Supreme Spouse System.-Chapter 244: Moonstone Tension

Moonstone Tension

Someone shouted out, sharp and rehearsed.

"His Majesty King Aurelian, Moonlight King of the Moonstone Kingdom!"

All eyes turned.

The court stood as one, chairs scraped back in silent compliance. Cloaks opened. Boots were drawn together. Heads bowed—not out of habit, but respect forged out of history and fear.

The air changed—heavier now, thick with a tension that muffled even the most agitated courtiers.

And so the moment that would decide what happened next began.

From the arched double doors at the far end of the room, King Aurelian appeared with measured elegance. His very presence quieted the room. He was clothed in the full trappings of his office: dark midnight-blue robes edged in white, with threads of gold woven through them that sparkled like sunlight on water. A crown of silver, dainty and commanding, rested on his brow—glistening as if chiseled from moonlight itself.

Every inch of him exuded authority. His dark hair was well-combed, the edges of his jaw clean and firm. But it was his eyes—pale, sharp, icy—that had the court in thrall. Like a glacier under winter sun, they shone with warning: still, but able to exert crushing weight.

By his side strode Natasha.

She was quiet, serene, and unflappable. A statuesque woman of great elegance, her long strides kept pace with the King’s as if she had practiced this move a thousand times. While Aurelian radiated cold like frost, Natasha radiated serenity like deep water—mirroring his seriousness in flawless counterpoise.

She walked by him, her eyes darting to Leon. In the shortest instant, their eyes locked. No spark of feeling appeared on her countenance, no smile, no acknowledge—only a flash of acknowledgment, quickly extinguished.

Without pause, the King climbed the seven steps to the high throne. He strode as though time curved around him, every step resounding through the marble floor with silent conclusion. Situated, his robes flowed over the throne like a wave subsiding into calm. He placed one hand on the armrest—ringed fingers shining in the light of the chandelier—and scanned his court.

Not a word had been spoken, and yet each individual felt the pressure of his presence weighing upon their chest.

Then he spoke.

"You may be seated," he said, the words low and commanding, carrying with them the understated rumble of a storm far away.

Chairs groaned quietly as nobles complied. Silk hissed, jewels chattered, but none of them ventured to say a word. The air in the room chilled, even though the windows were shut and the fire yet lived in the great hearth. It wasn’t cold that chilled—it was what they sensed in their bones: something had shifted.

Aurelian’s eyes traveled slowly over the room, resting on each of the faces—not merely looking, measuring them. His silence lingered just long enough to unnerve nerves.

At last his voice resumed, silky but with an edge of steel.

"I trust you all are curious why you’ve been invited here today," he said.

Nobody answered. Some nodded. Some stayed motionless, trying not to catch his eye.

The King shifted forward, a little.

I have news," he went on. "This is no day for celebration or ritual."

He stopped. Something ugly lurked under his words.

He breathed out, but not from tiredness. It was to check himself.

"I called you here today," he said slowly, carefully, "because we are on the brink of war."

The words cut through the silence.

Gasps and whispers coursed through the court like a gust of wind that came through parched leaves. Some nobles bent forward toward each other, whispering. Others remained fixed in their seats, attempting to wrap their heads around the implications of the King’s announcement.

The silence broke.

Whispers spread through the court like an incoming tide.

"War?"

"Against whom?"

"Not Vellore again...?"

The whispers thickened, rolling from peer to peer, growing into a low rumble that billowed through the great hall like smoke. Apprehension hung in the air—shrouded in perfume, lace, and velvet gowns—but it was panic nonetheless.

Edric, sitting quietly in her chair, flinched at a keen at the mention of the word "war." But her composure held. She didn’t say a word, didn’t even blink—just sat ahead, forehead furrowed ever so subtly. Her mind had already dropped down into calculation, into abstruse thought, balancing the price of what this was.

Leon sat across from her, completely immobile. He had considered this probability for days now. While the others responded in shock, his tranquility was chilling. Unchanging. It was the type of calm born only of anticipation, of knowing the tempest would arrive and waiting for its gusts.

Nova shifted a little, her eyes settling on Leon. Her eyes narrowed—not suspicion, but clarity. She saw it at once. He knew. That quiet confidence in his features stopped her. Her heart, which had jumped along with the others, slowed to meet his. She didn’t need to ask. His small nod was affirmation.

Their quiet communication went unnoticed by others—but between the two of them, it was more audible than any uttered in the chamber.

Surrounding them, though, the court broke down. Raised tones clashed with worried queries. Some nobles rose to address the assembly, others moved to speak in huddles. The atmosphere disintegrated. The hall was no longer a court of discipline—it had become a hub of disarray, more akin to a market than the throne of royal justice.

Then—

"Enough."

The one word hit the room like thunder.

Silence cascaded instantly.

Everyone looked towards the throne. King Aurelian was tall, his height imposing even if he was old. His eyes were blue, piercing and commanding, raking the room like a razor.

"This isn’t a room for rumors," he declared, his tone cold and low, each word precisely weighted. "I brought you all here for doing—and not for chatter.

A silence grew deeper. Heads bowed. The weight of shame spread across the room in a heavy fog. The nobles did not dare look into the King’s eyes.

Then, with a snap of his head, Aurelian spoke again. "Natasha."

She advanced at once—calm, composed, and lethally effective. Attired in green robes with silver trim at her sleeves, Natasha was the epitome of quiet power. From her storage ring, she pulled out a sealed scroll. With a movement of her wrist, the parchment unrolled, and she started to read in a calm, cool, clear voice.

Our scouts inform us Vellore troops have started moving towards the eastern boundary of our kingdom.