POV: Francesca
Six months. That was how long it had been since my son was torn from my arms.
Some days, the number felt unreal, too clean and small to contain the endless nights, the hunger, the bruises, the way my heart still lurched every time I heard a baby cry echo through the palace corridors.
Other days, it felt like a lifetime, stretched thin and merciless, each dawn a reminder that I was still alive while everything that mattered to me was held just out of reach.
Life did not simply go on. It ground me down.
The great hall of the castle was vast and cold, its stone floors scrubbed so clean they reflected the torchlight like dull mirrors. Tall columns lined the walls, carved with wolves and moons and the victories of kings long dead. This hall never inspired awe in me; it felt like a tribunal.
Servants stood shoulder to shoulder along the walls, dozens of us dressed in the same dull gray. Cooks with flour still dusting their sleeves and aids with raw, reddened hands. Stable boys and gardeners whose eyes never lifted from the floor.
No one spoke. No one dared breathe too loudly. I stood among them.
I wore a simple gray servant’s dress, shapeless and coarse, with an apron tied tight around my waist. My hair was hidden beneath a scarf, knotted at the nape of my neck. My skin felt stretched thin over my bones, my body still not fully recovered from childbirth or the months of abuse that followed.
Exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. My wrists ached beneath the sleeves of my dress.
Bruises bloomed there constantly, never quite fading before new ones replaced them. I rubbed at them absently, the familiar pain grounding me as my thoughts drifted where they always did.
…That night didn’t pass without consequence. I gave birth, and for the past months I’ve been living in hell. King Cassian took my son and called him his heir. Even though we both know he isn’t the father.
I swallowed hard and lifted my gaze toward the raised platform at the far end of the hall.
Cassian stood there in all his splendor, dressed in dark velvet trimmed with silver, his crown resting easily upon his head as if it had always belonged there. His presence filled the room, heavy and oppressive, and every servant instinctively shrank beneath it.
Beside him was a woman I had never seen before.
She was beautiful in the way wealth often was—tall, poised, her figure draped in an expensive gown that shimmered with embroidered gold and jewels that caught the torchlight with every small movement. Diamonds and moonstones adorned her throat and wrists, enough to feed a village for a year.
Her eyes were sharp. They found me almost instantly.
Cassian smiled, spreading his arms as if presenting a gift. “My loyal servants,” he announced, his voice carrying easily through the hall. “Today marks an important moment for the crown. I present to you Rosalinda, your future queen.”
A murmur rippled through the servants, quickly smothered into silence.
“Her word is law,” Cassian continued smoothly. “My alliance with her noble house will strengthen us in our fight against the enemies of the crown. They are already at our doorstep, but as your king, I assure you that they will not succeed in defeating us.”
Rosalinda’s lips curved into a satisfied smile as she surveyed the room. Her gaze skimmed over the servants as if we were furnishings rather than people, lingering only long enough to judge and dismiss.
She stepped down from the platform, with her footsteps measured and deliberate; the soft rustle of her skirts impossibly loud in the silence. She stopped directly in front of me.
I felt her presence like a blade at my throat.
“So,” she said lightly, her voice smooth and cool, “you’re the heir’s mother?”
My chest tightened painfully. I lowered my eyes at once, as a servant was expected to do.
Rosalinda hummed, circling me slowly, her gaze taking in my bowed head, my plain dress, my rough hands. “I imagined you differently,” she said. “More impressive, perhaps. Or at least… cleaner.”
Heat rushed to my face, but I stayed silent. She stopped in front of me again and reached out, hooking a single jeweled fingernail beneath my chin. She lifted my face despite my instinctive flinch, forcing me to meet her gaze.
Her eyes were cold. And curious, at the same time.
“Your Highness,” Rosalinda said sweetly, not looking away from me as she addressed Cassian, “can you dismiss her? I find her presence unpleasant.”
The words struck like a physical blow. Cassian did not respond immediately, and the pause stretched unbearably long.
Rosalinda smiled, her grip tightening slightly beneath my chin. “I can give you an heir myself,” she continued, her tone casual and cruel. “Without this worthless she-wolf.”
The hall seemed to tilt. My heart stopped so violently I thought I might collapse where I stood. Blood roared in my ears, drowning out the torches, the murmurs, the world itself.
If that happens… I will never see my son, my Luka, again.
The name tore through me like grief made flesh. I saw his face in my mind as clearly as if he were in front of me—dark hair, too soft to be real, golden eyes that had opened only once before he was taken from me. I remembered the weight of him in my arms, the way his tiny fingers had curled instinctively around mine.
My knees trembled.
Rosalinda released my chin as if bored, stepping back with a satisfied look. “She serves no purpose anymore,” she added. “You don’t need her.”
I turned my head toward Cassian, desperation clawing its way up my throat. I did not care about dignity and I did not care about pride anymore. I cared about my child.
Tears blurred my vision, spilling over despite my effort to hold them back. My chest hitched, a broken sound escaping me before I could stop it.
“Please…” I whispered, the word tearing free like a wound.