Chapter 1

“Your Majesty, it’s time to depart. His Majesty the King has already left a little while ago,” the attendant informed her.

“Did His Majesty go straight to Gaecheon Square without stopping by the palace? The queen has always been here waiting for His Majesty…” 

Her husband had changed. It was a reality she should have accepted long ago when she felt the sense of disgust buried within his indifferent gaze, but she had denied and ignored it until now.

“There’s no more time to wait. Why wait for someone who won’t even come? I don’t want to waste any more time.”

Though bitter about his resolute determination not to even pretend anymore, it was time to move on. Waiting for her husband, who wouldn’t come, would only compound her misery. It was unacceptable to exhibit such a disgraceful sight of waiting for a husband who wouldn’t show up even for the welcoming ceremony for a national hero.

Lelusha stepped out of the palace and entered the awaiting carriage. She couldn’t help but wryly smile at the emptiness of the spacious carriage that should have been shared with the king.

The queen being dismissed by the king on the eve of the reform ceremony was quite a spectacle.

To be slighted like this, even at such an important national event as the welcoming ceremony, made her realize that their strained relationship was heading towards catastrophe. Yet, it wasn’t the time to be consumed by sadness and anger, trying to decipher his sudden change of heart since the coronation. The time ahead was too heavy for a fallen queen to bear.

***

Guests congregated at Gaecheon Square for the grand welcoming ceremony, settling into their designated seats on the platform as their invitations, adorned with the royal seal, had dictated. Among them were the city’s esteemed nobles. Their attention was drawn as the Queen made her entrance, unaccompanied by the King.

“Why is she alone?” murmured one guest, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Shouldn’t this have been expected? Look, even an orphan of modest beginnings, ignorant of courtly customs, finds herself in the Queen’s seat,” remarked another.

“It appears His Majesty has finally seen reason. To think he saw eye to eye with his knight and crowned her queen… It’s confounding. But then again, her origins shouldn’t matter,” said a third.

“Wasn’t she the one who aided His Majesty in his ascent to the throne when his claim was feeble? Even now, the appointment of such a Queen seems… unconventional, to say the least. Granting her a title or land might have sufficed, yet to elevate a common-born knight to the throne was indeed a folly. He only invited further legitimacy issues that plagued him throughout his reign,” opined another voice.

“He was momentarily blinded by a woman.”

Despite the facade of courtesy, noblewomen began to openly deride the modest queen behind her back. She was an easy target for their fleeting amusement. The sight of a queen of humble origins stripped of her authority was deemed pitiful.

“It won’t be long until she’s dethroned,” they predicted with certainty.

With grace undeterred, Lelusha maintained her regal composure, her gaze shifting ever so slightly to meet that of the Countess of Mutenberg, who dared to speak of abdication. A subtle smile played upon her lips, hinting at a defiance that whispered, “What can you do?”

Dethroned, the word echoed in Lelusha’s thoughts, eliciting a bitter chuckle. Yes, cast aside like a worn-out garment.

Her ascent to the throne, a feat achieved solely through the favor of the usurping “king” and the public’s acknowledgment of her role, now revealed its fragility. It was a position built solely on her husband’s affections, one she couldn’t sustain alone.

“Even so, it’s unfathomable. To treat Her Majesty the Queen with such contempt, even in her position. What could possibly warrant such disdain?” pondered one voice.

“Oh, but you’re unaware? It seems Her Majesty had an ‘encounter’ with Matthias on her recent escapade…” whispered another, the gossip spreading like wildfire.

While outwardly feigning sympathy for the beleaguered queen, the courtiers reveled in their clandestine chatter, their voices gradually fading into silence as a momentous announcement rang out.

“The Mighty Sun of Reveln, His Majesty the King, approaches.”

With bated breath, all eyes turned toward the impending arrival.

