Chapter 39: Where Is Eiravelle?!

Qazaethel returned to the throne room with measured steps, her robes are trailing behind her on the polished marble floor. The encounter with her mother had left a bitter taste in her mouth, a lingering anger that she had forced down into the depths of her being.

She could not afford to let her emotions rule her, could not afford to show weakness in front of the ministers who watched her every move.

She was the Empress of Solkanaia, the sovereign ruler of the most powerful kingdom in the realm, and she would conduct herself with the dignity and composure that her position demanded.

The throne room was filled with ministers, their faces were carefully neutral as they stood in their designated positions along the walls.

They had been waiting for her, had been anticipating her arrival for some time now. The morning’s events had already spread through the palace, whispered from servant to servant, from guard to guard. They all knew about the confrontation between the Empress and the Empress Dowager, knew about the threats that had been exchanged, and knew about the power that had shaken the very foundations of the palace.

But none of them dared to speak of it. Qazaethel ascended her steps to her throne, her movements were graceful and deliberate.

The throne was an imposing structure, carved from obsidian and inlaid with gold and precious gems. It had been crafted for thousands of years ago, during the reign of the first sovereign of Solkanaia, and it had been passed down from ruler to ruler, a symbol of the power and authority that came with the crown.

Qazaethel settled into it, her posture was straight, her hands were resting on the armrests with practiced ease.

She reached for the first scroll on the pile beside her, her eyes are scanning the contents with practiced efficiency. The scroll contained reports from the outer provinces, updates on trade agreements and military movements. She read through them quickly, her mind was absorbing the information while simultaneously processing the events of the morning.

She had learned long ago to compartmentalize, to separate her personal feelings from her duties as sovereign. It was a skill that had served her well over the thousands of years, and had allowed her to rule effectively even when her heart was heavy with grief or anger.

"Where is the Prime Minister?" Qazaethel asked, her voice was carrying through the throne room.

The silence that followed was immediate and absolute. The ministers exchanged glances, their expressions were shifting from neutral to uncomfortable. None of them spoke, none of them dared to answer. They all knew where Arielle was, or at least they had heard rumors. But no one wanted to be the one to deliver news that would surely displease the Empress.

Qazaethel looked at the four corners of the room, her eyes are scanning the faces of the ministers who stood before her. She was hoping to spot her youngest Prime Minister, to see Arielle’s familiar face among the crowd. But Arielle was nowhere to be found. The space where she usually stood was empty, a glaring absence that made Qazaethel’s eyes narrow with suspicion.

"Zane," Qazaethel said, her voice was sharp and commanding. "Where is Lordess Arielle? Is she aware that she has duties to fulfill?"

Zane, a tall man with graying hair and a perpetually worried expression, stepped forward from his position near the wall. He bowed deeply, his forehead was nearly touching his knees, before straightening and meeting the Empress’s gaze.

Zane had served as the Minister of Internal Affairs for over two decades, had weathered political storms and personal scandals with a quiet dignity that Qazaethel had always respected. But now, looking at him, she could see the nervousness in his eyes, the way his hands trembled slightly at his sides.

"Your Majesty," Zane began, his voice was carefully measured, "I do not know where the Prime Minister is, please—"

He was not able to finish his sentence. The doors to the throne room swung open, and Arthion entered, his presence was immediately commanding attention. He was dressed in his formal robes, the colors of his house displayed proudly on his chest. His expression was grave, and his eyes dark with something that might have been anger or sorrow. He walked with purpose, his steps are echoing through the silent room, and stopped before the throne.

"Your Majesty," he said, bowing deeply.

Qazaethel sighed and set the scroll down on the armrest of her throne. She hated when people entered without invitation, without announcing themselves. It was a breach of protocol that she had never tolerated, not even from those she considered allies. But Arthion was a God, a warlord of considerable power, and he had earned certain privileges through his centuries of service. Still, that did not mean she had to be pleased about it.

"What is it?" Qazaethel asked, her voice was cold and dismissive. "Do not add to the ruins of my day, Lord Arthion."

She leaned back against the backrest of her throne, her eyes were fixed on the God who stood before her. She had known Arthion for centuries, had worked with him on numerous occasions, had even considered him a friend at one point. But their relationship had soured over the years, had become strained by political differences and personal grievances. She did not trust him, did not fully understand his motivations, and that made her wary.

