Transmigrated into the body of a poisoned queen

Yvonne's POV

It had been two days since I last stepped out of this room, and I was beginning to feel like I would claw my own skin off at any moment.

As my so-called punishment, I had been locked away in my chambers, served my meals morning, noon, and night as if I were some prisoner. As if it wasn't bad enough that they had refused to let me drown and return to my life, now they had locked me up like some caged animal.

Even Klara was only allowed to visit for thirty minutes at a time, another part of my punishment, courtesy of that heartless bastard. And for what? Because I had hit Christine, his mistress. Though, I was fairly certain that wasn't even her name here. I hadn't bothered to ask. I only knew she was his mistress.

That bastard had a mistress while he had a wife. Not that I'd ever let him touch me. Even though this wasn't my body, the mere thought of him made my skin crawl. I hated him even more just for existing. They could both burn in hell for all I cared.

The door creaked open, and Klara stepped inside, followed by two senior ladies-in-waiting. They bowed slightly before hurrying toward me. One of them stepped forward and spoke with practiced formality.

"My lady, you must ready yourself for your audience with the Queen Mother."

I sat up straight in bed, the only thing ringing in my ears was the word visit. That meant I could leave this room. Finally, It wasn't like I could visit anyone while being locked away like a prisoner.

Klara stepped forward, her expression careful, but I could see the relief in her eyes.

"My lady, you are at last to meet the king's mother at her estate," she added.

The realization hit me like a splash of cold water. The king's mother. That icy bastard's mother.

Why?

The looks on the women's faces told me I must have said that out loud. Not that I cared. I didn't have the energy to pretend to be proper. Instead, I turned back to Klara.

"Okay. As long as I get to leave this damn room."

She smiled, just a small twitch of her lips, but I caught it. Looked like she was getting used to my cursing.

An hour later.

I walked down the stone steps, my eyes locked on the most beautiful carriage I had ever seen in my life. Not that I usually saw carriages in the future, but I'd seen plenty on TV, and none of them had done this justice.

The craftsmanship was stunning, polished wood, gilded details, and deep blue curtains embroidered with silver thread. It was massive, large enough to hold more than just a few passengers, yet elegant in every way.

I grabbed the extra layer of my gown, lifting it to keep from tripping, and rushed down the steps. Without thinking, I jumped off the last one, ignoring the sharp gasps and calls of my name from Klara and the other women.

I barely heard them.

I had come to a stop right in front of the carriage, my mouth hanging open as I stared up at it.

Two enormous horses, sleek and well-groomed, stood harnessed to the grand vehicle, their powerful muscles shifting under the morning light. Their black coats gleamed, and their silver-plated bridles caught the sun, making them look almost regal.

I swallowed.

Okay, maybe this world wasn't all bad.

I ran my fingers over the carriage's smooth surface, it was cold to the touch. Slowly, I walked around it, admiring every detail. Curiosity got the best of me, and I lifted the curtain, peeking inside.

It was just as beautiful inside as it was on the outside. Plush velvet seats, intricate gold embroidery, and polished wood that gleamed even in the dim lighting.

"This is amazing," I murmured in English, my fingers trailing over the fine craftsmanship. I couldn't stop myself from touching everything, running my hands along the carvings, pressing against the soft cushions, marveling at the sheer elegance of it all.

Then a voice snapped me out of my trance.

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

It was, of course, in Spanish.

I froze, my fingers still pressed against the carriage, before slowly turning my head toward the source of the voice.

My eyes met the king's.

He was staring directly at me, expression unreadable.

I immediately looked away. Because if I kept staring, I might just launch myself at him and snap his neck.

Forcing down the irritation bubbling inside me, I straightened and turned toward the front of the carriage, where he stood. But I made sure to put some distance between us.

Just because I had to endure this ride didn't mean I had to endure him any more than necessary.

"My lady," Klara whispered, coming to stand beside me. Her face was a little flushed, but I barely spared her a glance. My attention was on the horses, the men moving around, and most importantly, not on the insufferable man standing beside me, speaking to his guards.

I tuned out whatever orders he was barking, until I felt it.

That looming, suffocating presence.

I turned my head, and, sweet hell.

He was close. Too close.

I jerked back instinctively. "Would you give me some space?" I snapped in English, taking another deliberate step away from him.

His icy gaze flicked to the small gap between us before slowly dragging back to my face. He didn't move.

"I expect you to mind your manners when we meet the Queen Mother," he said, his voice as infuriatingly flat as ever. "And you shall not speak in that tongue of yours that no one comprehends."

I arched a brow, staring at him in pure defiance before looking away, uninterested.

"¿Me he hecho entender?" ("Am I understood?)

I scoffed. Didn't dignify him with an answer.

A low sound rumbled in his chest, so soft, I almost thought I imagined it. But before I could even process it, he moved.

In a swift motion, he spun me around, and my hands shot out instinctively, landing right against his chest.

Solid. Warm. Damn it.

I sucked in a breath, tilting my head up as he loomed over me, his hold firm but not rough.

"¿Me he hecho entender?" he repeated, voice lower this time, edged with something I couldn't quite place.

A shiver danced down my spine, but I masked it with a smirk. Looking him dead in the eyes, I replied smoothly in Spanish,

"No estoy tan aburrido como para hablar contigo." ("I'm not bored enough to talk to you")

His jaw ticked.

I might have imagined it, but for just a second, just the briefest moment, his grip on me tightened.

And then, just as quickly, he let go.