Chapter 360: Laid To Rest
The room was quiet once Theresa's mother-in-law left. She sat upright on the bed, her hands resting on the flatness of her abdomen. It still ached faintly—phantom pains of a life that was no longer there. The scent of herbs hung in the air, remnants of the healer's visit, but none of it could mask the coldness that had settled into her bones.She reached out, brushing her fingers over the silk sheets as if caressing a child that never came to be. Her voice was soft at first, almost gentle, as though speaking to a sleeping infant. "Getting pregnant was a choice made for me," she began, her tone steady. "That was the deal I had to make. To secure my place. To make myself indispensable. A queen bearing the heir—what could be more valuable?"
Her eyes hardened, the softness vanishing.
"But once I was, I realised I didn't want it. Not you. Not his child. I loathe him. He is a useless, and pathetic king who gets what he wants just because mother dearest hands it to him on a silver platter. It should have been Catalina or any of the princesses, but the stupid, senile Queen handed the reins to him. I want every part of his legacy gone. Including you." She admitted with a cold expression.
Her hands clenched into fists atop her lap. "So, I had to get rid of it. Of you. And I did. I won't pretend otherwise. I made those arrangements, paid those guards to push me, to make it look convincing. I wanted it to happen. I set the stage, and everyone danced to my tune."
She tilted her head toward the ceiling, as though addressing some unseen judge. "I'm sorry? No. You're better off this way. You would've been raised by a manipulative viper. I'm not a good person. I threw Riven into prison. I bought those guards. I provoked the Dowager Queen. I humiliated the King, shattered his negotiations at the most crucial moment. And I will commit far worse crimes before I get what I want."
Her voice lowered to a whisper, intimate and venomous. "I do not regret it. Not for a second. You are better off without a manipulative mother and a pathetic father."
Theresa rose from the bed and walked to the window. She pressed a hand against her abdomen one last time."Rest now, little one. Your existence served its purpose."
---
The Dowager Queen moved through the palace corridors like a storm.
Her attendants struggled to keep up as the hem of her gown swept across the polished floors. Her face was composed—regal as ever—but beneath that mask burned a wrath few dared to face. Her son had shamed the crown tonight. He had humiliated Theresa, his pregnant wife, before the court and foreign dignitaries. All for that wolf.
She would not allow it to continue.
She was already instructing her aides to prepare a private audience with the King when the hurried steps of two guards echoed down the hall. They stopped before her and bowed deeply."Your Highness," one began, his voice strained with both fear and urgency, "we have imprisoned Riven, the royal musician."
The Dowager Queen's lips curled into a cold scoff. "Royal musician?" she repeated, the title dripping with disdain. "He deserves no such title. He is nothing more than a passing distraction. A toy my son is foolishly enamoured by."
Her eyes narrowed sharply, and her voice hardened. "And I will personally see to it that this distraction is removed."
She did not bother to ask why he had been imprisoned or who sent the order. She did not require explanations. In her mind, it was the first sensible act anyone had taken that evening. With a decisive flick of her wrist, she commanded, "Lead the way."
---
When the guards seized him, Riven didn't resist at first—he was too stunned, too confused. One moment, he had been humiliated before the entire court, ordered to leave mid-performance like some unwanted entertainer, and the next, unfamiliar hands were in his hair, jerking his head back so hard his eyes watered.
"W–Wait—!" His voice caught in his throat, cut off when one guard twisted his arm behind his back, forcing him down. The cold marble bit into his knees. Panic began to claw its way up his chest.
His gaze locked on Theresa. She stood a few steps away, her face pale, her hand resting on her abdomen. And then he saw it—the red staining the fabric of her gown, blooming like a cruel flower.
His breath hitched. No…
He knew that sight. He knew that pain.
Once, long ago, he had bled like that too. A part of him he had never spoken of, a wound he had buried deep in the quiet corners of his soul. He had decided then that no one would ever know. That secret would follow him to the grave.
Terror surged through him, snapping him out of his daze. "Where are you taking me?!" he demanded, thrashing against their grip. But the guards only tightened their hold, dragging him through the corridor like a criminal.
The grand staircase spiralled downward, each step echoing like a hammer against his ribs. They didn't slow down. His boots slipped on the damp steps, his shoulder slammed into the wall, but the guards yanked him upright and kept moving. He was being injured by them on purpose, he could tell. But he could not do anything.
By the time they reached the lower levels, his heart was pounding wildly. The air grew colder, heavier, thick with mildew and the faint stench of blood and rust.
When he was thrown onto the cold floor in the prison cell, he thought that was the end of it. But his nightmare would only continue.
"So he is kept by the king? Hehe, a man enjoyed by the king. I wonder what he feels like to the touch."
Words seemed to be stuck in his throat, he could not even muster the word 'no'.