Arthion straightened, his expression was carefully controlled. "My daughter is not coming," he said, his voice was carrying through the throne room. "If you allow me to take—"

"Explain why you chose to come here and deliver this tragic news," Qazaethel interrupted, her voice was cold and demanding.

She had no patience for games, no tolerance for the political maneuvering that Arthion seemed to enjoy. She wanted answers, wanted to understand why Arielle, her most capable minister, had failed to appear at court. The fact that Arthion was here, delivering the news himself, suggested that something significant had happened. Something that she would not like.

Before Arthion could respond, the doors to the throne room opened again, and Liv entered. The General was dressed in her full armor, her sword at her side, and her expression carefully neutral. She walked with the confident stride of a warrior, her eyes were scanning the room before standing beside near the throne.

Qazaethel gestured for Liv to come forward, and the General did so without hesitation. She climbed the steps to the throne and leaned in close, her lips were nearly touching Qazaethel’s ear as she whispered something. The words were too quiet for anyone else to hear, but the effect on Qazaethel was immediate.

The sovereign’s expression shifted, her eyes are freezing as she struggled to contain the emotions that threatened to break through her carefully constructed composure. She slowly turned her gaze back to Arthion, her eyes are boring into him with an intensity that made even the God shift uncomfortably.

"Lord Arthion," Qazaethel said, her voice was slightly rising. "Tell me what happened."

Arthion kept his head down, his gaze were fixed on the floor. He had known that this moment would come, had prepared himself for the Sovereign’s anger. But knowing and experiencing were two different things, and he found himself struggling to maintain his composure.

"I apologize, Your Majesty," he said, his voice was carefully measured. "But I have to teach my daughter a lesson. I found Eiravelle was pregnant, and she dared defy me and protect—"

"Where is Eiravelle?" Qazaethel cut him off, her voice was sharp and demanding.

The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. Arthion kept his head down, his jaw was tight. He had hoped to avoid this question, had hoped to present his actions in a way that would justify what he had done. But Qazaethel was not interested in justifications. She wanted answers.

"I have to disown her and throw her—"

"YOU DID WHAT?!" ℯℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

The words exploded from Qazaethel’s mouth with a force that shook the throne room. A strong wind swept through the chamber, knocking over candelabras and sending papers flying. The ministers stepped back, their faces turned pale with fear and their bodies trembled. They had never seen the Sovereign like this, had never witnessed her anger unleashed like this.

Even Arthion did not budge, though he could feel the power radiating from Qazaethel, could feel the weight of her fury pressing down on him. He was a God, had attained his godhood through merit of war, through centuries of battle and bloodshed. But Qazaethel was different. She was almost achieving godhood through pure cultivation, through centuries of meditation and discipline. Her power was raw, untamed, and far greater than his own.

"WHERE IS EIRAVELLE?!" Qazaethel’s voice cut through the throne room like a blade.

The ministers flinched, cowering in fear. Some of them fell to their knees, their foreheads are pressing against the cold marble floor.

They had never heard the Sovereign raise her voice like this, had never seen her lose control. It was terrifying, and awe-inspiring, and they knew that they were witnessing something that would be spoken of for generations to come.

"I threw her out of the manor," Arthion replied, his voice was steady despite the fear that coiled in his chest.

There was a moment of silence. It was deafening and heavy, a silence that seemed to press down on everyone in the room. Even the dust floating in the air seemed to freeze, suspended in time, waiting for what would come next.

"Why?" Qazaethel kept her voice down, but it was firm and demanding. "WHY?!"

The single word echoed through the throne room, bouncing off the walls and reverberating in the ears of everyone present.

Arthion flinched, the first crack in his composure. He had not expected this, had not anticipated that the Sovereign would react so strongly. He had thought that she would understand, would support his decision to rid his family of the disgrace that Eiravelle had brought upon them.

"Your Majesty, what do you expect me to do?!" Arthion asked, his voice was rising despite his efforts to remain calm. "She had brought so much shame to my family! This final act of disgracefulness will no longer be forgiven."

He spoke with conviction, with the certainty of a man who believed he had done the right thing. He had given Eiravelle chance after chance, had tolerated her presence in his home despite the constant reminder of his mate’s betrayal. But this, this final act of recklessness, was too much.

She had become pregnant without knowing who the Alpha was, had brought scandal upon scandal upon his family name. He could not forgive that, could not allow her to continue to drag his family through the mud.

