NTR: King gets Cucked-Chapter 13: The Breaking of a Queen

Ian leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his goblet as he studied Karlos. "She will never betray Zyran of her own will," he mused. "You need to stop dancing around it, Karlos. If you truly want her, take extreme measures."

Karlos exhaled slowly, tapping his fingers against the armrest. He had known this truth deep down, but hearing it aloud sent a surge of conviction through him. Althea was strong-willed, bound by loyalty—but even the strongest foundations could crumble with the right pressure.

A slow smirk curved his lips. "Perhaps it's time to stop waiting."

⸻

The royal gardens were Althea's solace. Amid the chaos of court politics and the ever-watchful eyes of nobility, she found peace among the blooming flowers, the soft hum of bees, the crisp fragrance of nature untouched. Today, however, she was not alone.

"My lady," Karlos's voice was smooth as he approached. "I heard you adore Nectaris lilies."

Althea turned, curiosity flickering in her hazel eyes. "I do," she admitted, though her tone carried wariness.

"They are rare in this climate," he continued, a casual smile on his lips. "Draconia's humidity should make them wilt within days. And yet, I have a fresh bloom in my chambers, straight from Nectaris."

Althea's brow furrowed. "That's impossible. Nectaris lilies require precise conditions—cool, dry air and carefully balanced soil."

Karlos chuckled. "Perhaps you'd like to see how I've managed it?"

She hesitated. Every instinct warned her to decline. But Karlos had given no reason to doubt his intentions—yet. He had always been the gracious benefactor, the empire's favored advisor, the man who had secured Draconia's fragile peace. Refusing now would seem... unfounded.

"...Very well," she relented.

⸻

The chamber was dimly lit, the scent of foreign spices and aged wood filling the air. At the center of a polished table, resting in a delicate crystal vase, was the promised flower—its petals a deep, mesmerizing violet, unlike anything she had seen before.

Althea stepped closer, admiring its beauty. "It's exquisite," she whispered, reaching out but stopping short of touching it.

"They say Nectaris lilies thrive only in the presence of delicate hands," Karlos mused. "Much like their admirer."

Althea ignored the compliment, her gaze still fixed on the flower. "How are you keeping it alive?"

Karlos moved to a nearby table, pouring two glasses of wine. "A careful blend of imported soil and controlled temperatures," he answered smoothly. "But enough about flowers. A rare gift should be enjoyed with fine company."

Althea turned, her gaze flickering between the goblet and Karlos's expectant smile. It would be rude to refuse, she reasoned. Taking the glass, she sipped, the rich, spiced flavor coating her tongue.

Warmth bloomed in her stomach almost instantly.

She frowned, fingers tightening around the goblet as a strange heat spread through her limbs. The room seemed... softer, her thoughts sluggish, unfocused. Her breathing hitched. Her skin prickled, feverish.

"What..." Her voice came out unsteady. Her body felt unbearably warm, her mind fogging with a desperate, unfamiliar need.

Karlos stepped closer. "Are you feeling unwell, my queen?"

This chapt𝓮r is updat𝒆d by ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom.

She swayed slightly, and he caught her, his hands firm on her arms.

"Something is wrong," she murmured, shaking her head as if to clear the haze. She pushed against him weakly, trying to step back, but her body refused to obey.

Karlos's hand smoothed down her arm, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "Perhaps you should rest," he said softly, his voice a low purr. "Just for a moment."

She shook her head again, but it was useless. The heat only grew stronger, clawing through her veins, burning away resistance. Her legs trembled. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. The room tilted.

Her body—traitorous, aching—leaned into him instead.

Somewhere deep inside, a whisper of panic rose, but it was drowned beneath the aphrodisiac's effects.

Karlos guided her through the chamber doors, into a dimly lit private room. Silk sheets, a burning hearth, the scent of musk and wine—

Her mind swam.

He was speaking, soothing, praising her beauty, her loyalty, her kindness. His touch was slow, deliberate, unraveling her restraint with practiced ease. She gasped softly, arching into him before she could stop herself, desperate for relief from the unbearable heat consuming her.

And in that moment, resistance faded.

The doors closed behind them.