Morning light filters through the curtains, soft and golden, painting the room in warmth I don't deserve to feel. I wake wrapped in Kyrell's arms, his breathing steady against my neck, one hand splayed possessively across my stomach.
For a moment—just one perfect, stolen moment—I let myself exist in this peace before reality crashes back.
The political games, the stolen children, the dangerous web we're caught in... The fact that I just gave myself to a man who isn't my husband, isn't the father of my sons, while those sons sleep in cradles just corridors away being raised by a woman who stole them.
Guilt tries to sink its claws in, but I push it away. I won't regret this. Won't regret him.
Kyrell stirs, his arm tightening around me before his eyes open. When he sees me already awake, watching him, something soft crosses his features.
"Good morning," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.
"We should get dressed." The words come out more abrupt than I intended. "Before someone comes looking."
He doesn't argue, just nods and releases me. We dress in weighted silence, the intimacy of the night before making the morning feel both easier and more complicated.
Every brush of his fingers as he helps me with my laces sends heat through me. Every glance carries the weight of what we've done, what we've become to each other.
This changes everything and nothing. We still have to play our roles, maintain the fiction, move carefully through a court that would destroy us both if they knew the truth.
At the door, he pauses, turning back to cup my face in his hands. The kiss he gives me is gentle but thorough, a promise and a reminder all at once.
"Tonight?" he asks quietly.
"Tonight," I confirm, and watch him slip out into the corridor.
I should feel lighter, should feel the relief of finally giving in to something I've wanted for weeks. Instead, restlessness drives me from my chambers. I need to move, to do something with the energy crackling under my skin.
I wander through the palace gardens, nodding politely at nobles who greet me, maintaining the mask of Lady Rosetta even as Princess Sybil rages beneath the surface. The morning is beautiful—too beautiful for the darkness we're navigating.
That's when I see them—Cecily sits on a bench in the rose garden, bathed in sunlight that turns her golden hair almost white.
She holds Cassiel in her arms, rocking him gently while Kai plays with her fingers, babbling contentedly. The scene is painfully domestic, almost sickeningly perfect. She hums softly, some lullaby I don't recognize, and Cassiel's eyes drift closed in her arms.
Something volcanic ignites in my chest.
Those are my sons, my children. The babies I carried for nine months, whose first cries I heard, whose weight I memorized in those brief moments before they were stolen. And she's sitting there in the sunlight, playing the devoted mother, stealing moments that should be mine.
Every instinct screams at me to tear them from her arms—to run, to fight, to scream the truth until everyone hears it. My hands shake with the force of restraining myself, nails cutting into my palms hard enough to draw blood.
Cecily looks up, and her eyes find mine across the garden. A calculated smile spreads across her perfect face. She doesn't look surprised to see me. If anything, she looks pleased.
"Lady Rosetta." Her voice carries across the space, sweet as poisoned honey. "What a lovely morning for a walk. Won't you join me?"
It's not a request—it's a challenge. A dare.
I force my feet to move, to carry me across the garden with measured steps that don't betray the violence churning inside me. When I reach the bench, I sink into a curtsy that feels like swallowing glass.
"Your Majesty."
"Please, sit." She gestures to the space beside her, shifting Cassiel in her arms. "I so rarely have adult conversation during the day. The boys keep me quite occupied."
I sit, keeping distance between us, my eyes drawn to Cassiel despite my best efforts. He's grown even in the days since the nursery visit. His face fuller, his features more defined. He looks like Leander, I realize with a jolt. The same strong bone structure, the same serious expression even in sleep.
"They're growing so well," Cecily continues, her tone conversational. "Prince Adney is starting to track objects with his eyes now. Just yesterday he followed a bird across the sky. So alert for his age."
"And this one." She smiles down at Kai, who grabs her finger with his tiny fist. "Prince Madok is quite the little talker already. So chatty, so curious—just like his father. Leander was the same way as a baby, his mother told me. Always babbling, always demanding attention."
Each word is a blade, carefully placed to inflict maximum damage. She knows what she's doing, knows exactly how this is destroying me.
"They're beautiful," I manage, my voice coming out steadier than I feel. "You must be very proud."
"Oh, I am." Her eyes meet mine, and I see triumph there, cold and absolute. "After all, not every woman is capable of producing healthy heirs. Some of us are simply more... suited to motherhood more than others."
The implication hangs between us, sharp as a knife. She's reminding me of my failures, of the eight dead babies, of my inadequacy. Claiming superiority because she "succeeded" where I "failed."
I force myself to respond with icy politeness, each word carefully controlled. "Indeed. You've been very fortunate, Your Majesty."
"Fortunate." She laughs, the sound musical and false. "I prefer to think of it as destiny. These boys were meant to be mine. Just as Leander was meant to be mine. Some things are simply... ordained."
She strokes Kai's cheek with such practiced tenderness I want to scream. "My precious boys," she coos. "My perfect, beautiful sons. I would do anything for them. Anything at all."
The threat is subtle but unmistakable. She's warning me. Telling me that she'll fight to keep what she's stolen, that she won't hesitate to hurt anyone who threatens her position.
I cannot give in to emotion, cannot let her see how thoroughly this is destroying me. One wrong move and I lose everything—endanger the children, ruin the carefully built case, play directly into her hands.
But watching her hold them, hearing her voice soften when she looks at them, seeing the way Kai's hand curls around her finger—it takes every ounce of control I possess not to shatter completely.
"If you'll excuse me, Your Majesty." I rise with rigid composure, my legs trembling beneath my skirts. "I should return to my chambers. Duke Phideus will be expecting me."
"Of course." Cecily's smile is all false sympathy. "Do take care, Lady Rosetta. These gardens can be treacherous for those with... delicate constitutions. So easy to lose one's footing."
The threat is barely veiled now. I curtsy again, force myself to turn away, to walk rather than run back toward the palace. Every step feels impossible, every breath burns.
I make it to the palace doors before my vision starts to blur. My hands shake so badly I have to press them against my stomach to hide it. The rage and grief and desperate maternal instinct war inside me, threatening to explode.
But I hold it together. Walk through corridors with measured steps. Nod politely at servants who pass. Maintain the careful mask until I reach my chambers and the door closes behind me.
Only then do I let myself collapse against the wall, sliding down until I'm sitting on the floor, gasping for air that won't come. The image of Cecily holding my sons, of them responding to her touch, of Kai's tiny fingers wrapped around hers—it plays on loop behind my closed eyelids.
I don't know how long I sit there, minutes or hours. Time loses meaning.
Then the door bursts open without warning.
Royal guards flood into my chambers, their armor clanking, their faces grim. I scramble to my feet, heart hammering, not understanding what's happening.
The captain steps forward, holding an official decree. I see the royal seal, the careful script, Leander's signature at the bottom.
"Lady Rosetta of House Valmont," he announces, his voice formal and cold. "By order of King Leander of Reaton, you are hereby detained pending investigation into charges of conspiracy, sedition, and threats against the crown."
The words don't make sense. Can't make sense.
"There must be some mistake," I manage. "I haven't—"
"Come peacefully, my lady." The captain's hand moves to his sword. Not drawing it, but the threat is clear. "Or we'll be forced to use restraint."
I look past him to the door, expecting, hoping to see Duke Phideus or Kyrell. Someone who can explain this, fix this, make it stop.
But there's no one. Just guards surrounding me, the decree in the captain's hand, and the weight of Leander's betrayal settling over me like a shroud.
________________