Chapter 61: Chapter 61

KAMORA

Kamora turned to face the dais after the princess announced her proposal to Lord Maroke. The crowd stilled. Heads turned.

Some even stepped aside, forming a path toward the couple. All eyes fell on Lord Maroke.

Well—~on him~—until he calmly pulled Kamora to his side, holding her close. Her presence suddenly became undeniable.

His face remained composed, a perfect mask of noble indifference, betraying nothing. Together, he and Kamora stepped forward, leaving Gwen crumpled on the floor behind them.

A few guests glanced her way, their expressions puzzled at the sight of a stranger lying dazed on the floor. But their attention quickly returned to the main spectacle.

Lord Maroke approached the dais and bowed low. Kamora dipped into a graceful curtsey beside him.

“Your Majesties,” he greeted.

The king’s brow lifted.

“Lord Maroke, who is the guest you hold so close?”

Maroke paused only a moment. Then, clearly and calmly, he replied, “My wife.”

A collective gasp rippled through the ballroom, followed by stunned silence. The tension surged, thick and palpable.

The princess had just publicly proposed…to a married man. A scandal of this magnitude would stain the royal family’s name for generations.

“Your…wife?” the king echoed, his voice uncertain, as though he couldn’t believe his ears.

“Yes, Your Majesty. You blessed our union ten years ago. It was a small ceremony. Few were in attendance.”

“I was told she had died.”

“She never did,” Maroke said, his tone still composed. “Though some wished it so. Some tried to make it so—more than once.”

A chill passed through the crowd. The murmurs returned, no longer mere whispers of curiosity, but the sharp-edged murmurs of suspicion.

The king leaned forward slightly. “What do you mean?”

Maroke turned his gaze to the princess, who now stood motionless, her skin pale, her composure cracking. Her eyes flicked anxiously across the crowd.

“The princess, Your Majesty,” Maroke said plainly. “She tried to kill my wife.”

“Outrageous!” the queen thundered, striking the arm of her throne. “How dare you accuse her of such a thing?”

“I gain nothing from lies, Your Majesties,” Maroke replied, his tone level and deliberate. “For years I’ve served this court without drawing attention to myself. I’ve never sought power, only peace. Why would I invite scandal now—unless it were the truth?”

The king turned slowly to his daughter. “Is what he says true?”

The princess clenched her fists at her sides, her eyes locked on Maroke. Then she gave a slow nod.

“Yes, Father.”

The air seemed to still. A wave of gasps swept through the crowd, horror and disbelief rippling across every face.

The princess had actually confessed.

“And why?” the king demanded.

The princess pointed an accusatory finger at Kamora. “Because that woman is a witch! She has placed a curse on Lord Maroke. He is not of his own mind.”

A different kind of murmur rose now—one of judgment and fear. The crowd shifted uncomfortably.

Witches were feared in this kingdom, so Kamora wasn’t surprised. What surprised her was that the princess knew.

Gwen hadn’t known the truth. Which meant the princess was lying on purpose—a trap.

She was betting Kamora wouldn’t dare admit it. But Kamora was done hiding.

She straightened her shoulders. Her husband loved her.

Her son adored her. The opinion of the crowd meant little to her now.

The king’s expression grew darker, his frown deepening in thought. Beside him, the queen looked equally troubled, though her gaze brimmed with disdain.

“Lord Maroke?” the king asked, his voice wary.

Maroke didn’t hesitate. “Whether or not my wife is a witch, whether or not I’ve been bewitched, that is my concern. I require no intervention.”

“Lord Maroke!” the princess snapped, her voice rising, eyes blazing with jealousy. “She’s a witch! Witches are full of lies and manipulation—your family—”

“Your Majesty,” Maroke interrupted, ignoring the princess completely. “Is there a law that forbids a nobleman from marrying a witch?”

The king was silent, considering. “No,” he said at last.

“I don’t wish to parade our history before everyone here,” Maroke continued, “but if you must know—it was ~I~ who pursued her. And in all these years, she has never once disgraced my name. Not once. But the princess—’ he turned his gaze to her, calm and deadly. “—tried to have her killed.”

“Lord Maroke—’ the queen began.

“She poisoned my son.”

The room froze. Gasps echoed again, this time sharper, heavier.

Horror swept through the crowd like fire through dry grass. Even the king and queen recoiled, their faces stunned.

Kamora watched the princess’s polished image crumble in real time. Faces in the crowd turned from awe to suspicion to disgust.

“My wife and I have endured many things,” Maroke continued, his voice firm. “But this—this is a crime. If you allow it to go unpunished, you send a message to every noble in this kingdom. That no one is safe from the whims of royalty. That justice does not apply when the guilty wear crowns. That would not reflect well on the royal family.”

Kamora turned to him, surprised by the steel in his voice. She had only hoped to disgrace the princess.

But Maroke had done far more—he’d made the royals afraid. She glanced toward the thrones.

The king and queen both wore expressions of barely contained fury. They were nobles, yes—but they were also rulers, and now their authority had been challenged before the entire court.

The queen stood at last. “We have heard you, Lord Maroke. In the presence of all here today, we promise—the princess will be punished.”

“Mother!” the princess gasped, reeling. “You can’t—’

“The ball is over,” the queen declared. “We apologize to our guests for this shameful interruption. You may take your leave.”

Without another glance at her daughter, she descended the dais, the king following at her side. Their guards and attendants moved with them, parting the sea of murmuring guests.

The princess remained behind—rooted in place, pale and trembling. Her eyes darted from the departing crowd to Kamora, filled now with fear, disbelief…and resignation.

As the attention of the room shifted to the departing royals, Kamora raised her hand, whispering a spell beneath her breath. A final curse, quiet and swift, flew from her fingers and struck the princess in the chest.

She staggered. It was done.

“That,” Kamora whispered, “was for everything.”