NTR: King gets Cucked-Chapter 17: Fractured Bonds

The sun hung low over Draconia as Zyran rode through the capital's bustling streets. The city had changed in his absence—new roads were being paved, the marketplace expanded, and order had returned under the Grimgaard Empire's watchful eye. Yet, something was missing.

Drakestone remained a ghost town. The merchants, who once filled its streets with vibrant stalls and exotic goods, still refused to return.

Zyran clenched his fists as he stood atop the castle's balcony, overlooking his silent city. The Eastern territories had granted him political victories, yet he felt powerless. What good was ruling a kingdom if its heart remained hollow?

"Perhaps the merchants require stronger incentives," Evrin suggested, standing beside him. "Lower tariffs, personal assurances of safety—"

"They fear more than coin," Zyran cut in. "They fear weakness. As long as Drakestone is seen as vulnerable, they will not return."

Evrin nodded but said nothing. The answer was clear—Zyran needed to become stronger, to prove himself as more than just a puppet king. But tonight, he had a different duty to attend.

⸻

The dining hall was dimly lit, a stark contrast to the grand feasts of the past. Only four figures sat at the long table—Zyran, his twin sister Drucila, Althea, and Nyra.

Drucila rarely made public appearances. The silver-haired princess carried an air of mystery, her crimson eyes scanning her brother with quiet intensity as she sipped her wine.

"You seem troubled, brother," she murmured, setting her glass down.

Zyran exhaled. "Much has changed in my absence."

Drucila smirked. "Yes. And not all for the better."

Althea, seated beside them, remained uncharacteristically quiet. She pushed her food around her plate, barely eating. The playful seduction she once wielded with ease was absent.

"Are you feeling unwell?" Zyran asked, turning his attention to her.

Althea blinked, as if startled from her thoughts. "No. Just... tired."

Zyran reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She did not pull away, but there was no warmth in her grip. A flicker of concern crossed his face, but he dismissed it. Althea had always been independent. Perhaps she merely needed time to readjust to his return.

Drucila, however, did not look convinced. Her gaze lingered on Althea, but she said nothing.

⸻

The next day, Zyran was buried in council meetings, strategizing ways to restore Drakestone's former glory.

Karlos, ever opportunistic, took advantage of the king's preoccupation.

In the gardens, Althea walked along the trimmed hedges, seeking solace. She had barely found a moment's peace when a familiar voice coiled around her like a serpent.

"You look lonely, my queen."

Karlos.

She tensed as he approached, his usual smirk playing on his lips. Before she could step away, his hand brushed against her lower back—a fleeting touch, yet enough to send a shiver through her spine.

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"Careful," she hissed, glancing around. "Zyran is here."

Karlos chuckled, his confidence unwavering. "And yet, he doesn't see what's right before him."

His fingers trailed along her arm. It was light, teasing—yet enough to make her stomach churn with conflicting emotions. Shame. Guilt. And something more dangerous.

"Karlos," she warned, voice tight. "Not here."

He leaned in, his breath ghosting against her ear. "I wonder... if I were to touch you now, in his presence, would you recoil? Or would your body betray you?"

Althea shoved him away, panic flickering in her hazel eyes. But Karlos merely grinned, as if he had already won.

⸻

Nyra had begun to notice the changes in Althea.

She watched her friend from across the chamber, noting the absent glances, the way she flinched at sudden touches, the forced laughter that never reached her eyes.

Something was wrong.

One evening, as they sat together in Althea's chamber, Nyra finally spoke. "Althea, what's happening to you?"

Althea stiffened. "Nothing. Why do you ask?"

Nyra frowned. "You're different. You barely tease, you avoid Zyran's touch... and Karlos—"

Althea's breath hitched. "Karlos what?"

"I see how he lingers near you." Nyra's green-blue eyes were filled with concern. "I see how you tense when he's around."

Althea forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow. "You're imagining things."

"Am I?" Nyra pressed, reaching for her hand. "You can talk to me, you know. Whatever it is, you're not alone."

For a moment, Althea wavered. The words clung to the edge of her tongue. But then she swallowed them down.

"I'm fine," she whispered.

Nyra did not believe her.

⸻

Days passed, and Zyran remained oblivious to the storm brewing beneath his own roof.

His mind was consumed with affairs of the kingdom, blind to the silent battles waging in the hearts of those closest to him.

Althea's guilt deepened.

Karlos grew bolder.

Nyra watched in silent worry.

And Drucila, the only one who saw through the masks, merely observed—waiting for the inevitable collapse of the fragile balance they all clung to.

The whispers of doubt had begun to fester. And soon, they would no longer be ignored.