The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 461: The Queen’s Relief

The grand hall of the palace loomed before me, its towering arches and intricate carvings bathed in the amber glow of evening light. The air carried a weight that only places of immense authority could muster—a silent reminder of the power concentrated within these walls. The guards flanking the entrance stood rigid, their gazes trained ahead, though I noted the faint flicker of recognition in their eyes as I approached. Even here, among the disciplined elite, the rumors of my actions had undoubtedly spread.

The double doors opened with a deliberate slowness, revealing the vast throne room beyond. My boots echoed against the polished floor as I stepped forward, the sound a rhythmic counterpoint to the murmurs that rippled through the gathered court. All eyes turned to me, their expressions ranging from curiosity to suspicion. At the far end of the hall, Aurelia sat upon her throne, her fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders like a living flame.

"So, you’ve finally come," she said, her voice cutting through the silence with the sharpness of a blade. There was a hint of mockery in her tone, but beneath it lay something more elusive—curiosity, perhaps. "Quick on your feet as always."

I inclined my head, allowing a faint smirk to touch my lips. "It is my duty to appear before my liege whenever she requires my presence."

Aurelia’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing my words for hidden meaning. The silence that followed was palpable, stretching long enough for me to observe her in detail. Even seated, she exuded an undeniable presence, her posture regal yet relaxed, as though the weight of the crown was merely an accessory. Her gown, an opulent blend of crimson and gold, clung to her form with understated elegance, enhancing the fiery intensity of her aura.

What struck me most was her expression. There was a faint flush to her cheeks, a subtle vulnerability that belied her usual confidence. It was a vulnerability I had seen once before, in the Quest World. Her eyes, bright and sharp, held an unspoken question that lingered between us, heavy and unresolved. She had survived unimaginable trials, endured the cruel machinations of that world—and she had come out stronger, more resolute. Yet, the scars of that ordeal lingered, as they did for all of us.

"You look as fierce as ever, Your Majesty," I said, letting my voice carry just enough deference to mask the truth of my observation. "The trials you’ve endured only seem to sharpen your radiance."

Aurelia blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before she smirked. "Flattery, Draven? From you? I’ll admit, I didn’t expect that."

I gave a slight shrug. "Merely an observation. One cannot deny the obvious."

She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand as her gaze bore into mine. "You’ve always been a hard one to read. But this time, I think I’ve figured you out."

I raised an eyebrow but said nothing, allowing her to continue. Her silence stretched, her eyes searching mine for answers. Finally, she spoke, her voice quieter, tinged with something uncharacteristically raw.

"So, it’s true. It was you, wasn’t it? You were there, inside my dream—inside the world of the quest. You saved me. You saved us."

Her words hung in the air, charged with a weight that seemed to still the very room. The court around us faded into the background, their whispers silenced by the unspoken bond we shared. I studied her carefully, my sharp gaze catching every nuance of her posture. There was a subtle tension in her shoulders, the kind that hinted at a burden she carried even when she projected strength. Her hands gripped the arms of her throne—not tightly, but with just enough force to betray the nerves she sought to conceal. It was a rare sight to see her like this, her usual commanding presence softened by an uncharacteristic flicker of uncertainty. Her piercing gaze, often so unyielding, held a hint of vulnerability, as though she was searching for something—an anchor, a reassurance. It struck me how deeply the ordeal of the Quest World had marked her, the indelible scars visible not on her skin but in these fleeting, telltale signs.

I met her eyes, letting a moment pass before I spoke. "Yes, it is me, Your Majesty. Though I should say I was not the only one who saved you."

The admission was deliberate, calculated. There was no need to mention Lyan or Anastasia—not yet. Let her draw her own conclusions.

Aurelia’s lips parted slightly, her breath hitching as the weight of my words settled over her. For a moment, her mask slipped entirely, leaving her raw and exposed in a way I had never thought possible. Relief flooded her features, a tide that washed away the hardness in her eyes and replaced it with something infinitely softer. Then, like a sunrise breaking over a storm-torn horizon, an unrestrained smile lit up her face. It was radiant, unguarded, and utterly disarming—a beacon of hope where before there had been only steel.

The court around us seemed to collectively hold their breath, the ripple of gasps and murmurs that had filled the room a moment ago fading into stunned silence. I could feel the weight of their gazes, not on me but on her, as if they too were witnessing something extraordinary. Her lips moved, murmuring words too quiet for the court to hear but crystal clear to me: "I’m not alone."

It was a revelation, not just for her but for me as well. In her unguarded smile, I saw the relief of a woman who had carried a mountain of pain, now realizing she didn’t have to bear it alone. And it struck me—a sharp, unexpected pang—that for all her strength and fiery brilliance, Aurelia had always walked a path few could tread. This was a moment of shared humanity, fragile yet profound.

