Ethelred jolted awake.
Breath catching in his throat, heart hammering against his ribs. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe—not from fear, but disbelief. The ceiling above him was familiar: gold-framed frescoes, the carved sigil of House Valentia—the kingdom he once lost.
His legs—
He flung aside the sheets. They moved. His toes curled. Knees bent. No pain. No paralysis.
This wasn’t the stone bed of a dungeon. Not the pitch-black pit where Ravena had left him to rot.
It was… before.
His gaze shifted to the side. Pale limbs tangled in silk. Six concubines, draped over his body like ornaments. Their perfume clung to his skin—once intoxicating, now suffocating.
Revulsion clawed up his throat.
He stood.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t glance back. He pulled on his robe—blood-red velvet, lined with wolf fur—and walked out of the chamber barefoot, like a ghost.
Ethelred had returned.
And he would not waste this life again.
The Purge of the Harem
The palace stirred in confusion.
“Cancel court,” the king had ordered. “And summon the harem.”
By midmorning, the six women gathered in the central pavilion—giggling, stretching, unaware of the storm.
Ethelred entered like a shadow.
Silence fell.
No attendants, no heralds. Just the king—tall, broad-shouldered, face like carved marble. His violet eyes were cold. Unreadable.
One concubine stepped forward in lace and ribbons. “Your Majesty,” she purred. “You didn’t summon us to—”
“You’re dismissed,” he said.
Blink. Silence.
“…Excuse me?”
“All of you. Gold, land, jewels—you’ll have enough to live as noblewomen for ten lifetimes. But you will never set foot in my palace again.”
They laughed at first. Then one, braver—or more foolish—asked:
“Why now? What changed?”
Ethelred’s voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.
“Because I already have a queen.
And I don’t need women who mocked her pain,
while I was too blind to see it.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Without another word, he left them to their shame.
Rumors exploded.
The harem was gone. The cold king spoke of his queen. His queen.
And then—another summons. Every noble, guard, and official gathered in the throne room. The air was thick with speculation, dread… and something electric.
Ethelred stood at the dais, crown casting a long shadow. His expression was unreadable—stoic, but storming beneath.
And then the doors burst open.
Two knights dragged someone inside.
Faylen.
Her wrists were bound. Hair tousled. Skin marked from the rough handling.
The court chuckled, whispered. The pathetic duchess. The unloved queen.
Ethelred stepped forward.
He knew this day. He had lived it before. This was the moment he condemned her—fueled by lies from Ravena, lust clouding his mind.
This time… his vision was clear.
His rage snapped like a whip.
The first knight was on the ground before he could blink—Ethelred had struck him down with a brutal kick to the chest.
The second flinched, trying to explain. Ethelred grabbed him by the collar and hissed:
“Did I order this?”
“N-No, Your Majesty—”
“Then you’ve touched what belongs to the crown.”
He shoved him back, hard.
Ethelred turned to Faylen, breathing hard. His hands—so often calloused with war and cruelty—now trembled as they undid her restraints.
His voice softened.
“Did they hurt you?”
No answer came. Just the way her eyes refused to meet his.
He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her—protective, possessive. Like she was all that tethered him to this world.
He turned to face the room, still holding her tight.
Then came her.
Ravena.
In white silk. Radiant. Smiling.
“Your Majesty,” she said sweetly. “You mustn’t fall for her lies. She tried to poison me—”
“Leave.”
“…What?”
“I said—leave.”
The tone froze the room.
Ravena blinked, as if slapped. “But I—”
“You have no title here. No purpose. You are dismissed from my palace,
before I forget I’m merciful.”
The guards moved. She began to protest, but Ethelred didn’t look at her again. He was already lowering his head to Faylen’s, his voice quieter than before.
His fingers gently lifted her chin.
His violet eyes searched hers.
And then, with the weight of a thousand regrets:
“I am sorry… my wife. My queen. Please give me another chance Faylen…. Please?”
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