My Unrestrained Lives-Chapter 63: Audience with the King

Inside the main palace... far from the ongoing banquet that had already become the center of rumors and scandal across the royal grounds, one of the most luxurious rooms sat in complete disarray.

Mirrors lay shattered across the polished floors, furniture was overturned and broken, and fine silks and dresses had been torn to pieces in a fit of madness.

Within the wreckage stood a woman, regal yet consumed by fury, the queen of the Valemere Kingdom, Lysandra of House Edevane, born into one of the most powerful Marquess families in the kingdom.

Despite her age, Lysandra still carried the kind of cold, refined beauty that drew awe in courtly circles. Yet now, there was nothing elegant about her.

Her painted lips twisted in rage, she gripped a whip in her trembling hand, still lashing at the crumpled body of a young maid at her feet. The girl’s uniform was ripped, her skin streaked with bruises, her body limp and unconscious. And yet, the queen struck again.

The maid had long since passed the point of screaming. Her face was flushed, her breath erratic, and her carefully arranged hair now a tangled mess.

The other maids had already fled the chamber, terrified they would be next... and none daring to stop their queen’s violent spiral. After all, everyone in the palace knew: since the announcement that the fourth prince would be crowned instead of her son, Lysandra had lost herself completely.

It wasn’t merely grief. It was a humiliation... an insult that twisted everything she had schemed and sacrificed for into ashes.

And so, Lysandra wasn’t done.

Until—

Suddenly, the heavy doors swung open, and a new presence entered the chaos.

A man stepped into the ruined chamber, tall and commanding, every inch exuding royal pride. His cold gaze swept across the room, ignoring the broken maid sprawled on the ground, and instead landed on the woman at the center of the wreckage.

His mother.

"Mother," he spoke, his voice deep and composed, "please stop all these self-harming actions. How long do you plan to continue this madness?"

His blue hair, a signature of the royal bloodline, caught the light as he walked further into the room. His sharp features, noble and sculpted, were unreadable, but his tone was firm, almost cold.

"Do you not understand how these outbursts will only tarnish your image? And mine as well?"

He was trying to advise her, to appeal to reason, but Lysandra didn’t seem to hear a word.

Instead, the moment her unfocused eyes landed on him, she moved. The whip fell from her hand as she staggered forward and clung to him, as if he were the only solid thing left in her collapsing world.

"Alric..." she whispered breathlessly.

The eldest prince. The strongest among his siblings. The one who should have been crowned.

To Lysandra, her son wasn’t just a child, he was her entire reason for living. Everything she had done, every scheme and sacrifice, was for him. And now, even if she was still lost in her storm of despair, just feeling his presence gave her a thread of clarity to hold onto.

So, little by little, her trembling body calmed, though her eyes remained clouded, still unable to fully return from the chaos in her heart.

Alric sighed once again as he took in the disheveled state of his mother. Then, without force but with unshakable firmness, he gripped her shoulders and pulled her back, just enough to meet her gaze.

"Mother," he said, voice low but heavy with urgency, "do you know what’s happening outside right now?"

"It’s chaos. Literal chaos."

He paused for a moment to let that word sink in before continuing.

"So please. You need to come back to your senses. We don’t have the luxury of your breakdown. Not now."

"There’s still a chance for us. And the Crown Prince title?" His expression darkened slightly. "If the information I have is correct... then it may not be worth much longer."

At those words, a flicker of light sparked in Lysandra’s eyes... sharp, calculating, hungry.

But Alric wasn’t finished.

Without flinching at the hope in her face, he continued speaking, finally revealing the incident that had occurred in the Nore Palace. He described the incident, before moving to the hushes and murmurs rippling through the noble court.

And Lysandra listened, her eyes widening, her back straightening bit by bit.

"Some are saying you tried to kill Lady Thalia," he said bluntly, "only for her to survive with the King’s intervention. That she was brought back by his own command."

"But that’s not the loudest rumor."

"Most people believe it wasn’t you. Too many of your personal servants died in this incident, after all. If it was truly your plan, you would never sacrifice them so needlessly. They know that."

His voice lowered further.

"But that doesn’t mean you’re safe. People are saying you’ve lost favor. That you’ve fallen from Father’s grace."

Alric’s words struck like a whip... not physically, but deeper.

And Lysandra’s gaze turned cold. The madness that had been swirling in her eyes seemed to shift, refining itself, sharpening into something far more dangerous.

And rather than collapse further into grief, she drew in a long, slow breath.

Cool, composed. Beautiful and terrifying again.

She finally turned away from her son, and in a calm voice that sent chills down the spine, called for the servants who had been lingering just beyond the door.

"Remove the girl from the floor."

"Then prepare my bath. And bring me my green dress. The one with the phoenix embroidery."

The maids quickly scurried in, not daring to look directly at the fallen girl as they carried her away.

...