"You. Insolent. Bastard!"

The words came out of Qazaethel’s mouth with a force that made everyone in the room gasp. They had never heard the Sovereign curse, had never heard her use such vulgarity. She was always composed, always dignified, and always in control. But now, she was none of those things.

She was furious, she was shaking with rage, and was barely holding herself back from unleashing her full power on the God who stood before her.

"THAT CHILD SHE WAS CARRYING WAS MINE!"

The declaration hung in the air like a thunderclap, stunning everyone in the room into silence. The ministers who had been cowering on the floor looked up, their eyes turn wide with shock. Arthion himself seemed frozen, his face turn pale and his mouth became slightly open as he struggled to process what he had just heard.

The child was Qazaethel’s.

The realization hit Arthion like a physical blow, knocking the breath from his lungs. He had thrown out Eiravelle, had disowned her, had cast her into the streets like garbage. And the child she carried, the child he had dismissed as the product of her shameful behavior, was the child of the Sovereign herself. The implications were staggering and the consequences are unimaginable.

"Zane!" Qazaethel’s voice cut through the stunned silence, snapping everyone to attention. "Summon the Seer! I have to locate where Eiravelle is! Send out the elite troops! If I find a single scratch on that omega, pray to the Gods that I do not burn this land to ashes!"

Her words were a declaration of war, a promise of vengeance that left no room for doubt. The ministers, including Zane, fell to their knees once again, their foreheads are pressing against the floor as they begged for mercy again and again.

"Your Majesty, please!" Zane pleaded, his voice was trembling. "We will do everything in our power to find her! Please, show us mercy!"

But Qazaethel was not listening. Her eyes were fixed on Arthion, her gaze burned with a fury that made even the God quail. She descended from her throne, her steps were slow and deliberate, each one was bringing her closer to the man who had dared to harm the one she loved.

"And you, Lord Arthion," she said, her voice was low and dangerous. "If something happens to her, you will see yourself and your family in trial."

The words were an ultimatum, a threat that left no room for negotiation. Arthion felt his blood run cold, felt the weight of the Empress’s words pressing down on him. He had made a terrible mistake, had acted out of anger and pride, and now he would pay the price.

Qazaethel did not wait for a response. She turned and rushed out of the throne room, her robes are billowing behind her while her heart was pounding in her chest. She had to find Eiravelle. She had to find her before it was too late.

The doors slammed shut behind her, leaving the throne room in a state of stunned silence. The ministers remained on their knees, their faces were still pale and their bodies are still trembling with fear.

They had witnessed something extraordinary and something terrifying today. They had seen their Sovereign lose control, and reveal a secret that would change everything.

And they knew, with absolute certainty, that nothing would ever be the same again.

***

Qazaethel ran through the corridors of the palace, her footsteps are echoing off the marble walls. She did not care who saw her, did not care what they thought. All that mattered was finding Eiravelle, was making sure that she was safe.

She thought of the omega, of the gentle smile that had captured her heart, of the quiet strength that had drawn her in. She thought of the child growing inside her, the child that was hers, the child that she had created with the omega she loved. She thought of the future they could have had, the family they could have built, if only she had been more careful and more vigilant.

But there was no time for regret, no time for self-pity. She had to find Eiravelle and had to bring her back to make things right.

Then Qazaethel paused and stood there for a moment, her chest was heaving, and her mind was racing.

"Your Majesty!"

She turned to see Liv running toward her, the General’s expression was filled with concern. Liv had followed her from the throne room, had seen the anguish in her Sovereign’s eyes, she had known that she could not let her face this alone.

"Your Majesty, we will find her," Liv said, her voice was firm and reassuring. "I will personally lead the search. We will not rest until she is safe."

Qazaethel nodded, her throat was tight with emotion. She wanted to speak, wanted to thank Liv for her loyalty, but the words would not come. All she could do was stand there and feel her heart ache as her mind was consumed with thoughts of Eiravelle.

"Bring her back to me," Qazaethel finally said, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Bring her back to me, Liv. Please."

Liv bowed, her expression was resolute. "I will, Your Majesty. I swear it on my life."

She turned and hurried away, her voice was ringing out as she called for the elite troops, for the Seer, for anyone who could help in the search. Qazaethel watched her go, her heart was still heavy with fear and anger.

She would find Eiravelle and she had to.

And when she did, she would never let her go again.