The Scarred Queen's Rise (Athena) novel Chapter 768

**TITLE: Fake Girl 768**

The autumn rains in Ramberg persisted for an endless span of fifteen days, drenching the cobblestone streets and casting a melancholic shadow over the city. Each drop that fell from the leaden sky seemed to echo the sorrow that had taken root in Ray’s heart.

Though the arrow wound on his right arm had formed a scab, a dull throbbing would return, whispering reminders of his defeat every time the rain began to patter against the palace windows. It was a constant ache, one that blended seamlessly with the emotional turmoil that consumed him.

In the wake of his loss, Ray had retreated into the palace’s opulent embrace, isolating himself from the world outside. Each day melded into the next as he sought solace in the company of beautiful concubines, drowning his sorrows in goblets of wine that never seemed to fill the void within. The laughter and music that filled the grand halls were a stark contrast to the desolation that lingered in his soul.

State affairs? They had become mere whispers in the wind, irrelevant to him. He had chosen to bury himself in indulgence, as if the alcohol could wash away the weight of his responsibilities.

Meanwhile, outside the palace walls, the ministers were caught in a whirlwind of anxiety. The Minister of Personnel, his gray beard trembling slightly as he spoke, leaned in closer to his colleagues, the worry etched on his face. “If this continues, not only will we face the southern invasion, but I fear that Ramberg itself will descend into chaos.”

The Vice Minister of Revenue, ever the schemer, rubbed his hands together, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “What if… we found some form of entertainment for the King? Something to draw him out of this dark cloud?” He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I’ve heard whispers of a new troupe of dancers who have arrived from the west. Each one is said to be more enchanting than the last…”

“Nonsense!” the Minister of War interjected, his voice booming as he glared at the Vice Minister, his temper flaring. “The King is mourning Athena! How could mere dancers possibly capture his attention?”

As the debate grew heated, the Federal Bureau Chief suddenly slammed his hand against his thigh, startling everyone into silence. “I’ve got it!” he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with inspiration. “There’s an embroiderer on North Street whose features bear a striking resemblance to Xander’s consort. But…” He hesitated, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his tone. “Unfortunately, she is mute.”

The ministers exchanged glances, the air thick with a mix of skepticism and hope. Finally, the Minister of Personnel sighed, his voice heavy with resignation. “At this point, we must try anything to save the situation; it’s better than watching the King waste away in the palace.”

Three days later, the rain finally ceased, leaving behind a fresh scent of earth and a glimmer of sunlight that broke through the clouds.

Ray found himself reluctantly dragged from the palace by a royal attendant, who employed every trick in the book—coaxing, persuading, and even pleading.

“Your Majesty,” the attendant began, his tone brightening with enthusiasm, “there’s a new sugar painting shop that has opened just down the street. The craftsmanship is exquisite; I assure you, it will bring a smile to your face!”

Ray, however, remained a mere shadow of himself, his expression blank, as if he were a lifeless figure wandering through the world.

Seeing no spark of interest in him, the royal attendant pressed on, “There are juggling acts in South Alley! They can breathe fire and walk on stilts! Surely that will amuse you!”

As Ray ambled along the bluestone path, his hands buried deep in his sleeves, he absentmindedly kicked at the puddles that dotted the roadside, his gaze unfocused and distant.

Frustration began to creep into the attendant’s demeanor as he scratched his head, contemplating his next move. Just as he was about to lead Ray to South Alley, the King suddenly halted, his attention captured by something at the corner of the street.

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