddish-brown strands with trembling hands.

Leyora’s gaze shifted to the door as it opened, revealing Magan, her cousin by marriage. Draped in a deep blue gown that matched her piercing eyes, Magan strolled in with an air of calculated ease, her pitch-black hair cascading down her shoulders like a shadow.

Leyora's annoyance deepened. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice sharp.

Magan ignored the question at first, letting her eyes wander the room. She trailed her fingers along the edge of a painting, pausing to admire its intricate frame. "There’s an issue you should address immediately," she said smoothly, her tone dripping with false concern.

Leyora raised an eyebrow, her reflection mirroring her skepticism. "What issue?"

Magan finally turned to face her, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Do you remember the child I told you about?"

The maid paused again, visibly startled by the shift in tension. Leyora caught the hesitation and barked, "Leave us!" The maid fled as though her life depended on it, the door clicking shut behind her.

"Talk," Leyora commanded, her voice low and dangerous.

Magan stepped closer, her smirk widening. "He’s seen her," she said simply.

Leyora stiffened, her eyes narrowing. "How do you know?"

"At the ball," Magan replied, her tone light, almost casual. "I happened to cross paths with her myself. And you know, where the cub is, the lioness is never far behind." She tilted her head, her smirk turning wicked.

Leyora shot up from her chair, her hands clenching into fists. "What are you implying?"

Magan met her glare without flinching. "You know exactly what I mean. I warned you years ago to remove obstacles before they became threats, but you didn’t listen. Now, the king has seen his child, and it won’t take long for him to connect the dots. Once he does, making the mother of his heir his queen will be the simplest, most logical choice. And you? You’ll be nothing but a footnote."

Magan’s words hit like a slap, her tone steady and merciless. "Make beneficial choices, Leyora," she said, turning on her heel. As she reached the door, she glanced back with a sly smile. "Before someone else makes them for you."

The door shut softly behind her, but the silence that followed was suffocating. Leyora stood frozen, her nails digging into her palms as rage bubbled to the surface. With a frustrated scream, she swept her hand across the vanity table, sending the hairbrush, lipstick, and jewelry boxes crashing to the floor.

Breathing heavily, she leaned into the mirror, staring at her own furious reflection. Her voice trembled with venom as she hissed, "I will never let anyone take my crown."

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