Chapter 59: Qazaethel’s Built-up Frustration

Qazaethel was in the throne room, reviewing some important scrolls while Liv was beside her, checking and distinguishing scrolls that needed immediate attention to scrolls that didn’t. The throne room was vast and silent, the kind of silence that came from stone walls that had witnessed centuries of history.

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor, and the only sounds were the soft rustle of parchment and the occasional scratch of a quill. Qazaethel sat on her throne, her posture was straight and composed, her eyes are moving methodically across the documents before her.

She had been at this for hours, and the pile of scrolls seemed to grow rather than shrink, but she did not complain. This was her duty, and she would see it through.

"Your Majesty, I am done with some of the scrolls," Liv said, and Qazaethel looked at her.

"Yes, thank you."

Liv was about to do the other scrolls, when the empress dowager suddenly entered in a fit of rage that Liv flinched at her sudden arrival. The doors slammed open with a force that echoed through the throne room, and the dowager’s footsteps were sharp and quick against the marble floor. Her presence filled the space immediately, her anger was radiating off her like heat from a fire.

"QAZAETHEL! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?! YOU’RE GETTING MARRIED YET YOU TOOK A CONCUBINE! THAT IS NOT APPROPRIATE!" She screamed, her voice was shrill and piercing.

Liv initially calmed down and coldly bowed and went back to her work with the scrolls. She had been in the palace long enough to know that the dowager’s tantrums were best ignored. She kept her eyes on the documents in front of her, her hands are steady and her expression was carefully blank.

Qazaethel didn’t look up, but acknowledged her mother’s presence. "What brings you here?" She coldly asked and sighed, then signed the scroll and put it away. Her movements were deliberate, unhurried, as if the dowager’s screaming was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

"YOU KNOW HOW INAPPROPRIATE IT IS TO TAKE A CONCUBINE WHILE YOU’RE PREPARING FOR YOUR WEDDING! WHAT WILL THE ASHREIN THINK ABOUT US?!" She kept yelling, and even Liv was irritated with the dowager’s voice. The general’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing, her quill was scratching against the parchment with more force than necessary.

"Do you think I care what the Ashrein will think? Have you forgotten that they’re the ones who sent their daughter here without my initial acknowledgement?" Qazaethel coldly asked her mother. She leaned back against the throne’s backrest and rested her chin on her hand, her eyes are finally lifting to meet the dowager’s gaze. There was no warmth in them, no patience, only a cold indifference that made the dowager’s anger falter for just a moment.

"General Liv, please leave this room. Now," the Dowager commanded.

Liv just bowed and left. Her gesture carried no respect, much more annoyance, but she had to. She walked out and closed the door behind her, leaving the empress dowager and Qazaethel inside the throne room. The heavy doors clicked shut, and the silence that followed was thick and tense.

"Tell me, mother. Why are you utterly bothered by what the Ashreins will think about us?" Qazaethel put her scrolls aside and directly looked at her mother. Her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a warning that the dowager either did not hear or chose to ignore.

"Because! They’re our family! We needed their political influence to expand Solkanaia!" The dowager was trying not to get mad, she was trying so hard to keep her regal composure. Her hands were clenched at her sides, her breathing was uneven, but she forced herself to stand tall.

"Was it really because of that? Or because you’re in love with someone in the Ashrein kingdom that you knew you wouldn’t be able to have?" Qazaethel bluntly asked, slowly standing from her throne to descend a few stairs and look at her mother directly.

Imposing her tall figure to somehow scare her. Her presence was commanding, her eyes were sharp, and the dowager felt the weight of her daughter’s gaze like a physical force.

"W-What?" The dowager stuttered, and she stepped back. Her composure cracked, just for a moment, but it was enough.

Qazaethel took slow steps towards her. "I know you loved great-aunt Derry... And you know damn well it is forbidden because she is your Alpha mother’s alpha sister... By blood." Qazaethel said, and approached her mother. Each step was measured, deliberate, the steps of a predator closing in on prey.

"No! That is a lie!" The Dowager said, clearly screaming. Her voice cracked, and her hands trembled, but she did not back down. She could not back down. To back down would be to admit defeat.

"And also, you know well enough what will happen to someone who harms the sovereign... Mother, how could you? To plot against me, your blood and flesh." Qazaethel said, her eyes are filled with waters and pain now. The tears did not fall, but they were there, glistening in the light, a testament to the pain she had been carrying for so long.

"What the hell are you talking about?! Such accusation is a crime and needs to be punished!" The dowager’s voice was desperate now, frantic, the voice of someone who knew they were caught but could not admit it.

"Really? Mother... I already know... The moment the arrow pierced me, I did not need Cezar to find out. The arrow has your robe feathers. And sadly, the one you paid to kill me was dead. You must be happy that I wouldn’t be able to get answers from him, do you?" Qazaethel asked, her face was trying so hard to suppress her emotions.

