{Third Person}

Lysandra did not stop there.

Her gaze remained fixed on Amara, sharp and unyielding as she continued, "You have truly disgraced this Royal family."

The words landed heavily in the quiet hall.

"You are a political bride," Lysandra went on, her tone calm but cutting. "The wife of the Alpha Prince, yet you could not conduct yourself properly at such an important event."

Amara swallowed, then gathered the courage to respond. "Your Majesty... the Princess came to me, and His Highness approved—"

"Enough." That single word cut through her explanation.

Lysandra didn’t raise her voice, but the authority in it was enough to silence Amara instantly. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

"Even if the Alpha Prince permits you to behave without regard for rules," she said, her gaze narrowing slightly, "should you not know better yourself? Or must everything be handed to you before you learn how to carry yourself with dignity?"

Amara’s lips parted, but no words came out.

She stood there, forced to listen. Not once did Lysandra mention Elowen. Not once did she acknowledge that her own daughter had been involved.

The realization sat heavily in Amara’s chest. This wasn’t about rules. It was about her.

Lysandra leaned back slightly in her seat before speaking again.

"You must be punished," she said plainly. "So that next time, you will remember your position and act accordingly."

Amara’s eyes widened slightly. "Punished?"

She hadn’t expected this. She had thought the Queen would verbally admonish her for a long time before dismissing her.

Alas! It wasn’t the deal.

"I—Your Majesty—" she tried, her voice softer now, almost pleading. But Lysandra had already moved on.

A servant stepped forward, holding a thick, worn-out textbook. The edges were frayed, its pages clearly aged from years of use.

Lysandra gestured toward it. "This contains the palace etiquette and manners."

Amara’s gaze dropped to the book.

"You will copy every page neatly and commit it to memory," Lysandra continued.

Amara’s throat tightened. ’I am to copy almost two hundred pages worth of textbook?’

Her mind went blank for a second.

Then, Lysandra added almost thoughtfully, "I am forced to wonder if the tutors who prepared you before the Welcome Banquet were nothing but quacks."

The insult stung, but Amara didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her attention was still fixed on the book, her thoughts spinning.

’Seriously... I have to copy all of it?’

She had never heard of such a punishment before. Still... at least there was no deadline. The Queen didn’t tell her when exactly to submit the written notes.

A small, fleeting relief surfaced, but it didn’t last.

Lysandra’s gaze shifted and fell on Ginger. "And this is the pet of yours that ruined the outfits I sent for the Hunt?" She asked slowly, her tone changing.

Amara’s heart skipped as her grip on Ginger tightened slightly.

She didn’t answer that question because no matter what she said, she knew it would only make things worse.

Lysandra scoffed, taking her silence as a ’yes’. "I thought as much." Without hesitation, she turned slightly to her servants and said, "Take it away."

Amara’s head snapped up. "No—"

Before she could react further, two servants stepped forward and reached for Ginger.

Ginger immediately became agitated, letting out sharp cries as she resisted. Her small body twisted in Amara’s arms, claws lashing out as she fought to stay where she was.

"Stop—don’t take her!" Amara protested, tightening her hold.

But the servants were persistent. They grabbed at the cat, trying to pry her away. But Ginger scratched them, drawing sharp reactions as she struggled fiercely.

Lysandra’s expression darkened. Her voice rose this time, edged with irritation. "What are you doing? Take it away!"

Amara’s heart pounded. "Please, Your Majesty—she didn’t—"

Before she could finish, the Queen’s maid-in-waiting stepped forward. Without hesitation, she struck Ginger. The sound was a sharp crack.

Ginger cried out.

Amara froze for a split second, shock flashing across her face. Then anger surged through her.

"Why would you hit her?" she shouted, her composure breaking completely as she glared at the maid-in-waiting.

But it was too late. That moment of distraction was enough. The servants forcefully pulled Ginger from her arms successfully.

"No—!" Amara reached out instinctively, but they were already stepping back.

Ginger struggled in their grip, her cries sharp and distressed as she continued to resist. They held her roughly. The next moment, they turned and carried her out of the hall.

Amara stood rooted to the spot, her hand still half-extended in the air. Her chest tightened painfully as her eyes followed them until they disappeared completely. Until the sound of Ginger’s cries faded.

Only then did the weight of it settle fully.

Something inside her twisted hard. And the bitterness that followed sat heavily in her chest as she slowly lowered her hand.

Her silence was now far more dangerous than any words she could have spoken.

Meanwhile, Lysandra watched the door through which the cat had been taken, then clicked her tongue softly.

"Just like the owner, the cat also needs to be disciplined," she muttered under her breath.

Amara’s head lifted at once. Her gaze snapped to Lysandra.

At the same time, a strange chill spread through her body, creeping up her spine and settling deep in her chest. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, her emotions tightening into something sharp and difficult to contain.

Lysandra noticed. And instead of restraint, it brought a faint, satisfied curve to her lips.

"Are you angry?" she asked, her tone almost amused.

Amara didn’t answer. She simply stood there, her gaze steady, her silence louder than any protest she could have made.

Lysandra didn’t mind. In fact, she seemed very pleased.

"Since you are so attached to that pet of yours," she continued smoothly, "you will get it back when you are done copying the textbook."

Amara’s breath caught slightly.

Lysandra leaned back, her voice turning almost casual. "How fast you complete your punishment will determine how soon you are reunited with it."

The words struck deeper than any insult as Amara felt something twist painfully in her chest.

Her mind betrayed her immediately, conjuring images she didn’t want—of Ginger struggling, of rough hands, of treatment she couldn’t control or stop.

If they could strike her in front of her... then what would they do when she wasn’t watching?

Her hands clenched, then unclenched, then clenched again. There were so many things she wanted to say. Questions. Accusations. Anger.

But none of it made it past her throat. It all stayed trapped inside as if trying to protect her while having a will of their own.