Linn had stepped into her mistress's chamber holding in her hand a basket filled with fresh linens baked by the sunlight but sensed something was wrong.
She dropped the basket, and on the floor just at the doorway, her eyes were searching around the room.
And then it finally hit her.
The dressing table was empty; all the jewelry was gone.
She became alert; she quickly made her way to the chest box where she kept all Jazell's clothes. They were gone.
Her heart raced as she fidgeted, unable to make sense of what was happening.
Right then, the door nudged open, and Jazell stepped in, just returning from Ragaleon's chamber.
"What are you doing there?"
Jazell's eyes darkened, her voice cold as it cut through the room.
"Were you planning to steal from me, Linn?"
The words struck hard. Linn blinked, stunned, her lashes fluttering as she struggled to understand her mistress's sudden lack of trust.
"No—no, my lady," she said quickly. "I noticed all your belongings were gone, and I was only checking to be sure."
She closed the chestbox softly, her hands trembling. It was then her gaze shifted—drawn to the larger chest tucked away in the corner of the room.
"Are you leaving the castle, my lady?"
Linn asked softly. She could already sense that every possession had been carefully packed into the large chestbox tucked away in the corner.
Jazell's calm demeanor only confirmed it.
"I will be journeying to Vandamonth," Jazell replied as she moved further into the chamber.
"To mourn my father."
Linn hesitated, conflict flickering across her face. "But… you said so yourself; you had no intention of grieving for him."
Jazell gave a careless shrug.
"I hated my father. I have no desire to mourn him," she said coolly. "But he left something behind—a legacy forged through years of sweat and perseverance. The sovereignty of the throne."
She sank into a chair, crossing one leg over the other as she leaned back, composed yet dangerous.
"And if anyone believes, even for a moment, that I will allow his royal advisor, Aaram, a nonentity, a nobody, to rule in his stead," her voice hardened, "then they have never seen my dark side."
Her jaw clenched, her expression twisting into something dreadful.
"They will have to go through me. Let them slay me in my sleep if they must—but I would rather die a thousand times over than watch Aaram sit upon that throne as king."
She lifted her gaze to Linn.
"You, in return, will continue to serve me from a distance. You will inform me of everything that takes place in this castle while I am away."
Linn could see it clearly now—her mistress had once again been blinded by her thirst for power.
"Surely you must know," she began carefully, "that traveling while heavy with a child could prove fatal, especially in times as perilous as these…"
She never finished the sentence.
Jazell shot up from the chair in a blur, crossed the space between them, and clamped her hand around Linn's neck.
The air vanished.
Linn's throat constricted as Jazell's grip tightened, raw strength pinning her in place.
"You have the audacity," Jazell hissed, her voice low and venomous, "to say that to my face?"
Linn struggled, her hands clawing uselessly at Jazell's wrist. Breath came in broken gasps.
"You have taught me to be fearless, my lady," she managed to choke out.
She was terrified, terrified to the core.
"I am only trying to protect you."
"Then do as I say!"
Linn shrieked.
Jazell tilted her head slightly, watching with cold fascination as tears slipped down Linn's cheeks.
"You think I do not care for my child?" Jazell snapped. "You think I do not?"
Her grip tightened one last time before she continued, fury blazing in her eyes.
"I Do! Every action I take, every risk I forebear, is for this child! That is why I am willing to fight for what has been mine since birth, the throne of Vandamonth."
At last, she released her.
Linn collapsed to the floor, coughing violently, sucking air into her lungs as though it were her first breath in years.
Above her, Jazell's voice fell coldly.
"Never question me again."
Rubbing her palms together slowly, Jazell felt a fleeting sense of generosity for allowing her maid to survive this round.
She glided toward the door with effortless grace, so smooth it seemed she did not walk at all but floated.
Just as her fingers reached for the doorknob, she paused.
A sound reached her ears.
She let her hand fall and leaned lightly against the door, listening.
A scream.
Sharp and piercing, followed by indistinct voices rising in alarm.
Jazell stilled, her senses alert, weighing the possibility of an attack. After a brief moment, she straightened and stepped out into the corridor.
Immediately, she spotted a maid running down the hallway.
"You."
Jazell shrilled.
The maid froze mid-step, recognition flashing across her face. She turned, bowing her head low.
"How may I help you, my lady?"
"What is that noise I hear?" Jazell asked, stepping away from the doorway.
Another scream echoed through the halls, raw, reckless.
The maid lifted her gaze, hesitation written across her face.
"My lady… Queen Racheal is in labor."
At her words, Jazell's brows arched.
A thread of sarcasm laced her tone as she replied,
"Just perfect."
...…..
"Quickly, get more blankets!"
The midwife's command rang through the chamber, sending the maids into frantic motion.
The other blankets were now soiled with the amniotic fluid trickling down Racheal's thighs.
Another midwife, more youthful, clasped Racheal's left hand, stroking it gently as she murmured steady words of comfort into her ear.
Racheal's face glistened with sweat, strands of hair plastered to her skin. Her body strained under a torment it had never known, each wave of pain crashing harder than the last, relentless, consuming, threatening to tear her apart.
"Push," the midwife urged.