Now dressed in a luxurious dress of deep emerald silk embroidered with golden thread, Lysandra walked through the hallways of the main palace. The rich fabric swayed gracefully with each of her steps, accentuating her mature beauty, refined, regal, and untouchable.

Her hair, perfectly styled, glistened beneath the soft candlelight that lit the corridor, and her presence alone was enough to make both servants and guards immediately halt in place and bow deeply.

But she gave none of them a glance.

Her steps did not falter, nor did her eyes shift from the path ahead as she continued walking toward the King’s chamber.

Before long, she arrived at the familiar pair of grand doors. Standing beside them were two knights... no ordinary guards, but handpicked royal protectors of exceptional strength. Though they didn’t move, their gazes were sharp and alert.

Lysandra came to a dignified stop in front of them and, without arrogance but with the authority of her status, spoke clearly.

"Please inform His Majesty that the Queen requests an audience."

One of the knights gave a slight nod and turned to enter the room. The door closed silently behind him, leaving only a brief stillness.

Lysandra waited patiently, hands folded before her, chin held high. She was the queen, after all. No matter her current standing in court, dignity was something she would never relinquish.

Moments later, the knight returned and stepped aside, bowing as he spoke.

"His Majesty awaits you in his office."

Lysandra gave a small nod of acknowledgment and stepped inside without hesitation.

The hallway beyond was quiet, but before long, she reached a second door, smaller and simpler than the grand double doors outside. Another knight stood there, but before he could move, Lysandra pushed the door open herself.

She entered.

The king’s office, though certainly elegant, lacked the decadence one might expect of a ruler. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, and a wide glass window overlooked the palace gardens, where late-blooming flowers swayed gently in the wind.

But Lysandra, as always, found the atmosphere lacking. No matter how many times she entered this place, she could never feel that it suited a king. Not her husband.

Still, she said nothing. She had long since grown used to it.

Seated behind the grand desk was King Aldren Thelric Valemere. He looked to be in his forties... his hair the same royal blue as his children’s, and his eyes clear and spirited, still carrying the sharpness of a ruler who had not yet grown dull with age.

Behind him stood a man dressed in the simple uniform of a royal servant, quietly waiting.

The King glanced at Lysandra as she stepped inside but didn’t move. Instead, he returned his attention to the document in front of him.

"So," he said flatly, voice steady and calm, "what is it that brings you here at this hour?"

"If it’s to speak of the Crown Prince, I’ll tell you now—my decision will not change."

Lysandra’s eyes gleamed for a brief moment, but she quickly reined herself in.

She had already expected this. She hadn’t come here to beg.

Instead, she took a few steps closer, her voice steady and cold.

"Did you suddenly develop feelings for that girl, Thalia? After tossing her aside for years?"

She narrowed her eyes.

"Why did you do what you did at the Nore Palace?"

There was no proof, but she asked anyway... pressing, observing, watching for the tiniest flicker of emotion on his face.

She needed answers.

And if he wouldn’t give her answers willingly, she would read them in his silence.

But at the mention of the Nore Palace, Aldren’s expression didn’t shift in the slightest. Calmly, almost too casually, he said, "I had no hand in what happened there."

Lysandra frowned, her eyes narrowing with disbelief. She didn’t trust a single word of that. Not from him.

But Aldren, unfazed, leaned back and added, "If that’s the only reason you came to speak with me, then you may leave. I’ve nothing more to say."

His words struck her like a slap. The way he so easily dismissed her, his queen... ignited a deep resentment in her eyes. But even if bitterness churned in her chest, she wouldn’t walk away empty-handed.

So, she pressed on, her voice low and tense.

"Thalia was rescued. And now the Eleventh Prince seems to have grown more brazen. Do you truly expect me to believe you played no part in any of this?"

This time, the king didn’t respond immediately. For a moment, his casual demeanor slipped, and a strange expression passed through his eyes... a pondering look, distant and cold.

"Aldrian?" he repeated, brows furrowing slightly. "Do you really think I care about that son?"

Lysandra’s composure finally cracked.

Not because of what he said. But because he had misnamed his own son.

Aldrian. Not Adrian.

Had the king truly mistaken the boy’s name... a one even she knew?

Her mind raced. If even he couldn’t recall his son’s name correctly, then... had they all been wrong? The nobles, the servants, even herself?

Had the king truly had no part in what happened in the Nore Palace?

As she stood there, reeling in that uncertainty, the servant standing at a respectful distance took a few steps closer to the king and whispered something softly into his ear.

Aldren responded with a single, quiet chuckle before he waved his hand. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"Anyway, you can take your leave."

Lysandra didn’t argue. Her mind was already clouded with new doubts. Someone was stirring chaos in the palace. A prince, a princess, or maybe someone else... but, someone was moving pieces behind the scenes.

Without another word, she turned and stepped out.

And so, the brief meeting with the king came to a quiet, uneasy end.