Chapter 8

Chapter 8 - Whispers in the Hall.

Ariella slowed her steps as she passed the long corridor that led to the council chamber. The heavy doors were half-open, and inside, voices floated out, they were low but sharp. She wasn’t meant to be there, she knew that but her name caught her attention.

“She’s too weak to be Queen,” one courtier muttered, his tone clipped with disdain.

Another chuckled under his breath. “The girl trembles when she speaks before us. If the Lycans see that, they’ll eat her alive. A Queen must command, not stumble like a frightened child.”

Ariella froze, her hand pressed to the wall. Her chest tightened, breath shallow. Weak? Trembling? Their words cut like blades.

A third voice joined in, older and firmer. “The King may favor her, but his patience is not endless. A fragile Queen means a fragile throne. That is dangerous.”

The courtiers murmured in agreement, their words overlapping like a swarm of bees.

Ariella’s fingers curled against her gown. She wanted to step inside, to defend herself, but her throat felt tight, as though invisible hands held it closed. Instead, she backed away, heart hammering.

Her shoes clicked too loudly against the polished floor as she hurried toward her chambers. She barely noticed Clara and Claire waiting at the corner until they rushed forward.

“My lady, you look pale,” Clara said softly, gripping her arm.

“What happened?” Claire asked, her brows knitting with worry.

Ariella forced a smile, though it trembled. “Nothing… I just needed some air.”

But the twins saw through her mask. They exchanged a look, one of those silent conversations only sisters could have.

“You heard them, didn’t you?” Claire whispered.

Ariella blinked. “Heard who?”

“The courtiers,” Clara supplied gently. “They are always whispering, always judging.”

Ariella swallowed hard, the taste of bitterness sharp on her tongue. “They think I’m weak.”

Clara’s hand squeezed hers firmly. “You are not weak. You are learning.”

“You are trying,” Claire added. “That matters more than their gossip.”

But Ariella shook her head. “Trying isn’t enough. A Queen cannot be seen as fragile. If I can’t prove myself soon, they’ll turn the King against me.”

Her voice cracked, and her eyes burned, but she refused to let tears fall. Not here, not now.

That evening, dinner was unbearable. The courtiers sat at the long table, their eyes on her every move. She lifted her cup of wine carefully, making sure her hands didn’t shake. She smiled politely when spoken to, though her jaw ached from holding it in place.

The King sat tall beside her, his presence commanding the hall. Yet Ariella could feel the courtiers’ whispers drifting like smoke around her.

“She looks nervous.” one courrtier said. “Too soft for the throne.” Another said. “Her crown will crush her.”

The words weren’t spoken aloud this time, but Ariella could read them in the curve of their smirks, the flicker of their eyes.

Her chest tightened again, but she straightened her back and lifted her chin. If they wanted to see her as weak, she would not give them the satisfaction.

After dinner, she returned to her chamber, exhausted. Clara and Claire brushed her hair, their gentle hands soothing her frayed nerves.

“You can’t let their words define you,” Clara whispered.

“But what if they’re right?” Ariella whispered back, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her silver-blue eyes looked hollow, her lips pale. “What if I truly am not strong enough?”

Claire set the brush down firmly. “Then you will become strong. No one is born ready for a crown, Ariella. You grow into it.”

Ariella met her gaze through the mirror. “But what if I fail before I even get the chance to grow?”

The room fell silent.

That night, sleep did not come easily. She tossed and turned, haunted by the courtiers’ voices echoing in her head. A queen can't be weak or fragile. That means a fragile throne.

Finally, she sat up, clutching the sheets. The moonlight spilled across her chamber floor, and for a moment, it looked like a silver path leading out the window.

She rose and crossed to the balcony, the cool night air brushing against her skin. She pressed her palms against the stone railing, staring at the glowing moon.

“I’m not weak,” she whispered fiercely to the night. “I can’t be.”

The words steadied her slightly. But deep inside, the doubt still pulsed, heavy and sharp.

The next morning, the King summoned her. Ariella entered the council chamber with her heart pounding, every eye fixed on her.

“We will begin the court session,” the King announced. “Ariella will sit by my side.”

She walked to her seat, her steps steady despite the heat in her cheeks. Whispers stirred again, but she ignored them.

The courtiers began presenting matters of the kingdom, their voices loud and commanding. Ariella listened, taking in every word, though her mind screamed for her to speak, to show she belonged here.

When one courtier suggested higher taxes on the villages, Ariella’s heart lurched. She knew this would crush the farmers.

Her lips parted, but she hesitated. The weight of silence pressed against her. If she spoke and faltered, they would mock her. If she stayed quiet, they would call her weak.

Finally, she forced the words out. “Raising taxes will break them. The villages are already struggling.”

The chamber fell silent. Every gaze swung to her. Her pulse thundered, but she kept her chin high.

One courtier smirked. “And what would you suggest, my lady? That the treasury stay empty?”

Laughter rippled through the chamber. Ariella’s stomach twisted, but she met the man’s gaze. “I would suggest cutting court expenses before draining the people dry.”

The room froze. Even the King raised his brows slightly.

For a moment, silence reigned. Then the smirk slipped from the courtier’s face.

The King’s voice rumbled low. “Her point is valid.”

Shock flickered across the chamber. Ariella’s chest rose with trembling breaths. For the first time, she felt the faint spark of strength stir inside her.

But just as that spark grew, the chamber doors burst open.

A guard stumbled inside, his face pale, eyes wide with fear.

He dropped to one knee, voice shaking. “Forgive me, my King. But there’s been an attack.”

Gasps filled the chamber. The King shot to his feet. “Where?” The guard swallowed hard. His eyes darted toward Ariella before he spoke.

“In the Queen’s wing. Someone tried to poison her.” The chamber erupted into chaos. Ariella’s breath caught in her throat, her hands trembling at her sides.

But the guard wasn’t finished. His next words shattered the air like glass.

“My King… we caught the one who placed the poison. It was one of your courtiers.”

And then, he named a familiar face.