Chapter 359: The Winner Of The Game
The King's indifference towards his injured wife was astonishing.His hand trembled. He slammed the letter down and rose abruptly, his golden hair whipping behind him like a banner. "I will confront him myself."
One of the ministers ran into the hallway after him, alarmed by his abrupt movements. "Your Highness—!"
The King's amber eyes flashed dangerously. "Do not follow me."
The man froze where he stood. The King turned on his heel and strode out, his focus entirely on confronting Riven, oblivious to the cries echoing from the ballroom behind him.
Theresa swayed where she stood. Her breathing grew shallow, her lips trembling. And then, she collapsed.
"Your Highness!"
"She's bleeding, someone call the royal healer!"
"Where is His Majesty?!"
But the King was gone.
Hours later, Theresa opened her eyes slowly. The ceiling above her was carved wood, familiar and elegant — the royal infirmary. Her vision was blurry at first, but as it sharpened, she realized someone was holding her hand.
"Theresa…"
The voice was old and trembling.
She turned her head to see the Dowager Queen seated beside her, clutching her hand as though letting go would make her disappear. Tears streamed down the older woman's cheeks.
"Your Majesty…?" Theresa croaked weakly. Her abdomen still throbbed, a hollow, cold ache lingered, she felt empty.
The Dowager Queen tried not to crack and show her grief, but she failed. How could she smile? A royal heir was lost.
Theresa's eyes widened in dawning fear. "My child? My baby… She is fine, right?! She has to be!"
She sat up abruptly, ignoring the pain that lanced through her body. Her fingers clawed at the sheets as she searched the Dowager Queen's face for reassurance.
But the Dowager Queen looked away.
She couldn't meet her daughter-in-law's gaze. She couldn't say the words. How could she tell this young woman, cast aside at a ball, publicly ignored by her husband, that her child was gone?
The silence was the answer.
Tears welled in Theresa's eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "No…" she whispered. "No, no, no!" Her hands flew to her stomach, holding it as if she could bring the baby back through sheer will. "My baby!"
The Dowager Queen wept with her, pulling her into her arms, both of them consumed by their grief.
But the Dowager Queen's tears were more than grief. As the initial shock ebbed, something else took root, something cold.
Anger.
Her trembling hands curled into fists against Theresa's back. The image of the King ignoring her as she stood there bleeding flashed in her mind. His back, his cold dismissal, his obsession with Riven. He had chosen to run after that wolf instead of seeing to his wife.
Theresa's breath was still shaky, her eyes rimmed with tears, but her voice was steady.
"Your Majesty," she whispered, her hand lightly brushing the Dowager Queen's sleeve. "I… I need to be alone for a little while. Please."
The Dowager Queen blinked, startled by the request. Theresa's face was pale and drawn, framed by tousled golden hair against the stark white of the infirmary sheets. Her fragile appearance twisted the older woman's heart.
"You shouldn't be alone right now," the Dowager Queen murmured, tightening her grip on Theresa's hand. "You need rest. Care. I can call for the healers again—"
"No." Theresa shook her head weakly, but with quiet determination. "I need time… To think. To grieve. Please… Leave me, just for some time. I'll be alright."
The Dowager Queen's heart ached. She could see it, the crushed hopes, the pain, the quiet dignity with which Theresa bore this tragedy. And beneath it all, a kind of strength and resilience that reminded her of the queens who came before.
"…Very well."
She rose slowly, adjusting her elaborate robe. But as she reached the doorway, she paused and turned back to look at Theresa. There was a sharp glint in her aged amber eyes, the fire of a lioness.
Inside, the Dowager Queen was seething. Her son's negligence had humiliated them all. And that wolf. That lowborn creature who had bewitched the King to the point of blindness. She had been tolerant before for the sake of her son, but not anymore.
He had gone too far.
---
And while Theresa was unconscious. The King remained restless.
The King was pacing through the dimly lit corridors of the palace like a lion in a cage. His cloak dragged along the floor, his long blond hair swaying with every sharp turn. His amber eyes burned with intensity, his jaw set.
"Where is he?" he barked.
The servants shrank back. "W–we do not know, Your Majesty. He was last seen leaving the ballroom, escorted by guards you sent."
"I sent no such order!" The King's voice cracked through the air like a whip. The servants trembled, and some bowed so low their foreheads nearly touched the ground.
He dismissed them with a growl and strode down the hall towards Riven's quarters. The door opened with a creak.
And what he found inside made him stop cold.
The room was empty.
Not merely untidy, stripped bare. The bed was neatly made, without a single wrinkle. The wardrobe was empty, its doors open as if to mock him. Nothing was left here, nothing to show that someone had lived there.
It was too familiar, didn't he do that to Riven before? He pushed him out of their room and stripped every memory of him.
A cold dread settled in his gut.
"Riven…" he whispered.
For a heartbeat, panic clawed at his chest. Did he run away? Had Riven, humiliated by being dismissed in front of everyone, finally chosen to leave him behind?
Did he leave me?
The thought hit him harder than he expected. His hands curled into fists.
"No," he growled to himself, pushing away the panic. "He wouldn't."
Would he?
"I need to find him."
---
"No, you won't be able to find him, dear King," Theresa muttered to herself. "Things are going just as planned. I had to sacrifice a life... But it was not in vain. I will win at the end of this game." She glanced at the way the Dowager Queen left in fury, just as expected.