Racheal obeyed, biting down on her lower lip as another fierce surge ripped through her abdomen. Her body trembled violently, fingers clawing into the sheets as a piercing scream tore from her throat.
"Ahhh—!"
Her cry echoed through the room as she squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself against the agony, knowing another wave was already coming.
In the midst of the relentless pain, as she fought through each excruciating wave, Racheal felt a sudden surge of anger flare within her. Why?
Because the baby showed no sign of coming in.
The younger midwife, barely out of her twenties, was shouting…
"Push! Push!"—her voice was sharp and insistent.
Before Racheal could stop herself, her hand shot out and landed across the midwife's cheek, the sound echoing sharply through the chamber.
For a moment, everything froze. Then shame washed over her as she shrank back, her face twisted in guilt.
"I… I am truly sorry," Racheal whispered, gazing at her hand; she had betrayed her own will. She didn't mean to do it.
"Do not apologize, my lady," the midwife replied, her tone gentle despite the sting still burning her cheek.
Her face was flushed, red as a tomato, yet she gave a small, weary smile.
"I have seen far worse," she admitted before resuming her steady chant.
"Push!"
When the news reached Ragaleon that Racheal was in labor, he was momentarily stunned.
He would have gone to her at once, but his body was still weak, not yet fully recovered. Instead, he sent Micah in his stead.
The queen dowager, Selena, was overjoyed by what was unfolding—yet fear carved deep lines upon her face. She paced outside Racheal's chamber, back and forth, stopping every attendant who stepped out to demand news.
"I only pray the gods bless us with a healthy child," she whispered to herself.
At that moment, Micah arrived and took her place beside her. Unlike Selena, Micah remained calm—almost detached.
She sipped slowly from a cup of wine, her expression unreadable, an act merely to pass the time.
Not long after Micah's arrival, Amilek appeared, his presence impossible to ignore.
She watched him from a distance, admiring the courage he had to stand and hear his mother scream.
"Do you not fear that she might die?"
"Micah asked as she moved to his side." The question was intentional, a test.
"Why would she?" he replied calmly.
"It is not in her fate to die in the hands of childbirth."
There it was again, that strange certainty in his words, spoken as though he could predict the future.
"You are here to show support, then," Micah said, nodding with mild approval.
"And you?" he asked, finally turning to her. His gaze lingered. "Why are you here?"
"The king sent me," she answered, smacking her lips lightly as she tasted the wine on them.
He studied her for a moment.
"You look dreadful. Has no one told you that?"
Micah smiled, sipping from the cup of wine once more as she shrugged lightly.
"Serving the king and nursing him back to health comes at a cost."
She replied and watched as he turned away.
She had always found him amusing; his sense of humor was intriguing.
He never failed to entertain her, and she liked that about him, even though she would never admit it aloud.
Meanwhile, in Racheal's chamber, it felt as though an entirely different world existed, sealed away from the rest of the castle.
Racheal now lay unconscious, her breathing shallow but steady.
"This is the third time she has fainted," Rosa, her loyal handmaid, whispered fearfully. "I fear for her."
The elder midwife turned to her, her expression firm but not unkind.
"Calm yourself. The child will live; I can feel it. Have faith."
Her gaze returned to Racheal just as the queen began to stir, lashes fluttering as consciousness slowly reclaimed her.
At once, the younger midwife seated beside her resumed her relentless chant.
"Push."
Hot tears stung Racheal's eyes. Was this some cruel jest? Was the agony not already enough?
"Why has this child chosen to torment me so?" she cried, forcing herself upright as she gathered what little strength she had left.
Her muscles tightened, veins standing out beneath her skin as another fevered scream tore from her throat.
"I can see the head," the elder midwife announced, slowly rising to her feet after resting her aching legs.
"Do not stop!" the other midwife urged urgently.
"Come out…" Racheal whispered inwardly, bracing herself.
"Come out of me… I beg you."
She spoke as though the child could hear her, and perhaps it did.
With one final surge, drawing on every last reserve of her strength, she pushed.
Her chest heaved, a single, piercing scream escaping her lips…
Its scream wasn't just a cry of pain; it was raw, primal, and unstoppable. The sound rolled through the chamber, rattling the walls and echoing down the corridors.
In the next heartbeat, the baby slid free into the waiting hands of the maid positioned to receive it.
The room broke into a state of revelry as the baby was cuddled and wrapped in a warm blanket.
Suddenly, the door flew open.
Selena stormed in, her face twisted with worry and anticipation.
"Is it a boy or a girl?" the elder midwife began.
"To hell with the child's sex!" Selena shrilled, cutting her off. She turned sharply to the maid holding the infant.
"Does the child live?"
The room fell into breathless silence as everyone waited, all eyes now fixed on the maid.
The maid gently placed her fingers beneath the baby's nostrils to feel the first breath.
She pinched the baby a little, being careful not to break the skin, the baby gave in immediately, a small cry tearing from her throat.
"She lives," the maid cried above the revelry. "The baby lives!"
Another sound of joy erupted.
Racheal heard her words clearly. She stirred weakly on the bed.
"She?" she whispered.
The smiling maid hurried to her side.
"Yes, my queen. She lives. It is a girl."