Chapter 62: The Tides of Family and Power

The tension in the Queen mansion was palpable as Henry descended the staircase, his footsteps firm and resolute. Isabel's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, her expression a mixture of longing and understanding. She knew there were things in his life he had to face—things he couldn't escape, no matter how deep the connection between them.

The argument downstairs had reached a boiling point, and the sound of Thea's voice, sharp with anger, echoed through the grand hall. Henry's fingers tightened around the banister as he reached the bottom of the stairs, his mind already calculating the best course of action.

Moira was standing in the middle of the room, her face pale, her posture stiff with defensive pride. Thea was pacing back and forth, her arms crossed, her lips trembling as she tried to control the storm of emotions that had clearly been building up for far too long.

"You lied to me!" Thea's voice cracked, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the room. "You hid the truth from me. My own father—my real father—and you never told me!"

Henry stepped into the room, his presence commanding the space as he looked between Thea and Moira. The air between them was thick with unresolved pain, and he could feel the sharpness of their words like daggers, each one cutting deeper than the last.

"Thea," Henry began, his voice steady and firm. He didn't need to raise it to get their attention. He had always been able to command a room without effort, and tonight was no different. "I know you're angry. I understand why, but this isn't the time to tear each other apart."

Thea's eyes snapped to him, her anger flaring up once again. "How could you—how could you just stand by while she lied to me? She knew all this time, Henry! All this time, and she kept it from me!"

Moira flinched, but her face remained composed. "I was trying to protect you, Thea," she said softly, her voice betraying the regret she hadn't voiced before. "It was never about keeping you from the truth. It was about trying to shield you from the pain. You didn't deserve to know that Malcolm—your father—was gone. Not like this."

"But you didn't even let me grieve him!" Thea shouted, tears welling in her eyes. "You made me think I could still have him, that he could still be in my life. And now, he's just... gone. And I never even got the chance to know him. To have a father who was actually mine!"

Henry moved closer to Thea, his eyes softening as he watched her struggle to come to terms with the chaos of emotions. He had always been her protector, the one who stood between her and the storm. And now, as she navigated the loss of someone she had only just discovered, he had to be there again.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice quieter now, softer. "I know this is hard. But I'm here for you, Thea. Always."

She looked at him for a moment, her gaze searching his face for something—maybe solace, maybe understanding—and then she shook her head, turning away from him. "I just don't know what to feel anymore."

Henry didn't press her further. Instead, he turned to Moira, his eyes narrowing slightly. "We need to fix this," he said, his tone taking on the weight of authority. "Thea needs answers, and she needs to know she's not alone in this. Hiding things from her only makes it worse."

Moira nodded, though her gaze never left Thea's back. "I know. And I will make it right. I'll talk to her—just... give me time."

Henry let out a quiet breath, his thoughts still heavy with the events of the evening. This wasn't just about family—it was about power, and how secrets could twist the very foundation of everything they had built. The loss of Malcolm, the revelation of his true identity, had rattled everything. And Thea wasn't the only one affected. Isabel had seen the pain on his face when he first heard the truth, but Henry wasn't sure if he was ready to fully confront the weight of his own past.

"I'll give you time," he said, his voice calm but firm. "But don't let this linger. Thea deserves to know the truth, and she deserves to grieve in her own way. You can't protect her from that."

Moira nodded again, her face tightening with the pressure of responsibility she had carried for years. "I know, Henry. I will do what I can."

With one last look at Thea, Henry stepped back, giving her the space she needed. The storm in the room hadn't settled, but at least there was a tentative truce—a fragile peace built on understanding, if not forgiveness. Henry knew that, in time, everything would work itself out. But for now, his focus had to shift.

He turned to leave, but as he made his way toward the door, his mind returned to Isabel. She was waiting for him, her presence still lingering in his thoughts. The moment they had shared earlier—intimate, raw—had left a mark on him. And now, with everything that had just happened, he knew they needed to talk.

When he arrived at the kitchen, Isabel was sitting at the counter, her fingers tracing the rim of a glass. She looked up as he entered, her expression soft, but her eyes held a trace of uncertainty. She hadn't spoken much since the argument started, giving Henry the space to handle it, but now the weight of the situation seemed to press down on her too.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle but sincere. He wanted to know, needed to know, how she was holding up. He had been so focused on Thea and Moira, but Isabel was here too. She was part of his world now, and he couldn't afford to neglect that.

Isabel gave him a small smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm fine. Just... a lot going on tonight."

Henry walked over to her, his hand brushing her shoulder as he sat beside her. He could feel the unease radiating from her, the uncertainty that hung in the air like a shadow.

"Look," he began, his voice quiet. "I don't want you to feel like you're just... a part of the background while all this family drama unfolds. You're important, Isabel. More than you know."

Isabel met his gaze, her expression softening. "I know, Henry. And I'm not here to be in the background. But I can see what this is doing to you. To all of you. I just want to help, however I can."

Henry leaned in slightly, his lips grazing her ear as he whispered, "You're already helping more than you know."

Before either of them could say anything more, they were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door, followed by the sound of someone entering the mansion. Henry's attention snapped to the hallway, his instincts on high alert.

"Who's that?" Isabel asked, her voice a little wary.

"Someone I need to speak with," Henry said, standing up. He gave her a reassuring smile, but his thoughts were already elsewhere. There was more to come tonight—more decisions to make, more power to seize.