Her voice was steady, but the effort it took to keep it that way was visible in the tension of her jaw, the rigidity of her shoulders.

"You wanted to kill me, so you can finally become regent again, pick one puppet from my children and then own the throne. I already know all this rigid bullshit plan, mother!" Qazaethel yelled at her face, and the dowager flinched. The words echoed through the throne room, bouncing off the walls, impossible to take back.

"YOU INCREASINGLY MADE IT MORE OBVIOUS THAN BEFORE!" Her power knocked off the nearby vases, telling how much built-up frustration was there. The vases shattered against the floor, their pieces were scattering across the marble, and the dowager stumbled back, her eyes were wide with fear.

"I WISH YOU KNEW HOW IT FELT TO BE NUMB WITH ALL THESE! HOW TO JUST ACT LIKE YOU’RE LIVING A LIFE WHILE YOUR MOTHER WAS THE PRIMARY PERSON IN YOUR LIFE THAT WANTS YOU DEAD!" She kept on yelling, making the dowager froze from where she is standing.

Qazaethel’s voice broke on the last word, and the tears finally fell, tracing hot lines down her cheeks. She did not wipe them away. She let them fall, let her mother see what she had done.

"So shut your mouth... And you think I bringing a concubine would make the Ashreins think I am inappropriate? So what?! You will never touch her, and if I find out you did. I will make sure you will live a living hell. Much more painful from what I went through." Qazaethel said, and the dowager was left with no choice but to leave while trembling violently.

Because once Qazaethel drop words, she won’t take it back. Not as a sovereign, and definitely not as a child of teh dowager.

This made the empress dowager that Qazaethel’s threat was real, and she realized that her daughter is no longer someone she can control. The dowager turned and walked toward the doors, her steps were unsteady and her hands are visibly shaking.

She did not look back, because she couldn’t look back. The doors opened, and she disappeared through them, leaving Qazaethel alone in the throne room.

Qazaethel stood there for a long moment, her chest was heaving and her hands are clenched at her sides. The shattered vases lay scattered around her, evidence of the power she had unleashed and the control she had lost. She had not meant to lose her temper. She had not meant to let her mother see how much it hurt. But it was done now. There was no taking it back.

She turned and walked back to her throne, her steps are slow and heavy. She sat down, her body was sinking into the familiar seat, and stared at the doors her mother had disappeared through. The tears were still falling, but she did not wipe them away. She let them fall, let them dry on her cheeks, let them serve as a reminder of what she had lost.

She had known, for a long time, that her mother did not love her. She had known that the dowager saw her as a tool, a means to an end, a way to regain the power she had lost when Qazaethel took the throne. But knowing something and accepting it were two different things.

She had hoped, foolishly perhaps, that there was still some part of her mother that cared. Some small piece of the omega who had held her as a child, who had sung her to sleep, who had smiled at her first steps. But that hope was gone now.

It had died the moment she saw the feathers on the arrow, the moment she realized that the person who wanted her dead was the person who had given her life.

She sat on the throne for a long time, long after the sun had set and the room had grown dark. She did not call for the servants to light the candles. She did not call for Liv to return. She sat alone in the darkness, her thoughts are a tangled mess of anger, grief, and exhaustion.

She thought of Eiravelle, of the omega she had brought to the palace. She thought of the child growing inside her, the innocent life that had no part in any of this. She had promised to protect them, and she would. She would protect them from her mother, from the court, from anyone who tried to harm them. She would keep them safe, even if it meant burning the whole world down.

She thought of the wedding, the one she had never wanted, the one that had been forced upon her by politics and circumstance. She thought of Dawn, the princess of Ashrein, who was probably just as trapped in this situation as she was.

She did not know Dawn well, had only met her a handful of times, but she knew what it was like to be a pawn in someone else’s game. She knew what it was like to have your life decided for you, to have your choices taken away.

She thought of her children, the ones she had barely mentioned, the ones who existed somewhere in the palace, living their own lives, unaware of the storm that raged around them. She had not been a perfect mother.

She had been absent, distracted, too consumed by the demands of ruling to give them the attention they deserved. But she loved them, in her own way. She loved them enough to fight for them, to keep them safe from the dowager’s schemes.

She thought of herself, of the person she had become. She had been young once, hopeful, full of dreams. She had thought she could change the world, make it better, create a kingdom where justice prevailed and cruelty had no place. She had learned, over the centuries, that the world was not so easily changed. She had learned that power came with a price, that every victory came with a sacrifice, and that the people you trusted could betray you in ways you never imagined.

She was tired. She was so tired. But she could not rest. There was too much to do, too many people depending on her, too many threats to face. She had to keep going. She had to keep fighting.

She wiped her eyes and straightened her shoulders. She was the sovereign of Solkanaia. She was a hybrid dragon-phoenix, a being of immense power and ancient lineage. She had survived assassination attempts, political machinations, and the betrayal of her own mother.

She would survive this too.