Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 379: The Queen in the Moonlight

The Queen in the Moonlight

”As you will,” replied the head guard.

The head maid nodded her head, a gentle inclination that expressed gratitude and commanded obedience.

”Thank you.”

Her fingers clenched into fists around the rim of the trolley, knuckles against cold metal. The wheels glided softly over the smooth stone floor as she edged it onward. Lantern-light fell across her blonde locks, and for a moment her golden eyes flashed as if warmed by fire. Then they were swallowed by shadow, the stillness falling once more.

None of the guards had the courage to look at her once more. It wasn’t fear that bound their eyes down, nor indifference—it was the power of her presence. She moved as if the stones were hers. Even queens might be ignored, but not the Head Maid.

She set her palm against the double doors of the chamber and shoved.

The doors creaked open with a low moan, followed by the heavy thud of wood and iron moving. The noise rippled down the corridor like a warning drumbeat. For an instant the interior of the chamber was outlined in shadow, and then the door swung far enough for her to move through it. She walked through it without hesitation, her shoulders straight, her movements fluid, controlled.

Behind her, the guards formed up again, spears held upright, faces frozen in stone once more. The doors boomed shut, hiding the queen’s chamber once again in silence.

Within, the atmosphere changed.

The queen’s chambers were what one would have expected of Vellore’s heart: perfection in every aspect. The marble floor shone with a pale imitation of moonlight. A soft carpet of embroidered red threads cushioned each footfall, adorned with gold lions bounding through fields of blooms. A carved oak bed stood against the wall, its headboard towering, its sheets piled in silks so thin they appeared spun from air. Nearby, a dressing table shone with crystal jars and silver combs, all carefully arranged.

A chandelier suspended from the ceiling, its crystal branches outstretched, but tonight all of its candles were cold and dark. Dozens more stands and candleholders filled the chamber—upon tables, upon shelves, beside the bed—but all of their wicks were black, all of their flames extinguished. The silence was not just of sound, but of light.

There was but one light cutting through the room: the moon.

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Instruction:

By the high arched window at the back, the twin moons poured their light. One silver, one pale blue, they bathed the room in a strange radiance. The curtains danced with each movement of the air that came through, fabric whispering constantly. The moonlight colored the room with fluttering shades of blue and white, soft but eerie, as if the room itself stood poised between dream and loss.

And in the shine, on a couch by the window, stretched out a form.

She lay on her stomach, her black hair spilling like ink down her back. It collected across the cushions, locks catching the silver light so that each appeared like a river of dark flowing into night. She was attired in nothing more than a plain nightgown, loose folds of cloth draped over her slender form, the shape of her body hardly concealed.

Her face, slanted toward the heavens, was chiseled in beauty. Her forehead smooth, her eyebrows arched delicately, her cheeks soft and rose-colored by nature. Her lips, slightly apart, held the faintest film of moisture as if she had sighed very recently. Her eyes—large, dark, infinite deep—were turned toward heaven, her gaze unblinking. In their depths, one might have mistaken warmth, tenderness, even gentleness, but nearer still one perceived the truth: emptiness.

Queen Natty of Vellore.

King Gary’s sole and only wife.

To the unsuspecting eye, she was serene, even lovable, the epitome of a woman who exuded softness and calm. But the emptiness in her eyes gave her away. It wasn’t peace that gripped her—it was detachment, as if she had abandoned her body, allowing her soul to wander far, far away from the twin moons.

She didn’t even see the head maid come in. Or maybe she did, but decided not to get up.

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The lips of the head maid curled into a smile as she lingered in the moonlight, gazing at the queen. For anyone else, the view would have elicited pity. But not her.

Her smile was sweet on the surface, but it held something crooked underneath—a soft curl of cruelty at the edges. The serenity in her golden eyes changed, shadowing into a glint of something much less innocent.

She rolled the trolley slowly, its wheels creaking softly over the carpet. Her hips swayed with every step, movements slow, sensual, almost derisive. Her voice sliced through the stillness, a low growl with the biting edge of mockery.

”Oh my, my queen... what are you doing?” She laced her voice with phony sweetness. ”By any chance, you’re not lying there fantasizing about how to steal the heart of my beloved king when he returns from his mission against Moonstone, hmm?”

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The words cut through the air.

Natty’s eyes flickered. A soft shudder ran over her shoulders. She broke out of the moonlight, snapping back to herself. Her eyes darted towards the form in the room—towards Maria.

Instant recognition, and with it a sigh. Not relief. Not tiredness only. It was a sigh laden enough to be weighed with frustration, a breath given up carried by years of unspoken fetters.

Her voice, when it finally came, was icy. Too icy for someone so soft-looking.

”What are you doing here, Maria?”

The head maid’s smile grew razor-sharp, teeth just visible. She ceased to push the trolley, standing with one hand on the handle, the other idly stroking her hip.

”Bringing you food,” said Maria airily. ”As my precious king bade me. To look after you.”

A sneer came after the words, slipping out of her mouth like a discarded knife.

”Though for real... I don’t understand why my love even wastes his time. You’re only his punching bag.”

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The words hit like rocks.

Natty gritted her teeth, her jaw clenching so hard it hurt. Her hands fisted against the couch cushion, nails digging into the upholstery. But she didn’t stand, didn’t strike back. She’d learned not to.

Because it was the truth.

King Gary did not love her. Their union had been created not out of love, but out of a compact—a vow sealed in their fathers’ promises. Gary’s heart had been with another woman from the beginning. Maria.