Chapter 397: Asking for Her Opinion

A eunuch’s voice echoed from outside the door. “The King has arrived.”

Ashley’s expression stiffened. She instinctively clutched the handkerchief in her palm, lowering her gaze to hide the flicker of light in her eyes. The King strode in. The moment Ashley caught a glimpse of his unmistakable golden robe, she rose to her feet, gracefully curtsying. “Your Majesty.”

Vivian froze for a second before quickly stepping forward, tugging lightly at Ashley’s sleeve. A sharp buzz rang through Ashley’s head—only then did she realize her mistake. According to the etiquette Rowena had drilled into her, she was supposed to greet the King with a formal curtsy upon his arrival. However, if Thelma was present, protocol dictated that the King should first acknowledge Thelma before anyone else could offer their respects.

The King cast her a fleeting, indifferent glance before turning to pay his respects to Thelma and Catherine. Thelma waved a hand dismissively. “Sit down. There’s no need for such formalities.”

As the King took his seat, Ashley had no choice but to step forward again and repeat her greeting. “Your Majesty.” The King merely hummed in acknowledgment without even looking at her.

Isolde, too, had risen when the King entered, but she hadn’t moved forward to greet him. Now that Ashley had completed her curtsy, Isolde finally stepped forward. The King regarded her with rare warmth. “You’re here. You don’t look well—make sure to rest.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I will,” Isolde inclined her head. “There’s no need for such formality in the Queen Mother’s presence,” the King said with a smile. Isolde thanked him and took her seat.

Ashley, on the other hand, felt utterly out of place—standing was awkward, but sitting didn’t feel right either. It was Catherine who finally broke the silence. “Why are you just standing there? Sit down.”

Ashley let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Thank you, Queen Mother.”

Just then, Thelma gestured, and Judith entered with a bright smile. “Everything has been prepared—it’ll be served shortly.”

Catherine shot Judith a playful glare. “The Mystic Palace is so biased! Every time the King comes, there’s medicinal cuisine prepared for him. I’ve never had such a privilege. Do I not need nourishment too?”

Soon, steaming bowls of medicinal cuisine were brought in. The aroma filled the air. The King chuckled. “Mother, if you really want it, I’ll give you mine.”

Catherine beamed. “Such a filial son! But no, I won’t take it. Winter’s here, and I’ve already plenty. This was made for you by Thelma—you should have it.”

Despite her earlier complaints, Catherine knew well that Thelma genuinely cared for her son. She had only been teasing; she would never actually take the King’s food. The King smiled and began eating.

Ashley watched the scene unfold, unimpressed. Thelma’s so-called kindness wasn’t anything extraordinary—just a carefully curated display of attentiveness. Medicinal cuisine was never in short supply in the palace. The imperial physicians could prescribe a remedy with a single command, and the servants would see to its preparation. What was the effort in that? Yet, Thelma played the role of a devoted mother to perfection.

She had her little schemes, certainly, but her methods were not particularly clever. The King would surely see through such an obvious act. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have casually suggested giving his portion to Catherine.

Sure enough, as Ashley watched, the King’s expression subtly changed—his brows furrowed as he ate. Clearly, the dish wasn’t to his liking.

“This is the last time I’m having this,” the King said, setting down his bowl with a grimace. “It’s neither sweet nor savory—just an unpleasant, awkward taste. I don’t understand why people enjoy it.”

“No room for discussion. You’re drinking this for a month. It’s only been half a month.” Thelma shut him down immediately.

Judith chimed in, “Your Majesty, you’ve been complaining about stomach pain and coughing recently. This medicinal cuisine is the best for you. Haven’t you felt better since you started?”

“Exactly! And now that I feel better, I don’t need it anymore.” The King scowled but obediently finished his bowl. He let out a long sigh, then smirked. “If I have to drink this again, I just won’t come next time.”

“Fine by me. Saves me the headache of dealing with your endless complaints.” Queen Mother huffed. “You act like the Mystic Palace exists solely to serve you. If you’re going to be so picky, then don’t bother coming.”

“Oh, come now, don’t take him so seriously.” Catherine intervened, eager to smooth things over. She shot the King a pointed look. “You ungrateful child—aren’t you going to apologize to Thelma?”

The King grinned. “She won’t be mad at me.”

Still, as she watched this back-and-forth, a strange warmth lingered in the air. Could it be genuine? Impossible.

The King and Thelma weren’t related by blood. In fact, Thelma’s very existence was a threat to his throne. No King could tolerate such a looming danger. Thelma’s presence was as much a threat as Kamari’s—one the King would surely eliminate if given the chance. And beneath all the smiles and pleasantries, Ashley could see the tension simmering beneath the surface.

Her suspicions were confirmed when Thelma suddenly shifted the conversation. “I heard you brought up Geoffrey’s hereditary title in court today,” she said.

The King nodded. “Yes, I did. But the court was unanimously against it.”

Ashley exhaled in relief. If the ministers opposed it, Thelma wouldn’t dare challenge them outright. Her influence, while significant, was not limitless.

“And what do you think?” Thelma asked.

The King paused, then replied, “I said we’d discuss it again later.”

Thelma nodded. “Then we’ll discuss it later.”

Catherine interjected, “Thelma thinks it’s feasible, but I personally think it’s unnecessary. Isolde already holds the title of Princess and General—that’s more than prestigious enough.”

The King turned to Thelma. “You think it’s feasible?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Thelma replied coolly.

The King considered her words for a moment. Then, quite unexpectedly, he turned to Ashley. “What do you think?”

Ashley froze. A jolt of excitement surged through her veins. The King was actually asking for her opinion. Her mind raced. This was a matter of state—technically, it was improper for her to interfere. But this was an opportunity, a rare one. She had a hunch the King was against this proposal. Perhaps he was using her as a buffer to deflect Thelma’s influence.

“I do have a few thoughts on the matter.” The King met her eyes. “Go on.”