King Gareth left the council chamber, his mind weighed down by the thought of battle. As he rode through the night toward his palace, his thoughts turned to his wife. The image of her—radiant and full with child—brought a rare smile to his lips. He missed her warmth, her laughter, and the quiet strength she carried even in the face of the kingdom's expectations.
When he finally arrived at the palace, the gates opened swiftly, and servants rushed to greet him. His mother, Dowager Queen Elira, stood at the entrance, her expression cool and detached.
"You return at last," she said, her tone clipped. "And what news do you bring? I assume the meeting was as fruitless as usual."
Gareth ignored the barb, dismounting his horse with practiced ease. "Where is the queen?" he asked.
Elira raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a faint sneer. "Likely sleeping. That's all she seems to do these days."
"She's pregnant mother, give her a break "
He shot her a warning glance but said nothing, striding past her and into the palace. The halls were dimly lit, the soft glow of the evening casting long shadows. Servants bowed as he passed, but Gareth barely noticed them. His thoughts were consumed by his wife.
When he reached their chamber, he opened the door quietly. The sight of her took his breath away.
She lay on the bed, her face peaceful, one hand resting on the gentle swell of her belly. The soft candlelight illuminated her features, and Gareth felt a rush of affection so fierce it momentarily dulled the weight of his worries.
Stepping closer, he sat carefully on the edge of the bed, his gaze never leaving her. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch light enough not to wake her.
Her eyelids fluttered open, and a small smile curved her lips. "You're back," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
" Margret I didn't want to disturb you," he said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.
She shifted, propping herself up slightly. "How long have you been here?"
"Not long. I couldn't wait to see you," he admitted, his voice filled with warmth.
She smiled, though there was a flicker of something uncertain in her eyes. "The war council?"
"Forget about that for now," Gareth said, shaking his head. "How are you feeling? Is everything well?"
She placed her hand on her belly, a tender gesture that made his heart ache. "I feel good, stronger even. I have a good feeling about this child." Her smile widened. "I think… I think it will be a boy."
Gareth's brow furrowed as he took her hand in his, squeezing gently. "My love, I've told you before. I don't care about the child's gender. All that matters is that you are safe."
She looked away, her expression clouding. "But I care, Gareth," she said quietly. "I don't have a choice. I've already given you four daughters, and still, everyone whispers behind my back. Your mother… the court… They all think I've failed you."
"You've never failed me," Gareth said firmly, cupping her face and forcing her to meet his eyes. "You've given me a family, a home. You've given me everything I could ever want."
Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she blinked them away, her chin lifting slightly. "I must give you an heir," she said, her voice steady but filled with determination.
Gareth's heart ached for her. He wished he could shield her from the expectations and judgment that weighed so heavily on her shoulders, but he knew there was no use arguing. Instead, he kissed her softly, hoping to convey the depth of his love and reassurance.
"You've already given me more than I deserve," he whispered.
But even as he held her close, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air—a sense that their lives, and the kingdom, were about to change forever.
Gareth held his wife close for a moment longer, her warmth grounding him amidst the chaos that brewed in his mind. Just as he leaned back to speak, there was a soft knock on the door.
"Enter," he said, his voice steady but laced with irritation.
A guard stepped inside, bowing low. "Your Majesty, the prince has arrived. He wishes to see you immediately."
Gareth's smile faltered, the warmth in his gaze cooling instantly. His wife noticed the change in his expression, her brows furrowing.
"Your brother?" she asked softly.
"Yes," Gareth replied tersely, his jaw tightening.
He hadn't seen his brother, Prince Kaelen, in months, and his sudden arrival was rarely a good omen. Kaelen had a penchant for stirring trouble, his ambitions thinly veiled behind smiles and false pleasantries.
"You don't have to go," his wife said, her voice tentative, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. "He can wait."
Gareth shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. "If Kaelen is here, it's not without purpose. I'd rather deal with whatever he wants now than leave it to fester."
He rose from the bed, straightening his tunic, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "Rest. I'll return soon."
Her eyes lingered on him, concern shadowing her features, but she nodded. "Be careful."
