NTR: King gets Cucked-Chapter 6: Althea’s Worries

As he passed under the archway, his gaze softened at the sight of Althea.

She knelt beside a bed of crimson roses, golden strands of hair spilling over her shoulders. The sunlight kissed her skin, making her seem almost otherworldly. Her delicate fingers brushed over the petals as she hummed softly — a soothing melody that eased the tension in Zyran's chest.

Althea's eyes brightened when she noticed him. "You're late," she teased.

Zyran smiled faintly and knelt beside her. "I lost track of time."

Althea's lips curled into a soft smile. "You've been working too hard."

"I'm the king now," Zyran said, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "It's expected."

Althea leaned into his touch, her eyes soft. "Expected... but not fair."

Zyran's hand slid to her cheek. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers — a slow, lingering kiss. Althea sighed into it, her arms slipping around his neck. The scent of roses and Althea's warmth settled Zyran's restless mind, if only for a moment.

When they pulled apart, Althea traced her finger along his jawline. "You're troubled," she murmured.

Zyran hesitated. "It's nothing."

Her brow furrowed. "Zyran..."

"Really." He forced a reassuring smile. "Everything is under control."

Althea didn't look convinced.

"I promise," he added, tilting her chin upward. "You don't need to worry."

She watched him closely, sensing the strain beneath his words. Zyran was proud — too proud — and he would never admit if things were falling apart. He would carry the burden alone, no matter how much it cost him.

The sound of footsteps approaching cut through the quiet.

A figure emerged from the shaded path. Karlos.

He was dressed simply — a loose white tunic and black trousers — but the sharp glint in his dark eyes betrayed his relaxed demeanor. His smile was polite but just a little too sharp.

"Your Majesty. Lady Althea." Karlos gave a shallow bow.

Zyran's gaze darkened. "What are you doing here?"

"Fetching some blackthorn leaf for Viceroy Durin." Karlos's smile widened. "He finds it... relaxing."

Zyran's jaw tightened. A sharp reminder of Durin's authority — even in the royal gardens.

Karlos's eyes slid toward Althea, lingering too long before he said, "Ah, before I forget — my offer still stands, Your Majesty. A loan, should you need it."

Zyran's eyes flashed with quiet anger. "I told you, it won't be necessary."

Karlos's gaze lingered on Althea as he added, "Of course. I'm sure you'll find a way on your own."

Zyran's fists clenched beneath his cloak.

Karlos bowed slightly. "I'll leave you two to your peace."

As he turned to leave, his gaze drifted toward Althea one last time — a glint of suggestion in his eyes — before he disappeared down the path.

Zyran exhaled sharply. "Let's go inside," he muttered.

Althea followed, though her gaze remained thoughtful as Karlos's words echoed in her mind.

⸻

The next morning, Zyran sat at the head of the dining table. Althea and Nyra sat on either side of him, the soft clink of silverware against porcelain filling the hall.

"I'll be visiting the Merchant's Guild today," Zyran said, his tone steady.

Nyra's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"I need to try to persuade the merchants to reconsider pulling out of Draconia." Zyran's voice was controlled, but Althea could hear the tension beneath it. "We need to restore trade if we're to recover."

Althea's gaze softened. Zyran had always been proud — too proud to ask for help. He would rather bear the weight of the kingdom's problems on his own than seek support from anyone — especially the advisors.

Drucila entered the hall and took a seat across from Zyran, her silver hair falling in loose waves over her black dress. Her crimson eyes were cool and detached.

"You didn't attend the coronation," Zyran said bluntly.

Drucila's expression didn't change. "It's better if people don't see us together."

Althea and Nyra exchanged a glance but didn't object.

"I don't care what people say," Zyran said sharply. "You're a princess of Draconia. Not some frightened servant."

Drucila's crimson eyes hardened. "The people blame me for the kingdom's fall. They say my eyes are a curse."

"They're wrong."

Drucila's gaze sharpened. "That doesn't stop them from whispering."

Zyran's fists curled. He was painfully aware of the deep-rooted superstition — that red eyes were a sign of demonic possession. Even Emperor Damon had sought to rid himself of Drucila, attempting to marry her off to any noble who would have her. But none had accepted.

Althea reached across the table and placed her hand over Zyran's. "Don't get angry," she whispered.

Zyran exhaled slowly.

"I need to go," Zyran said, standing abruptly.

Althea watched him leave, her expression troubled.

⸻

Zyran returned to the castle that evening, his shoulders tense and his expression grim. His cloak was damp from the light rain that had started during his walk through the capital.

Althea met him at the doorway, helping him remove his cloak.

"What did the merchants say?"

Zyran's jaw tightened. "They refused. Most are too afraid to cross Grimgaard — and the nobles are already in Durin's pocket."

Althea's expression darkened. She had known it would be difficult — but to see Zyran struggling like this...

Zyran brushed a hand through his damp hair. "I'm going to bathe."

He turned away, disappearing down the corridor.

Althea watched him go, her lips pressing into a thin line.

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Karlos's words echoed in her mind:

"My offer still stands."

Zyran would never accept help from Karlos or the advisors — not even if it destroyed him. He was too proud. But Althea...

Althea glanced toward the east wing of the castle.

She couldn't stand by and watch her husband suffer. If Zyran wouldn't accept help — she would find another way.

Althea's hand brushed over her dress as she stepped toward the hallway — toward Karlos's chambers.