Supreme Spouse System.

The Shadow in Her Chamber

King Gary didn't love her.

Their marriage had been molded not out of love, but out of a compact—a promise sealed by the ambition of their fathers. Gary's heart had been committed to someone else from the very start. Maria.

Natty had entered this castle as a maiden still clinging to hope, hoping to be a decent wife, a queen worthy of sitting on Vellore's throne. She had brought her innocence into the wedding night like a delicate glass container… and it shattered the same night. What greeted her was not love, not gentleness, but brutality.

Rough hands. Cruel thrusts. Her shrieks stifled by his clasp.

The memory continued to reside in her flesh—inscribed in the shuddering of her muscles whenever he visited her room.

Whenever she attempted to speak, to call for assistance from her father or even Gary's father, the fact never escaped her mouth. Gary stayed her with a threat so menacing it cut deeper than any sword: her little sister's life.

That shadow never departed. It stayed with every gasp.

Years afterwards, their fathers "disappeared," presumed dead to a tide of beasts. But rumors etched into the court's silence spoke more sinisterly: Gary had murdered them both.

And once they were gone, so too did any protection Natty ever had.

He shattered her. Not with steel chains, but by destroying her mana core, tearing out her cultivation. From a queen who wanted to defend her people to a lifeless doll—paraded in silk, imprisoned behind marble walls. She smiled when commanded, bowed when it was required, lived because her sister's survival necessitated it.

Her sister had resisted years down the line, coming back strong, scaling heights that startled even the royal court. She hit monarch level—a level that should have made her invincible. But Gary defeated her. Broke her body. Broke her ego. He let her live not out of mercy but because he had discovered a superior use for her. A pawn. A leash to keep Natty under control.

And in all of this, Maria tormented her.

Each time Maria came into her chambers, each smile, each self-satisfied curve of her lips, it tore open Natty's so long ago hurts. Maria was more than Gary's lover—she was his fixation. She was the one he had wished to crown, but law prohibited it. The king of Vellore could wed but once. Natty selected, Maria rejected. But the bitter irony was apparent: Natty existed discarded in reality, while Maria flourished, his queen in everything except title.

The crisp crack of fingers shattered Natty's spiral.

"Hey, miss queen," Maria's tone was honey-laced with venom, mocking sweetness mixed with disdain. "Where'd you space out to?"

Natty's dark eyes moved towards her, lips pulled thin.

"Stop gawking," Maria spat. She pushed the food cart ahead, the wheels clattering on the marble floor. "Eat this. I must go back to my room and rest. When my king returns, perhaps I shall have him finish you off at last."

The cart came to a stop in front of Natty with a jarring clang.

Maria's eyes sparkled with sadistic satisfaction as she cocked her chin. No teasing now, only raw contempt.

Natty's hand jerked up, pale and slender, catching the trolley with only the tips of her fingers. She took a breath to steady herself and opened the silver lid.

The smell rose at once—sour, unclean, almost rancid. Within, no royal banquet. No meal intended for servants.

A rotting fruit, bruised black and brown, lay next to a bunch of wilted vegetables, shriveled to husks. Scraps, carelessly thrown into her room as if she were below a prisoner.

Natty gazed for a moment, then let out a sigh. The noise was soft, nearly unnoticeable, but it held with it the depth of years of resignation.

Maria smiled. "This is your dinner tonight. My temper is good. I even put a fruit in it." She leaned in close, her breath against Natty's ear. "Eat. And don't you so much as touch me."

She turned on her heel, hips swaying cruelly as she walked to the doors of the chamber. Her palms slapped against them, pushing them open.

Thud.

The doors slammed shut after her.

Silence retook the chamber.

Natty's eyes dropped back to the plate. Her lips opened, her whisper softer than the rustle of the curtains.

"What did I do wrong… for this?"

Her voice cracked. She shook her head weakly and extended her fingers for the fork. Cold metal brushed against her fingers. She would eat. She always ate. Because choice was no longer hers.

But before the fork landed on her plate, another noise boomed behind her.

Thud.

Louder. Heavier. Purposeful.

Her muscles hardened. A chill crept up her spine.

Natty spun around, slowly, her heart pounding against her ribcage.

At the corner of her eye, something moved—a shadow gliding through the chamber's tall doors.

A black figure wrapped head to toe, the hood so far forward not even the shape of a face was visible. The fabric sucked in the candlelight, giving the intruder the appearance of a walking nothing.

No footsteps. No noise except the faint whisper of fabric.

Natty's breath faltered—but then, as recognition flowered, her fear faded. Her lips curled upwards with something not seen on her face in years. A smile.

"Oh…" she breathed, voice shaking with relief. "It's you. I thought—" she released a nervous laugh, "—I thought it was someone else."

The hooded figure hesitated, then trembled lightly, shoulders shaking as laughter burst loose. A woman's voice escaped, melodious and clear, ringing out across the room like a silver bell.

"Hahahah… you never change."

Natty's smile faltered, eyes softening as she heard it. That voice—so achingly familiar, so warm it could dissolve her fears—encircled her like a forgotten hug.

The laughter of the figure lingered, echoing against the stone walls, before they fell silent. Slowly, thoughtfully, the hands moved up toward the hood.

The fingers were pale, elegant, unshaking. They grasped the edge of the fabric and pulled it back.

Light fell across a face still shrouded in shadow.

Natty's chest heaved, breath ragged as her eyes went wide, fixed on the movement.

And when the hood pulled back, the reality of the intruder's identity fell into the dim light of the chamber's candles.