CHAPTER 546: INTO THE LION’S DEN

"What do you think you’re doing?"

The voice was low—controlled, even melodic but it didn’t belong to Lara.

Turik froze mid-swing, his blade gleaming just inches from Lara’s cheek, who had already stepped sideways away from the blade.

From the far end of the corridor, a shadow peeled itself from the wall—graceful, deliberate. The woman stepped forward into the flickering light, the torchlight dancing over the delicate folds of her silk gown. A gauzy black veil obscured the upper half of her face, but not the faint curl of disdain on her painted lips.

The golden armlet on her upper arm caught the light—a serpent coiling around her pale skin. Turik paled.

"Queen Miranda," he said stiffly, lowering his sword. The arrogance drained from his voice, replaced by nervous deference. "I was merely... questioning the prisoner. What brings you here, Your Highness? This place is unworthy of your presence."

Miranda tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes glinting through the veil. "Questioning?" she repeated softly. Her tone was syrupy sweet yet mocking. "It looked more like you were trying to hack her to pieces, General."

Lara, who stood with a straight back said nothing. Her eyes flicked between them—calm and observant. She saw the way Miranda’s lips curved, the way her gaze lingered on Turik with intensity. She was beautiful and beneath that beauty, Lara sensed it: malice wrapped in silk.

Miranda’s heels clicked against the stone floor as she approached. Each step was measured, deliberate, echoing in the small space.

"Questioning?" Her tone was warm and coquettish. "It looked more like you were attempting to take her life, General."

Lara, silent all the while, watched the exchange with quiet curiosity. There was something in her eyes—a spark, a calculation. She could sense the evil intent hidden behind the smile.

Turik swallowed hard. The air seemed heavier now, pressing down on the three of them.

"Leave, General Turik," she said. The sweetness in her voice was gone and replaced by coldness.

Turik hesitated. "Your Highness, I—"

"Did you not hear me?" she snapped, her tone dropping to a whisper so cold it seemed to cut the air. "Leave."

Turik hesitated, jaw clenched. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out, his boots echoing with fury.

The silence that followed was taut, humming with unspoken tension.

Miranda turned back to Lara, studying her face with a strange, unreadable fascination. "You’ve made quite an impression, you know," she said softly.

Lara remained silent and calm.

"So," she purred, circling Lara like a cat assessing a caught bird. "You must be Lara Norse. The woman who caught Prince Alaric’s attention." She gave a soft, cruel laugh. "No, forgive me—Emperor Alaric Kromwel."

Her hand slipped behind her, drawing out a slender whip. With a flick of her wrist, she lifted Lara’s chin with the whip’s wooden handle. Lara refused to avert her gaze.

"Such a pretty face," Miranda murmured, almost admiringly. "Is that what you used to charm him? Do you dream of becoming an empress?"

When Lara didn’t respond, the snap of the whip hitting the air filled the cell, then followed by Miranda’s laughter—sharp, ringing, and laced with venom. She leaned closer until Lara could feel the warmth of her breath. "You will be a concubine. My father’s 12th concubine."

Lara’s gaze did not flinch though her fists clenched.

For a moment, Miranda’s lips twitched—half amusement, half scorn. "Confidence doesn’t suit your station." Her expression hardened then she turned sharply, her gown whispering against the floor. "Clean her up," she called to the guards waiting beyond the cell. "Dress her well. The king wants her at the banquet tonight."

Without another glance, she ascended the narrow staircase, her footsteps fading until only silence remained.

Lara exhaled slowly, letting her shoulders drop—just as the sound of approaching boots echoed again.

"Well, well, well!" a lilting, taunting voice cut through the gloom. "Who would have thought we’d meet again like this? Never in my life would I have imagined that you would also have a day like this." A woman wearing a delicate white dress entered her cell, followed by a few soldiers.

A woman stepped into the light—dressed in pristine white silk, her hair arranged in elaborate curls. Her beauty was sharp, polished, but her smile was cruel.

Lara’s eyes widened. "You..."

Mira laughed, the sound rich with mockery. "You look surprised, Cousin. You didn’t think I’d survive, did you? Much less thrive?"

Her gaze darkened, hatred spilling through her painted lashes. "Your family are heartless, Lara. They knew I was trapped in that carriage—and they abandoned me."

Lara’s reply came cold and precise. "And why shouldn’t they? After everything you did, you still expect mercy?"

Mira’s smile faltered for a moment, then returned—harder, more brittle. "Then don’t blame me for not being heartless."

She stepped closer, her perfume cloying, sweet, and intoxicating. The silk of her gown whispered against the floor as she circled Lara, eyes glittering with cruel delight.

"You used to look down on me," she said, tracing a lazy finger along one of Lara’s cheek. "The proud daughter of General Odin. So refined, so noble." She leaned in close, her lips curling. "Now look at you—bruised and dirty. You look better this way."

"You are delusional! When did I ever looked down on you? My parents treated you as their daughter and my brothers doted on you like you are their sister." Lara snapped back.

"But that was in the past. The moment you came back, they dumped me."

Lara slowly shook her head and kept silent. There was no use in reasoning with a fool.

"You think silence makes you strong?" Mira’s voice sharpened. "No words for your dear cousin? Not even an apology for what your family did to me?"

Lara’s head tilted slightly, her eyes steady. "Apologies are for the guilty," she said evenly. "We did not wrong you. In fact you’ve always been the one wearing sin like a crown."

Mira’s hand shot forward, slapping her across the face. But before the sound could crack through the cell like a whip, Lara intercepted her and held her hand like a vice.

"Let me go!" Mira shouted.

Lara let her go. Her expression hard as steel. Her silence was not submission—it was a weapon. Mira hated that about her. It always had.

That look unsettled Mira more than she wanted to admit. "Still pretending to be strong," she muttered, her voice trembling with repressed fury. "You’ll break soon enough."

Mira straightened, smoothing her gown as though nothing had happened. "The queen wants you clean. I, however, would prefer you scrubbed raw." She gestured to the guards. "Take her to the baths. Make sure she remembers what is her place."