The sight of her—the fierce, untouchable Queen of Regaria—rejoicing in such a raw, unfiltered way was both surprising and unsettling. It was as if the world had tilted slightly, revealing a side of her I had never expected to see. For all her strength, for all her genius, there was a fragility beneath it that I hadn’t fully appreciated until now. She had endured what most could not, and it had left its mark on her, just as it had on me.

The moment stretched on, her smile lingering long enough to draw whispers from the court. Some were soft with awe, others sharp with confusion. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Aurelia straightened abruptly. The radiant smile melted into a snort, dismissive and sharp, though her cheeks still held a faint flush of color. It was as though she had remembered where she was and who she needed to be.

"Well," she said, her tone turning brusque in an instant. "I suppose I can forgive you for lying to me before. Just don’t let it happen again, bastard."

The shift was so sudden it almost made me smile. Almost. "Understood, Your Majesty."

Aurelia rose from her throne, her fiery hair catching the light as she turned to address the court. Each strand seemed alive, reflecting the intensity of her spirit. "Draven, you will join me for a private meal," she declared, her voice carrying both command and an unspoken challenge.

The murmurs erupted like wildfire, rippling through the gathered nobles with escalating intensity. Whispers of shock and disbelief filled the air, their astonishment palpable. For the Queen to extend such an intimate gesture—to treat anyone, even someone of my rank, with informal hospitality—was unprecedented. Yet Aurelia was unbothered, her regal presence silencing any who dared to openly question her.

Her sharp gaze swept over the room, pinning the dissenters in place. A subtle but unmistakable tension followed, as if her fiery glare could scorch their very thoughts. "This is an important discussion with my mentor," she stated with a calm authority that brooked no argument. Her words landed with the weight of an iron decree. "I will not permit eavesdropping or objections."

The room fell silent once more, the weight of her command suffocating any protests before they could form. The nobles shifted uneasily, casting furtive glances at one another but offering no resistance. Aurelia’s presence alone was enough to quell even the boldest of tongues.

She turned on her heel with practiced grace, her crimson and gold gown swirling around her as she strode toward the private dining hall. Her steps were deliberate, each one a statement of her unwavering resolve. I followed at a measured pace, my thoughts already sifting through the implications of her request, while the echoes of the court’s stunned silence trailed behind us like a shadow.

The room fell silent once more, the weight of her authority suffocating any protests before they could form. She turned on her heel, her gown swirling around her as she strode toward the private dining hall. I followed, my steps measured, my mind already working through the implications of her request.

The private hall was a stark contrast to the opulence of the throne room. It was smaller, more intimate, yet no less elegant. The remnants of a previous meal were still visible on the table—a feast fit for royalty, though it appeared much of it had been consumed. A maid’s muttered comment caught my attention as she cleared the dishes: "Her Majesty already ate."

I glanced at Aurelia, who seemed unbothered by the observation. It confirmed what I had suspected: she had only recently returned to this world. The Quest World had a way of disrupting one’s sense of time, and her appetite—uncharacteristically voracious—was likely a side effect of the ordeal.

Find your next read on novelbuddy

She took her seat at the head of the table, gesturing for me to sit across from her. Her movements were fluid, exuding a confidence born of both authority and familiarity. "You had the audacity to trick me and lie about being Dravis," she began, her tone light, almost playful, but edged with an unmistakable hint of accusation. Her eyes locked onto mine, searching for a reaction. "But I’ll forgive you—this time."

I inclined my head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment tempered by just enough composure to keep the balance of power intact. "I’m grateful for your magnanimity, Your Majesty," I replied, the faintest trace of irony lacing my words.

Her smirk widened, her fiery hair catching the soft candlelight of the dining hall. "Don’t push your luck, bastard. My patience has its limits." She leaned back in her chair, the playful glint in her eyes flickering briefly as the weight of unspoken questions seemed to settle in her mind. The pause stretched just long enough to draw me in, to make me wonder what was coming next.

"But perhaps," she said finally, her tone shifting to one of practiced neutrality, "you might enlighten me about the Magic Council." The words were deceptively casual, but her eyes sharpened as she leaned forward, resting her chin on her interlocked fingers. "Why did they imprison you?"

Updated from freewёbnoνel.com.

Her sudden shift in demeanor was as calculated as it was disarming. I recognized the tactic immediately—lure your opponent into a false sense of comfort before striking with precision. But this was no battle; it was a discussion laced with the same careful strategy.

The question hung between us, heavy with implication. I met her eyes, my mind already calculating the best way to navigate the delicate topic. The meal was forgotten, the court’s whispers a distant memory. In this moment, it was just the two of us, the weight of the world pressing down on our shoulders.

I drew a breath, ready to answer—and the world seemed to hold its breath with me.