<h4>Chapter 642: By Order of His Majesty</h4>


    <strong><i>[Third Person].</i></strong>


    Margaret’s hands began to shake. She was just realizing how cruel the King could be, even to the point of disregarding their entire family to protect that one person.


    Meanwhile, Monique swallowed a gulp of saliva, looking ufortable. No matter how much she loved her younger sister, Mabel, she would never want to share in her misfortune.


    On the other hand, Gary looked stunned into silence. Then, Gabriel turned sharply to his wife.


    "Gather everyone in the courtyard now, servants included!"


    Margaret hesitated only a second before nodding and hurrying away.


    Minutester, the entire household gathered beneath the open night sky. Servants lined one side—maids, footmen, stable hands, cooks. Some still wore aprons; others trembled visibly, having been dragged from their quarters without exnation.


    Monique and Gary stood stiffly behind their father while Margaret sped her hands together tightly, standing next to him.


    Gabriel stepped forward. The torchlight carved harsh shadows across his face.


    "Listen carefully," he began, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "My daughter has been imprisoned by royal decree."


    A ripple of shock passed through the servants. He raised a hand, and the murmuring died instantly.


    "What she did endangered this household. What she did nearly destroyed us." His gaze swept over every face. "The King has granted us mercy. Mercy we did not deserve."


    Then, he drew his sword slowly. The sound of steel sliding free rang sharp and cold in the air. Several servants visibly flinched, but he held the de upright before him.


    "If word of this arrest crosses these gates, if any of you so much as whispers it to a neighbour, a rtive, a friend..." His voice lowered into something deadly. "Then prepare to die by my sword before the King’s men ever arrive."


    A maid dropped to her knees immediately, and within a second, others followed.


    "No one speaks," Gabrielmanded. "No one breathes a word. This household will remain silent."


    "Yes, Beta Gabriel," the servants answered shakily.


    "Good," he said, then sheathed the sword with finality. "Return to your duties. And remember, your lives depend on your silence."


    The courtyard emptied quickly, fear trailing behind every retreating figure.


    Margaret approached him cautiously once they were alone. "Must you be so harsh?" she whispered.


    Gabriel did not look at her. "If they value their lives," he replied, "they will understand why."


    Monique stood quietly, shaken as Gary clenched his fists, anger and fear battling within him.


    ***


    <strong>~The Fellowes Residence~</strong>


    Breakfast was quieter than usual. Reginald sat at the head of the table, cutting into his food with measured precision. Wanda watched him from across the table, sensing that the silence meant something.


    Then, he finally spoke. "Mabel Carter has been arrested."


    Wanda’s hand paused mid-air, her fork hovering. "Really?" she asked slowly.


    "Yes." Reginald dabbed his lips with a napkin. "She was dragged from the pce grounds in chains. Hands and feet bound."


    A slow smile spread across Wanda’s face. "So fast," she murmured. "Draven indeed doesn’t waste time."


    Reginald gave a faint nod. "He never does."


    Wanda leaned back slightly, satisfaction warming her chest. Mabel had taken the fall exactly as nned. Meredith’s own sister locked away—the irony was delicious.


    "It seems the King has kept this quiet," Wanda observed. "There is no noise or public disy about it."


    "Indeed, he has sealed it tightly," Reginald replied. "Which means he is watching even more closely."


    Wanda’s eyes sharpened, then a thought surfaced. "If the people found out," she began carefully, "that the Queen’s own sister was imprisoned for spreading rumours against her, it would not look good for Meredith."


    Reginald’s gaze snapped to her instantly. "No."


    Wanda frowned. "Father—"


    "No," he repeated, firmer this time. "Draven will be expecting exactly that move. If the matter spreads unnaturally, he will trace it. And this time, he will not hesitate."


    Wanda’s jaw tightened.


    Reginald continued calmly, "You and your brother are on the list of those to be rewarded for protecting Stormveil during the vampire attack. Recognition ising. Do not ruin that by being impatient."


    Wanda exhaled slowly. Public recognition would rebuild what they had lost. Restore face. Open doors.


    She understood this. However, she reluctantly nodded. "Very well."


    Reginald leaned back in his chair. "We advance by appearing useful. Not reckless."


    Wanda lowered her gaze, but behind it, calction still flickered. If she could not push the rumour now, she would wait.


    <i>’Patience,’ </i>she reminded herself.


    The game was not over.


    ---


    <strong>The Pce Dungeon~</strong>


    Cold was the first thing Mabel noticed after she woke up this morning. The second was the smell of damp stone and iron.


    She had spent the night screaming, cursing, and demanding to be released, yet no one answered her.


    When morning light barely filtered through the small barred window high above, she sat upright on the thin cot and pounded on the iron door.


    "Guards!" she shouted. "Bring my breakfast!" Her voice echoed weakly down the corridor.


    Minutester, footsteps approached. A tray was slid through the lower slot, and she grabbed it quickly.


    There were only two in dishes. Coarse bread, and stewed vegetables, then a small portion of meat.


    Her nose wrinkled. "This is uneptable," she snapped toward the unseen guard. "Bring something better And tea."


    Silence met with her order, followed by the sounds of retreating footsteps. She scoffed and ate anyway. Hunger had crept in overnight.


    Hours passed. By midday, her stomach tightened again. So, she stood and struck the door once more.


    "Do I have to remind you all of my lunch!" she demanded. "I will not be treated like an animal!"


    Shortly, footsteps returned, then the slot opened. A single cup of water was ced inside.


    Mabel stared at it. "Where is the food?"


    A calm male voice answered from beyond the door. "By order of His Majesty, you are permitted one meal per day. Two dishes only. But water is not restricted."


    Mabel froze. "What?" Her voice sharpened. "I am the Queen’s sister!"


    "That is the reason you are here and not in the courtyard receiving one hundred strokes."


    The words hit like a p. The guard’s tone remained steady. "Be grateful, Miss Carter," he said, then the slot shut, and his footsteps faded.


    Mabel stood in the centre of the cell, the cup trembling in her hand. One meal per day, and she had already eaten it. And there were still several hours until night. How would she, a pampered daughter of the Beta of Moonstone pack, survive until then?


    The reality sank in slowly. This punishment was deliberate and measured.


    Her throat tightened. Since her arrest, this was the second time her anger had faltered and was reced by something colder named fear.


    The dungeon suddenly felt much smaller. And very, very real.