The Return of Lady Lysara and Her Son
Setting: The Grand Court Hall. Mid-morning. Nobles, advisors, and foreign dignitaries line the marbled hall. The king has summoned a formal audience, but no one knows why.
The scent of incense curled in the high arches of the court, thick with ceremonial weight. Courtiers whispered behind gloved hands. The Queen sat rigidly on her throne beside the King, her sapphire coronet gleaming cold beneath the filtered sun.
She had dressed with precision today. Blue silk. Silver-threaded bodice. A show of grace and strength.
The King had not spoken to her since dawn.
A woman entered slowly, her figure veiled in black and gold—modest, elegant, unmistakable. She walked with practiced grace, chin lifted, a boy at her side.
He couldn’t have been more than four.
Golden-peach curls. Wide, bright ocean eyes. A mouth that held the faintest curve of mischief.
The boy looked up at the King with quiet familiarity.
It was the kind of smile Elira had not seen in years—not since their daughter’s birth. Not even then, if she were honest.
Whispers rippled through the court like a rising wind. The resemblance was undeniable. The shape of the eyes. The tilt of the jaw. The way the child stood—not behind the woman, but beside her, as if born to stand before kings.
The Queen’s throat tightened.
King Vaeron
“Lords and Ladies,” the King said, his voice warm and clear, “I present to you Lady Lysara, returned to us after many years in the eastern lands. Daughter of House Virelle. Blood of kings.”
King Vaeron
“And her son, whom I shall place under royal protection from this day forward.”
Gasps murmured through the court. The queen’s eyes did not leave the child.
No titles. No claim. Yet.
But the way the King looked at him—possessive, proud, protective—it was enough.
Queen Elira
Her voice, when it came, was sweet as honey and sharp as glass. “You bring her into the heart of the palace without counsel. Without warning.”
King Vaeron
“She is family,” the King said. “Or have you forgotten the blood that runs in her veins?”
Queen Elira
“I remember blood, Your Majesty,” Elira replied. “Most of all the blood that once stained this very throne.”
The King’s eyes darkened, but he said nothing. He simply turned to Lysara.
King Vaeron
“You and your son will be housed in the west wing,” he said gently, for her ears alone—but not quietly. “You’ll find the rooms have been prepared… as they were before.”
Lysara hesitated. Just for a moment. Then bowed.
The Queen watched the boy as he clutched his mother’s skirts. He glanced up—just once—his gaze meeting hers.
A child’s look. Innocent.
But Elira felt the chill in her bones.
Not love. Not family. A replacement
Comments