POV: Rosalinda
Five years I wore the crown! All this time I had smiled beside King Cassian on balconies and thrones and endured whispers behind fans and lowered gazes in council chambers.
Five years of playing the perfect queen, the flawless alliance, the woman who brought wealth, armies, and legitimacy to a stolen throne.
And still, my womb was empty.
The knowledge sat inside me like rot, spreading quietly, poisoning everything it touched. Every month that passed without proof of life was a reminder that time was no longer my ally.
In the royal court, beauty faded quickly, patience even faster. A queen who could not produce an heir was tolerated only as long as she was useful.
Cassian was already proving how easily usefulness could be replaced.
I dismissed my attendants with a sharp word and pulled my cloak around my shoulders myself. I did not want witnesses or questions. The corridors leading toward the old nursery wing were colder than the rest of the castle, less adorned, less traveled.
The scent of herbs reached me before I saw her.
Selena’s chamber was tucked beside the abandoned nursery, a low-ceilinged room filled with shelves of dried plants, glass vials, and iron-bound books so old their titles had worn away. The old woman herself stood near a small table, grinding something dark and brittle with a mortar and pestle.
“Your Majesty,” Selena said calmly, her voice rough with age. “You walk like someone who is bleeding inside.”
I closed the door behind me with more force than necessary. “You will address me as Queen,” I said sharply. “And you will look at me when I speak.”
Selena lifted her head then.
She was ancient, her gray hair braided and coiled at the nape of her neck, her skin lined like cracked parchment. She wore a dark green dress faded from years of washing and a gray apron stained with herbs and ash. Her eyes, however, were sharp and unsettlingly clear.
“You may wear a crown,” she replied evenly, “but your body does not recognize commands.”
The word struck too close. I stepped forward, lowering my voice. “I want a fertility brew,” I said. “Something strong. Something that works.”
Selena studied me for a long moment. “Tell me why you want a child,” she said.
I laughed bitterly. “I am queen,” I said. “And the throne requires an heir.”
“That is the answer of a court,” Selena replied. “Not of a woman.”
I turned away, pacing the narrow room, skirts whispering angrily against stone.
“My father taught me what happens to women who depend on others,” I said, the words spilling out despite myself. “I was raised in a house where daughters were traded like coin. When Cassian proposed the alliance, I agreed willingly. I left my father’s house without regret, because marriage to a king meant freedom.”
I stopped pacing and faced her.
“A child is my escape,” I continued. “A child of my body and blood. Once I give Cassian an heir, I am no longer replaceable. I become permanent.”
Selena sighed softly. “Children are not shields.”
“They are power,” I snapped. “You know that.”
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the nursery door, then back to me. “The king already has a child.”
Rage flared so violently I tasted metal. “That boy is a bastard born of a slave!”
Selena folded her hands. “You fear the child.”
“I won’t let him erase me,” I said, my voice trembling despite my effort to control it. “Cassian intends to place Luka on the throne. The moment that woman vanished, the moment the boy survived, I became optional.”
Silence pressed down on the room. Selena spoke carefully. “The womb closes when the spirit is at war.”
I scoffed. “Spare me.”
“You carry fear like poison,” she continued. “You sleep beside a man you do not trust and wake every day knowing your position rests on another’s whim. Your body hears what your mouth does not say.”
I slammed my palm against the table. Glass vials rattled.
“Then make me fearless,” I demanded. “Give me something that will do what my body refuses to do on its own.”
Selena’s expression hardened. “There are brews,” she said slowly, “that bend nature. They come with cost.”
“I will pay it,” I said immediately.
“The cost is not gold,” she replied. “It is blood and pain. It is a risk.”
“I have lived with risk my entire life,” I said. “Do not insult me by pretending to protect me now.”
The old woman studied me with something like pity. “And if the child lives?” she asked. “If you conceive and carry it to term?”
“Then I win,” I said. “If not, Cassian crowns that boy, and I become nothing more than a jeweled footnote in history.”
Selena turned away, reaching for a locked cabinet beneath her worktable. “You should know,” she said quietly, “that brews of this kind cannot be hidden forever. A child conceived by force of magic often bears marks.”
“I do not care,” I said. “Every royal child bears scrutiny.”
She unlocked the cabinet and removed a small, dark bottle. The liquid inside was thick, almost black, clinging to the glass.
“This will not guarantee life,” Selena warned. “It will only open the door.”
I reached for it, my fingers brushing cold glass. “That is all I need.”
I closed my fingers around the bottle, feeling its weight, its promise, its danger. My heart pounded with a mixture of hope and terror so intense it made my vision blur.
As I turned toward the door, Selena’s voice followed me. “A throne built on fear never stands unchallenged.”
I paused, then straightened my spine. “I will make fear serve me,” I replied.
I left the nursery wing with the brew hidden in my sleeve and fury burning hotter than ever. If Cassian thought he could discard me for a child that was not even his, he had gravely underestimated how far I was willing to go to ensure my place beside the throne.