The young king, born of rebellion, sat not as a fearsome tyrant but as a figure of unexpected gentleness. His features, handsome and neatly arranged, belied the brutality that had marked his ascent to power. Beside him, instead of the rightful queen, Lelusha, there sat a vision of opulence and allure—a lady adorned like a resplendent peacock.

Lelusha’s poised facade cracked, betraying the anguish that seethed beneath the surface.

…Princess Odette von Grüsewald.

Odette, renowned throughout Reveln for her breathtaking beauty, held court as the epitome of nobility since her debut.

While whispers occasionally danced about her foreign lineage stemming from the esteemed Grüsewald family, her beauty and the family’s wealth overshadowed any semblance of flaw. She was hailed as the “Queen’s birthright,” embodying the epitome of regal grace and magnificence.

“Your Majesty,” Lelusha’s voice pierced through the tension, strained with effort as she addressed him. The king paused, offering a smile that lacked warmth, merely a perfunctory gesture.

“My apologies for the delay, my lady,” he murmured, his words tinged with formality.

“It’s all right.”

“It must be, now that you’ve grown accustomed to waiting.” 

Lelusha remained silent, her gaze drifting toward Princess Odette. Meeting Lelusha’s gaze, Odette’s lips curved into a sly grin, a silent acknowledgement passing between them. With a graceful step back, she assumed a more reserved stance, as if yielding to the rightful order of things. Yet, beneath the surface, it seemed as though she willingly made way.

“The main star seems to be fashionably late, as usual,” remarked Jocelyn, his tone tinged with thinly veiled impatience.

The ceremony, a tribute to the valor of the Royal Knights, had been meticulously orchestrated to honor their triumph over the rebellious forces of Ervaden. At its center stage was the illustrious Knight Commander Matthias, a figure of unparalleled skill and courage.

“Seems Matthias has grown rather bold, keeping the king waiting. Wouldn’t you agree, my lady?” inquired Jocelyn, his words laced with a hint of disdain.

As Lelusha remained silent, Jocelyn clicked his tongue in irritation.

“Ah, the importance of a proper upbringing,” Jocelyn continued, his disapproval evident. “A student often mirrors their mentor.”

“Are you suggesting I’ve become arrogant?” Lelusha inquired.

“No,” Jocelyn replied hastily, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips at the composed retort.

As if on cue, Matthias, the much-anticipated focal point of the ceremony, made his grand entrance into Gaecheon Square.

Having secured victory as the youngest Knight Commander in history, Matthias exuded an aura of commanding presence astride his warhorse. His imposing stature, honed on countless battlefields, was matched only by his strikingly handsome features and well-built physique—a man born for glory, a subject of admiration and envy alike.

“That flawless face remains untouched, despite leading from the frontlines,” Jocelyn muttered, his discontent evident as he gestured toward Knight Commander Matthias.

“Step forward, Knight Matthias!” he commanded, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd.

As Matthias gracefully dismounted his steed and strode toward the platform, a hushed reverence descended upon the bustling square. All eyes, brimming with admiration and awe, were fixed upon him. In the presence of such a young, potent, and strikingly handsome war hero, none could remain indifferent.

With each step, Matthias garnered the adulation of the crowd, his arrival at the platform marked by a reverent hush as he knelt before the throne.

In the confrontation between the youthful usurper king and the valiant hero, the contrast was palpable. Though both possessed youth, beauty, and strength, the disparity in their demeanor and aura was stark—a juxtaposition of light and shadow.

While the imposing figure of the usurper king, stained with the blood of his conquests, might have commanded awe, it paled in comparison to the cold, steely resolve of the war hero known as “war incarnate.”

Lelusha found herself unable to avert her gaze from the refined Knight Commander, who had returned with a newfound vigor after a year. Sensing her captivation, Jocelyn arched a disdainful brow and muttered derisively.

“You can hardly contain your joy, my lady, that one of your own has returned home a hero of Reveln. Judging by the way your eyes glaze over even in the presence of your husband.”