The gilded doors of the king's private chambers echoed with raised voices, a sound that had become as familiar as breathing in the Thorne castle. Queen Lysandra stood before the massive oak desk, her silver hair catching the afternoon light streaming through stained glass windows, her pale hands placed delicately at her sides in a pose of practiced elegance.

"You cannot simply ignore the Aldermere delegation, Varian," she said, her refined accent perfectly controlled despite the slight edge of calculation beneath her words. "They've been waiting three days for an audience. The kingdom needs the marriage alliance—and more importantly, *I* negotiated the preliminary terms. Surely my efforts deserve some recognition?"

"The kingdom needs what I deem necessary," King Varian interrupted, not looking up from the military reports scattered across his desk. His steel-gray eyes remained fixed on the parchments, but his jaw was set in that familiar hard line. "Not what you think will advance your own political maneuvering."

Lysandra's eyes gleamed with cold amusement rather than hurt. "Political maneuvering? My dear husband, I prefer to call it *competence*. Something that seems to be in short supply when it comes to actually securing our realm's future." Her tone was silky, dangerous. "But then again, you've always preferred brooding over action."

"Everything with you is a game, Lysandra." Varian finally looked up, his weathered face cold as winter stone. "Every suggestion, every 'helpful' intervention, every attempt to insert yourself where you don't belong. You think you can manipulate your way back into relevance."

"Manipulate?" Lysandra laughed, a sound like silver bells with poison at their core. "I call it *utilizing my considerable talents*. But if you prefer to waste them while the kingdom stagnates..." She shrugged with elegant indifference, examining her perfectly manicured nails.

"You have the duties I allow you," Varian said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And the freedoms I permit."

"How... quaint," Lysandra replied, her pale eyes glittering with something predatory. "And yet here we are, twenty-six years later, still dancing the same tedious dance. Don't you ever tire of this performance, darling?"

The tension in the room was suffocating when the doors opened with a deliberate creak. Daemon stepped inside, his violet-blue eyes quickly assessing the scene. His silver hair was still damp from training, and he wore his practice leathers rather than court attire. Behind him, Kay entered more quietly, his amber-gold eyes taking in the fraught atmosphere with careful attention. Without ceremony, Daemon moved to stand beside his father's desk.

Lysandra's gaze immediately fixed on Kay with predatory interest, her lips curving in a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Kay, how lovely. Still hovering at my family's edges, I see. So... devoted." The word dripped with implications that made Kay's jaw tighten.

"Mother," Daemon said with cool politeness that barely masked his disgust, then turned to Varian. "Father, you summoned me?"

"I did," Varian confirmed, his voice marginally warmer as he pointedly ignored his wife. "The border reports need review, and I value your tactical assessment." His gaze shifted to Kay with a slight nod of acknowledgment. "Kay, good timing. Your insights on the eastern territories might prove valuable."

Kay stepped forward with quiet grace, carefully positioning himself where Lysandra couldn't easily corner him. "Your Majesty," he said with a respectful bow, his discomfort palpable.

"Oh, how formal we are today," Lysandra purred, moving with feline grace to position herself closer to Kay. "Surely old friends needn't be so... distant? We have such *history* together, don't we, Kay?"

Kay's hands clenched at his sides, tiny pink sparkles threatening to flicker around his fingertips before he consciously suppressed them. The queen's presence always made his magic restless with distress.

Daemon's eyes flashed dangerously. "Mother, perhaps you should attend to your own duties instead of making everyone else uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable?" Lysandra's laugh was sharp as glass. "How dramatic you are, my darling son. I was simply being *friendly* to our guest. Though I suppose you wouldn't understand the concept of warmth." She turned back to Kay with calculated vulnerability. "Some of us remember what it means to care about others' feelings."

"The Aldermere situation can wait," Daemon said firmly, picking up one of the scrolls and deliberately blocking his mother's view of Kay. "Their desperation works in our favor—the longer they wait, the better terms we can negotiate."

"Exactly," Varian said with satisfaction. "Unlike some, you understand the value of strategic patience."

Lysandra's mask of wounded innocence finally dropped, replaced by cold fury. "Strategic patience? Is that what we're calling willful incompetence now?" Her voice turned honey-sweet, but her eyes were ice. "Perhaps if you spent less time nursing ancient grudges and more time actually *ruling*, the kingdom might prosper. But then again, that would require acknowledging that your precious pride isn't worth more than the realm's welfare."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Even Kay took an unconscious step back.

"You're to be what you've always been," Varian said quietly, and somehow his soft tone was more cutting than any shout. "A cancer that I've allowed to remain for the sake of political stability."

Lysandra's smile turned genuinely pleased, as if she'd received a compliment. "How poetic. And yet, here I remain—beautiful, intelligent, and utterly indispensable. While you..." She gestured dismissively. "You grow older and more irrelevant by the day. Soon enough, you'll need me more than I need you."

"Some mistakes don't get forgiven, Mother," Daemon said, his voice sharp with disgust. "They just get tolerated until they're no longer useful."

"Oh, my dear boy," Lysandra cooed, her eyes glittering with malicious amusement. "You speak of mistakes as if you understand them. But then again, you've always been so... *limited* in your perspective. So much like your father—all righteous anger and no practical vision."

She turned one last predatory look on Kay, who had gone rigid with discomfort. "We really must continue our previous conversation sometime soon, Kay. I have such... interesting things to discuss with you. When you're not quite so surrounded by *chaperones*."

The silence that followed was electric with tension, Kay's obvious distress making pink sparkles dance weakly around his fingertips despite his efforts to control them.