[Aldric’s POV]
I did not sleep after leaving her chamber. Neither with the truth clawing at the edge of my thoughts, nor with the memory of the faint curve under her nightgown glowing in my mind like a brand.
By dawn, the question had become a stone lodged in my throat. So, I returned to her chambers, shut the door behind me, and faced her with the only truth that mattered.
She sat upright but pale, braced against pillows, her breath thin. When she looked at me, something inside me twisted in a way I refused to name. I did not raise my voice, and I did not accuse. I asked one question—quiet, hollow, and terrible.
“Seraphine… were you with child?”
Her entire body went still. The blankets tightened in her fists. Her eyes widened—not with confusion, but with the kind of terror I had seen only once before, on the night I took Eryndale’s throne.
She swallowed once. “Why would you think that?” she managed.
It was not denial or truth. It was a woman drowning.
“I found blood in the stables,” I said, each word falling like a hammer. “More than a fall could explain.”
She flinched.
“And herbs on the floor of the stillroom,” I continued. “Tonics no one should drink unless fevered or… with child.”
Her hand flew to her chest.
“And gowns.” My voice dropped. “Altered to widen through the waist. Without fittings. Without your approval.”
She looked as if I had struck her.
“Tell me the truth,” I whispered. “Were you carrying my child?”
Her throat worked. “I—Aldric, I was… ill. Elowen misled people. The gowns were—”
A lie. Not even a careful one.
Her voice trembled too much. Her eyes avoided mine too quickly, and her fingers dug into her blanket as if to anchor herself against the truth rising to the surface.
I took one step closer. “Seraphine.”
She shook her head weakly, breath faltering. “No. You’re mistaken. It wasn’t—”
The door burst open. Rowan stormed inside, chest heaving as if he had run the length of the castle.
“Your Majesty,” he said, placing himself between us before I could react, “you are drawing the wrong conclusions.”
My blood surged with fury. “Stand aside,” I snapped.
“No.” His voice was too steady, too bold. “The queen collapsed from illness. Nothing more. I carried her to the stables because she needed air and privacy. The blood you found came from a deep scrape on her arm. I caused it dragging her over the stones. As for the gowns—Elowen ordered them enlarged because she believed they would ease the queen’s breathing.”
“That is an absurd explanation,” I growled.
“Perhaps,” Rowan said, lifting his chin, “but it is the truth.”
He lied for her, with no fear or hesitation! The realization struck me like a blade.
“You dare interrupt a royal inquiry?” I snarled. “You dare impede my questioning of my wife?”
His hand drifted to the hilt of his sword—not fully, but enough. My own fury rose so suddenly it made my vision sharpen.
“Touch that hilt,” I warned, “and I will have your head before you clear the blade.”
Seraphine gasped. “Stop! Both of you—stop!”
“Step aside,” I commanded.
“Not until you cease frightening her,” Rowan shot back.
Seraphine reached for him. “Rowan—please.”
He froze. Not at my voice. At hers. She turned to me next, voice cracking:
“Aldric… please. I cannot bear you two fighting.”
I forced myself still. Forced breath into my lungs before rage shattered something I could not mend.
“She is exhausted,” Rowan said quietly. “She needs rest. Not interrogation.”
“Then she will rest,” I said through clenched teeth. “In safety. Under guard. And you—” I pointed toward him. “—will be removed from this wing.”
“No!” Seraphine cried, the word breaking. “Don’t—Aldric, please, not now. Not like this.”
Her voice stopped me. It shouldn’t have, but it did. I stared between them—her trembling, Rowan’s defiance—and tried to force reason back into my mind.
But suspicion had already rooted deep.
She lied, and this man shielded her lie. Something monstrous grew in the silence between us. I drew breath to order Rowan seized, but a scout crashed through the doorway before the words left my mouth.
“Your Majesty!” he gasped, bowing so fast he nearly collapsed. “Forgive me—urgent word from the border!”
Every muscle in my body tensed.
“Well?” I barked.
The scout swallowed, pale and shaking. “A rider from Blackharrow reached our outpost. He carried a message for you, sire.”
“Speak it.”
“He said…” The scout’s voice cracked. “He said Blackharrow’s lord has taken custody of… of two infants.”
The room froze, with Seraphine’s breath hitched violently.
The scout went on, stumbling, “The lord says he wishes to parley with you. That he holds these children under his protection. He wanted you to know at once.”
Two infants. Two. My vision tunneled. I turned my head slowly—first to Rowan, whose face drained of color… then to Seraphine.
Her eyes were wide. Drowning. Guilty. Broken. At that moment, I saw the truth.
She had been with a child, and she had kept it from me. And someone—Blackharrow—now held my children.
Everything inside me went cold, then blazed with a fury I had never known. Seraphine did not speak. She didn’t need to. The truth lay between us, writhing like an exposed nerve.
My children. Stolen.
And the woman who carried them—a liar in my bed.