Javier stood beside Annaliese, their hands raised in unity as they faced the crowd below. The cheers rang out, but he barely registered them, his focus entirely on the sea of faces beneath him. He searched for any sign of weakness, any indication that the facade they had built might falter, but none appeared. They adored them, at least the idea of them. The illusion was perfect, and that was all that mattered.
He did not glance at her, but her presence was undeniable. Annaliese's stiff posture conveyed a message as clear as the daylight: she was no more willing to play this game than he was. Yet she had no choice. None of them did. She was the queen, and he was the king. Bound by duty, by power, and by all that had led them to this moment.
"Smile," he commanded, their joined hands lifting in the air to acknowledge the crowd. Annaliese shifted her hand in his grip, but he did not release her.
She ignored him, not once meeting his gaze. It took a moment, but she offered a small smile, tight, strained, her jaw clenched.
Soon, the moment ended. They turned away, retreating inside, and then she wrenched her hand from his.
"I hope we do not have to do that again," she said, her voice laced with distaste. "Holding you felt as though I were going to be sick." The servants and officiants stood behind them, their heads respectfully bowed.
Javier's expression remained cold as he regarded the disgust on her face. "You will do as you are commanded," he replied, his voice low and firm. "Not a word of complaint shall pass your lips."
He observed her fist clenched tightly at her side, the tension clear. His gaze flicked from her hand to her face. "Do I make myself clear?"
He stepped closer, but Annaliese, without hesitation, stepped back, her back meeting the wall, effectively trapping herself between him and the cold stone.
"Do I make myself clear?" he repeated, his voice darkening.
She glared at him, her eyes filled with contempt.
"Crystal," she replied, her tone sharp, as though the word were a dagger in the air. She attempted to turn away, but Javier's hand shot out, closing around her throat.
She stiffened, her breath catching. "Remove your filthy hands from me."
Javier's lips curled into a faint smile, though it held no warmth. "Yet today, you trembled with these hands upon you."
Her face flushed with a mixture of anger and shame, and she quickly averted her gaze. But after a moment, she lifted her eyes to meet his once more.
"Just a normal reaction, Your Majesty," she said coolly. "It is bound to happen if another lays their hand on me."
Her words, though defiant, only seemed to fuel his fury. His grip tightened around her throat.
"Is that so?" he whispered, his voice a low growl. "Because I will have you know, Annaliese, no one else's hands are to touch you. Not unless I give leave for it."
For a moment, she remained silent, her breath uneven. Finally, she spoke, her voice dripping with venom.
"Of course, you shall have to touch me to sire your heir," she said, her voice filled with venom
Javier took a step back, his face cold and stoic. "You are right, my queen. That is indeed your purpose here."
Without awaiting her response, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving her standing there, her throat still stinging from his touch.Yvonne stood against the wall, watching him leave with his officiant while her ladies-in-waiting and servants stood in silence behind her. Klara, whose head was bowed in respect, stole a glance at Yvonne from the corner of her eye but dared not speak.
A deep breath escaped Yvonne, her hand rubbing down her face in frustration. "I hate him so much," she muttered, though her words were in English, foreign to those around her. "I just want to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze."
She did not move, still leaning against the cold stone, her chest heaving with suppressed anger. At that moment, a servant stepped forward, her head bowed in deference.
"My lady, the Lady Dunbary has come to see you," the servant announced quietly.
Yvonne's eyes snapped open, a furrow of confusion crossing her brow. She had not expected this. She did not know who this woman was.
Just then, Teresa, her head lady-in-waiting, stepped forward, her expression a mask of propriety.
"Your Majesty," Teresa began, her head slightly bowed, "Lady Dunbary, wife of the noble Lord Dunbary, has arrived to request an audience with you. It is an unexpected visit, my queen, but one of considerable importance, I believe."
Lady Dunbary was a woman of great wealth and standing, married to a nobleman of vast estates. It was a rare and significant occasion that Lady Dunbary would seek an audience with the queen.
Yvonne pushed away from the wall and gave a slight nod. "Lead the way," she said, stepping forward, the others falling in line behind her. She was uncertain of what was to come; since she had entered this body, she had scarcely spoken to anyone beyond the castle walls, save for Klara.
Before long, they arrived at the drawing room. As Yvonne entered, Lady Dunbary turned from the portrait she had been observing and lowered herself into a deep curtsy.
"Your Majesty, it is an honor to receive you, especially on such an unexpected visit."
Yvonne regarded her for a moment, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
"It is of no consequence. You may be seated."
Lady Dunbary hesitated briefly, surprise flickering across her features at the queen's manner of speech. Nonetheless, she offered a pleasant smile and took her seat.
Yvonne moved forward and sat as well.
"To what do I owe this visit?" she inquired.
The lady's smile remained. "It is nothing of great importance, Your Majesty. I merely wished to see how you are faring in your new home."
Yvonne returned the smile, though there was little warmth in it. "Is that so?"