Reborn I Refuse To Save The Traitors (Margaery) novel Chapter 171

**TITLE: Whispers Shape Distant Tomorrows by Aren Cole Vale**

**Chapter 171**

As Margaery observed the man before her, she sensed a lack of malice in his demeanor, prompting her to reassure Adam. “Don’t worry, I’ll return shortly,” she said, her voice steady despite the uncertainty swirling within her.

Adam’s brow knitted together in concern, the lines on his forehead deepening. He wanted to follow her, to ensure her safety, but he knew that it would be unseemly to pursue her directly. Instead, he stood rooted in place, a silent guardian.

“This way, Lady Margaery,” the middle-aged man said, turning to her with a warm smile that did little to quell the unease in her heart.

Margaery followed him up the staircase, each step echoing her growing trepidation. They entered a quaint coffee house, the rich aroma of roasted beans enveloping her like a comforting blanket. Soon, they reached the door of a private room.

“Please, enter, Lady Margaery. My master is expecting you,” he said, stepping aside and standing sentinel at the threshold.

Peering inside, Margaery’s instincts kicked in. She sensed that the occupant was not Craig, but rather someone connected to the palace. The man’s demeanor was far too distinctive to be mistaken for anyone else.

He was a eunuch.

Initially, she had not registered it, but as she took a few steps closer, the realization washed over her like a wave. This must be Warren, recently returned from the inn, she deduced, and with that thought, the identity of the person inside became clear.

Taking a slow, deliberate breath to steady herself, Margaery entered the room and knelt gracefully. “I greet the King,” she proclaimed, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within.

Outside, Warren stood frozen in astonishment.

He had assumed Margaery was merely following him, mistaking him for a messenger sent by Craig. But her keen perception had cut through the façade.

‘This young lady is truly clever,’ Warren mused, admiration creeping into his thoughts.

Inside the room, the King stood in simple attire, hands clasped behind his back. The flickering candlelight cast shadows that danced across his features, creating an imposing silhouette that demanded respect.

Margaery felt an inexplicable pull toward him. Rather than bowing her head in submission, she found herself captivated, her gaze lingering on him.

As the King turned to face her, their eyes met, and a flicker of recognition sparked within him. Warren had served him for many years, and it would be impossible for him to reveal his true identity to Margaery. The only explanation for her insight was that she had deduced it on her own.

They had never crossed paths before, yet she had unraveled the mystery.

What an astute young lady she was. No wonder Dashnell found her intriguing…

His fleeting thoughts came to an abrupt halt as he took in her features more clearly.

A hint of shock flickered in the King’s eyes. The urge to step forward and assist her rose within him, a gesture of instinctive compassion. He lifted his foot, but then, as if jolted back to reality, he hesitated and returned it to the ground. “Rise, come closer to me,” he commanded gently.

She resembled her!

Not just a passing resemblance; she was a mirror image of Angelina as he had first encountered her.

If anyone dared to claim that Margaery and Angelina were not connected by blood, he would find it impossible to accept such a notion.

The King’s heart quivered, and for a fleeting moment, he felt the sting of tears welling in his eyes.

Twenty long years of yearning flooded back, memories of his youth swirling in his mind. He recalled that fateful year in Valewyn, when cherry blossoms danced in the gentle rain.

Angelina had stood at the bow of a boat, her presence radiant, her smile as enchanting as a painting. “Young master, are you crossing the river? One coin if it’s not raining, three coins if it is. But seeing your noble spirit, today there’s no charge,” she had said, her voice melodic.

She was the daughter of the Seacrest Guild, a master of all eighteen martial arts, and bolder than most women.

In that moment, his heart had been irrevocably captured.

On that boat, he had paid no coin, but instead left behind his heart, vowing to protect her for eternity.

Yet, fate had other plans. Emberfall invaded, and he had led his troops into a war that would change everything.

When he returned, she was gone, slain by the assassins of Frosthelm.

Though he had avenged her, driving them from the land and slaying their enemies, he found no solace; her spirit never graced his dreams.

In the blink of an eye, Nathaniel had grown so much.

Tears brimmed in the King’s eyes as he looked upon the young girl in humble clothing, her likeness to his lost love striking him with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia.

“What is your mother’s name?” he finally managed to ask, his voice quavering with emotion.

Margaery was taken aback by the unexpected question.

She had never anticipated that the King would inquire about her mother upon their first meeting.

Wrenna, her mother, had been gone for sixteen years, having passed away just after Margaery’s birth. She had never had the chance to know her.

The only glimpse she had of her mother was the poorly rendered portrait hanging in Raul’s room, an image that did little justice to the woman she had never met.

For all these years, her mother had existed only in the realm of her imagination.

In moments of sorrow or distress, especially during the darkest nights, Margaery had longed for her mother’s comforting presence. Even during her recent brush with death, clinging to Dashnell’s arm, she had called out for her mother, desperate for solace.

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she lowered her gaze, replying softly, “Your Majesty, my mother’s name was Wrenna Schneider.”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify