I Got Married to a Yandere Queen
Chapter 55 - 54 - A Bed for Three

Chapter 55: Chapter 54 - A Bed for Three

The young couple quickly climbed down from the bed. With stiff and nervous movements, they stood and hastily adjusted their clothes before walking toward Ashtoria, who stood tall at the edge of the room.

Armand stepped forward slightly and bowed respectfully. His gaze flicked toward the two unfamiliar figures standing calmly behind the queen—a man in worn-out clothes and a young girl with a naive yet weary face.

"Your Majesty," he said in a controlled voice, "please forgive us for not being able to welcome you properly. We’ve been very busy today... and somewhat overwhelmed with all the wedding arrangements."

Ashtoria didn’t respond, she simply stared.

Armand continued, "So you requested three rooms? Are the other two for... them?" He emphasized the last word politely, though there was clear doubt in his tone.

Ashtoria gave a brief nod.

Brigitta, standing beside her husband, also stole a glance at the two mysterious guests. Her eyes were full of questions.

"If I may ask..." Armand continued, more cautiously this time, "who are they, Your Majesty?"

Ashtoria fell silent for a moment, as if weighing her answer. Then she spoke, calm and resolute:

"My saviors."

The words dropped like a hammer in the room.

Armand and Brigitta exchanged looks. They briefly reassessed the young man and girl standing behind Ashtoria. Aside from the sword the man held, there was nothing remarkable about their appearance. From their posture, worn clothes, and tired eyes, they looked like ordinary commoners—not a Lawbearer, let alone someone capable of saving a Sovereign—a power tier reserved for only a handful of beings on this continent.

But they both knew one thing for certain: the Queen never spoke in jest. If Ashtoria Belmore said someone had saved her, then it must be true—no matter how absurd it sounded.

Armand held back further comment and gave a slight bow. "Very well. I’ll instruct the servants to prepare three rooms. It may take some time, since most of them are still occupied with our wedding today." He emphasized "our wedding" with subtle annoyance—he still hadn’t forgotten that the queen had whisked away his bride earlier that day.

Then he added politely, "Is there anything else Your Majesty requires?"

Ashtoria turned slightly, her face as blank as ever—like a cold sculpture unmoved by emotion.

"Hot water and dinner," she replied curtly.

Armand nodded. But before he could call for a servant, a calm voice cut through the room.

"Ashtoria," Riven said casually, his tone oblivious to who he was addressing. "For me and my sister... one room is enough. And... if possible, just a regular one."

For a moment, time froze.

Armand turned slowly toward the man, and Brigitta stared at him wide-eyed. Neither could believe what they had just heard.

This man... had called the queen—Ashtoria Belmore—by her name. And more than that, he had even refused the queen’s suggestion of giving them separate rooms. Did he not know who he was speaking to? Or... was he asking for death?

Riven quickly realized his mistake. Though Ashtoria had earlier asked him not to call her "Your Majesty," he had now gone too far by addressing her casually, in front of others.

He glanced at the queen, trying to decipher the reaction hidden behind her ever-blank face.

But as always, Ashtoria showed no expression. Only her sharp eyes—piercing enough to make anyone flinch if they stared too long.

Beneath that calm, no one knew she was feeling... foolish.

How could she forget her original intention? Hadn’t she wanted to stay close to Riven? Hadn’t she spent the entire journey imagining time alone with him? So why had she offered him a separate room?

In a flat voice, barely above a whisper, she said to Armand without even turning:

"No need for three rooms. Just one... for the three of us."

The silence was deafening.

Armand and Brigitta froze.

They looked at each other, trying to make sure they hadn’t imagined it.

One room... for three people?

Their eyes darted to Riven and Mira. For a moment, their minds searched for a logical explanation—but found none. Then the only plausible theory occurred to them—the queen wanted to personally punish the two of them. Yes, that must be it. Maybe Riven had spoken too rudely. Maybe Mira had seen something she shouldn’t have.

Poor souls, they both thought.

Meanwhile, Riven raised an eyebrow at Ashtoria.

"...Wait," he murmured, then drew in a breath before speaking, "Ashtoria, why one room? You could take another one, right? You don’t have to sleep with us."

Ashtoria slowly turned to him.

Her gaze was blank, cool like an autumn lake, but for some reason... it sent a chill down his spine. Then, for the first time in Armand and Brigitta’s lives, they saw Ashtoria smile.

A faint smile. Soft. Barely there. Yet it made the room feel colder, as though even the candlelight dared not flicker.

"Because," she said quietly, almost affectionately but without any warmth, "I want to be with you."

The words came out just like that. Honest. Unashamed. Without any complicated reason.

Riven fell silent, his eyes widening slightly.

Meanwhile, Armand and Brigitta were utterly speechless. Their earlier assumption—that the queen wanted to torture the two commoners—had suddenly shifted into something far worse and more terrifying.

They began silently praying that these two wouldn’t die in some slow, tragic way.

.

.

.

Hot water infused with herbs and rose petals filled the carved stone bathtub, releasing a soothing aroma that steamed gently into the air. Riven sat half-submerged, his head resting against the cool marble edge. He let out a long, heavy sigh, the sound echoing softly in the wide, empty bathing room.

"Who would’ve thought..." he muttered under his breath. "That I’d get to enjoy a luxury like this."

He slipped his hand beneath the water and caught a drifting rose petal between his fingers. The warmth caressed his sore muscles, easing the tension in his body. He knew baths like this weren’t something commoners could usually enjoy. The cost of just the hot water and herbal mixture alone would drain his coin pouch if he had to pay for it himself.

And yet, even that comfort failed to settle his thoughts.

Her image—Ashtoria—drifted through his mind like a stubborn mist that refused to fade.

Her voice echoed again, soft but lingering:

"Because... i want to be with you."

Riven frowned. He still didn’t understand.

What did that woman truly want from him?

There were no debts left between them. If anything, he had caused her more trouble than he could repay.

So why did she act that way?

Why stay, when they were supposed to go their separate ways after reaching the city?

And yet... deep down, he already knew the answer.

Her actions, her gaze, the strange warmth in her words—it all pointed to something he didn’t dare name. Something that felt far too unreasonable, too absurd to accept.

Something he wasn’t ready to face.

Pushing aside the thoughts, he took a slow, steady breath and closed his eyes.

In the warmth of the bath, Riven began to focus his thoughts. He entered a state of calm and performed the mana absorption technique he had diligently practiced whenever he had free time. The process lasted quite a while—until the water around him had turned cold, and the steam no longer rose.

Calmly, he rose from the bath, letting droplets of water fall from his skin. A servant had prepared a warm towel and clean clothes on a wooden rack near the door. He dried himself and put on the provided clothing: a pair of loose sleepwear made from pale gray linen—soft, airy, and light—with a round collar and trousers tied at the waist. The fabric felt cool and comfortable, clearly made for a restful night. Riven quietly praised the outfit in his mind.

After tidying his hair and ensuring he was fully clean, Riven left the bathing chamber.

He walked toward the room that had been prepared for them, his thoughts still adrift... until he stopped at the threshold.

His eyes widened slightly.

Inside the room, which he had expected to contain three beds, there was only one large canopied bed.

And sitting atop it was someone.

Ashtoria Belmore.

Dressed in a thin, jet-black silk nightgown, her crimson hair spilled freely over her shoulders and down her back. Her legs were elegantly crossed, and her gaze was sharp but calm—like a wild cat patiently waiting for its prey to come closer on its own.

She turned her head, staring straight at Riven through the curtain of her long hair, and said in a flat tone:

"Done bathing?"

Riven stood frozen in the doorway.

His heartbeat gradually quickened—not from fear, but from something else.

Something he didn’t understand...