With a final glance at her, Gareth left the chamber, his steps brisk as he followed the guard through the palace halls. His mind churned with thoughts, none of them pleasant.
Kaelen had always been a thorn in his side—a man whose charm and wit masked a dangerous ambition. While Gareth had dedicated his life to the crown and his people, Kaelen had spent his pursuing personal gain, often skirting the boundaries of loyalty.
When Gareth entered the throne room, he found his older brother lounging casually on one of the ornate chairs near the fireplace, a goblet of wine in hand. Kaelen rose to his feet with a lazy grin, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Brother," Kaelen drawled, spreading his arms wide. "It's been far too long. You look… tense."
Gareth's jaw tightened as Kaelen sauntered toward him, his grin as infuriating as ever. He knew his brother too well—Kaelen rarely showed up without an ulterior motive.
"Kaelen," Gareth repeated, his tone cold and unwelcoming. "What brings you here unannounced?"
Kaelen chuckled, swirling the wine in his goblet before taking a sip. "Must you always assume the worst of me, brother? Can't a prince visit his beloved sibling without suspicion?"
Gareth's expression didn't falter. "I don't have time for games. Speak your purpose, or leave."
Kaelen feigned a look of hurt, clutching his chest dramatically. "Ah, such warmth. Truly, your hospitality knows no bounds." He set the goblet down on a nearby table and leaned against the chair he had vacated, his posture casual but his gaze sharp.
"I've come to offer my… assistance," Kaelen said, his tone light but his words weighted. "With the looming war, I thought perhaps you could use another sword. Or at the very least, my unparalleled charm to sway your reluctant allies."
Gareth crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. "And what do you want in return for this 'assistance'?"
Kaelen smirked. "Always so distrustful. Perhaps I want nothing. Perhaps I'm simply doing my duty as a loyal brother and prince of the realm."
Before Gareth could respond, the heavy doors to the throne room creaked open, and Margret entered. She moved with a grace that belied the exhaustion she often felt, her hand resting protectively on her growing belly.
Both men turned toward her, but it was Kaelen who spoke first. "Margret," he said, his voice softer than usual, though there was a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. "You're as radiant as ever."
She offered him a polite smile, though her focus quickly shifted to Gareth. "I didn't mean to interrupt," she said, her tone apologetic.
"You're not interrupting," Gareth assured her, stepping closer.
Kaelen's gaze lingered on her, and his lips curved into a sly smile. "Congratulations on the pregnancy, dear sister-in-law," he said smoothly. "Let's hope this time you give my dear brother the heir he so desperately needs."
The remark hung in the air like a dagger, the tension in the room thick enough to cut. Gareth's eyes flashed with anger, and he took a step toward Kaelen, but Margret placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.
"Thank you, Kaelen," she said calmly, though there was an edge to her voice. "We are hopeful."
Kaelen tilted his head, his smirk never wavering. "As you should be. It's high time this kingdom had a proper heir."
Margret's gaze didn't waver as she changed the subject. "And how is your wife, Kaelen? I don't believe I've seen her in some time."
Kaelen barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "Ah, my wife. To be honest, I've almost forgotten I'm married. She spends most of her time away from court. I suppose she finds my company… tiresome."
Margret raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing into a thin line. "How unfortunate," she said, her tone neutral.
Gareth's patience finally snapped. "Enough, Kaelen. If you've come to offer your so-called assistance, we can discuss it later. For now, I suggest you leave."
Kaelen straightened, his smirk fading into a look of mock disappointment. "Always so quick to dismiss me. Very well, brother. I'll take my leave—for now." He turned to Margret, bowing slightly. "A pleasure as always, Margret I mean.... My queen. Take care of yourself."
With that, Kaelen strode out of the throne room, the sound of his boots echoing against the stone floors.
Once the doors closed behind him, Gareth exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. Margret stepped closer, her eyes filled with concern.
"You shouldn't let him get under your skin," she said softly.
"He's not here out of the goodness of his heart," Gareth muttered, his voice low. "Kaelen always has a plan, and it's rarely one that benefits anyone but himself."
But as they stood there in the quiet of the throne room, Gareth couldn't shake the feeling that Kaelen's visit was only the beginning of something far more sinister.