There was once a scorned Woman

For most, karma was nothing more than a whispered prayer—a hope that justice might find its way to those who had wronged them. Lacking the power to seek their own retribution, they relied on fate. But for Queen Melina Lemaitre, karma was as tangible as the sword that executed her justice.

It had been real since the man who dishonored her nineteen years ago stood before a platform only sinners should stand and had his head cleaved clean from his head.

It was justice seeing the entire Favier family fall and it was so close to it's fruition if her son hadn't spoken and appealed to her husband's good graces.

Now the boy was spared. And given the title of a fucking Bedni for that matter.

But no matter. Melina refused to let this twist of fate deter her. She would find a way to set things right.

"Take me to the Bedni quarters," she ordered her flurry of queenmaids, her voice as sharp as a blade.

The guards led her through the corridors, where the vibrant colors and intricate mosaics seemed to mock her resolve. As she approached, Bedni men and women fell to their knees, pressing their foreheads to the cool, polished floor. It was a display of submission that did little to soften the queen's expression.

Lyra, the Head of the Bednis, hurried forward, dropping to her knees with practiced grace. "Your Majesty," she began, her voice trembling, "we did not expect the honor of your presence."

Melina's eyes swept over her, cold and unyielding. Without a word, she stepped past Lyra, disdain etched into every line of her face. "Where is the boy?" she demanded, her words clipped and precise.

"The new one?" Lyra asked, her gaze fixed on the ground.

Melina nodded, impatience simmering beneath her calm exterior.

"He is taking a shower, preparing for his transition as a Bedni," Lyra replied.

"Take me to him," Melina commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Lyra hesitated. "Immediately, Your Majesty, as soon as he is clothed."

The slap came swiftly, the sound echoing off the stone walls. Lyra recoiled, her hand flying to her cheek, eyes wide with shock.

It was one of Queen Melina's flurry of servants. They knew what made their mistress's blood boil and reacted accordingly.

"Was that an opinion?" Melina asked, her voice a cold whisper.

Lyra bowed her head lower. "No, Your Majesty. I am unworthy. Please, spare me."

Melina stared at her, then gestured for her to lead the way. Lyra rose shakily, guiding the queen down a corridor that wound deeper into the quarters.

They entered a room filled with steam and the scent of molly-perfumed water. Several Bednis worked diligently, washing a young boy who sat in a tub, his eyes wide with fear. She recognized him as the one who got away. At the sight of the queen, they halted their work, bowing in silent reverence.

Melina approached the boy, her gaze piercing. He was slight and pale, his eyes reflecting a mix of terror and defiance.

"You are Marius, aren't you?" Melina asked, her voice deceptively soft.

The boy shook his head, droplets of water flying from his dark damp hair. "I have no name," he said, his voice a whisper. "They say I have no name anymore."

Melina chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth. "That is true. But when I call you by your old name, you will answer me."

He nodded, understanding sinking in like a stone.

"How old is he?" Melina asked, turning to Lyra.

"He told me he was seventeen," Lyra replied. "He will be eighteen in a few months. Soon, we will introduce him to the Bedni court."

Melina considered this for a moment, then nodded. "There is no need for that. While he is young, he has no use in the Bedni quarters. Rather than waste food on an Omega, he will work for his keep. He will stay in my quarters until he is of breeding age."

Lyra nodded, faking the look of relief that washed over her features.

"I would like a word with the boy," Melina said, her voice brooking no dissent. "Leave us."

The others bowed and quickly exited, leaving Melina alone with Marius. The door closed with a soft click, and silence settled over the room.

Melina studied him, noting the way he tried to make himself small, yet his eyes held a flicker of defiance. She saw something familiar in him, a stubborn resilience that reminded her of herself. And it disgusted her.

"Marius," she said, the name a binding of past and present. "You have been spared, but make no mistake—this mercy can be as fleeting as it is rare. You will serve in my quarters. You will learn what it means to survive when your past is nothing but a shadow."

He nodded, the weight of her words settling in his bones. She wasn't offering kindness, but a path, however narrow and treacherous it might be.

"The court will see you as a boy without a name or a family. But you will know who you are, and you will know that every day you draw breath is a gift I can rescind."

Marius nodded again, more firmly this time. "I thank the Kingdom for its kindness."

"Thank my son for the air that you still breathe." Melina said matter of factly. "If it were up to me, I would rather your head had been cut off."

Marius looked up to meet her gaze. A rare and lucky moment for the boy. Because should any of her maids have been there when he looked at her like he was a boy who mattered, his eyes that reminded her of his whore of a mother would have been long gone.

Marius remained silent, knowing his place. He understood he was nothing more than a slave before the Queen of Onalith. Her words cut through the air, and he knew that any reply might seal his fate. The silence stretched between them, heavy and charged.

Queen Melina regarded him, her eyes narrowing as if daring him to speak. She stepped forward, her gaze never leaving his face. "You want to know why I hold so much hate for you."

Marius didn't answer. He knew the rules of this game all too well. Speaking would only confirm what she already believed—that he was insignificant, a mere pawn in her world.

Melina's lips curled into a mirthless smile. "You think I hate you because you're an Omega, like everyone else does, don't you?" She let the question hang in the air, but she continued without waiting for a response. "But you're wrong. My disdain for you has nothing to do with what you are. It's because of what your father did to me."

As she spoke, Melina stepped into the bathwater, the hem of her gown trailing through the perfumed water. The unexpectedness of the act caught Marius off guard, and he shrank back, his spine pressing against the edge of the basin until there was nowhere left to retreat.

Melina reached out, her fingers brushing against his damp cheek. Her touch was both cold and possessive. "Your father," she said, her voice low and filled with venom, "chose an Omega over me. Over a Luna."

Her hand tightened ever so slightly, and Marius winced, though he dared not flinch away. "It's insulting," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "And for as long as you breathe, you will pay for it."

Marius could feel the anger radiating from her, a living thing that threatened to consume them both. He swallowed hard, the scent of jasmine and fear mingling in the air.

"I want you dead," Melina said, releasing his face with a flick of her wrist, as though he were something distasteful. "But I hope you fight back. I hope you struggle against everything I am about to place in your path. It will make your eventual fall all the more satisfying."

With that, she stepped out of the water, the soaked fabric of her gown clinging to her legs as she moved with regal grace. She called for her servants, her voice commanding and imperious.

The doors opened, and the queenmaids filed in, their expressions carefully neutral as they took in the scene. Melina turned to Lyra, who had returned at her queen's summons, and spoke with crisp authority. "The boy is to be in my quarters first thing tomorrow."

Lyra nodded, her eyes flicking briefly to Marius, who remained in the basin, trembling slightly from the cold and the encounter. "Yes, Your Majesty," she said, her voice steady despite the tension in the room.

Melina swept from the chamber, her wet gown whispering against the stone floor. The air she left behind felt colder, the weight of her words hanging like a specter over Marius's head.