"Your Majesty," a palace guard approached cautiously.
Athalia turned slowly.
The guard bowed deeply, then whispered:
"The Queen's guard reported that the princess cried out in pain. Lost too much blood and had a miscarriage. The child lost. The task… succeeded."
The queen smiled. Now everyone knows and will blame it on an accident.
"What?" The word came out loud and in pretense.
"You mean my sister lost her child?. I must see her, take me to her."
Athalia blinked once, then twice to the guard in order to alert him of the people nearby.
The corridors of the palace stretched ahead of Athalia the next day. It was long and quiet, their marble floors polished enough to reflect faint fragments of her face as she walked. Her steps were steady, her expression smooth, but her heart settled as she smiled.
She reached her private chamber and dismissed the guards with a flick of her hand. Lira entered with her, closing the door behind them.
Athalia sat at her vanity again, staring at her reflection.
She placed her hand on her stomach that was flat, yet untouched by life.
"If I have a child…" she whispered, "I will never be replaced, whether my sister is pregnant or not."
Adrain entered quietly, watching her. He approached her, placing his hands gently on her shoulders.
"I want a child," he admitted. "But not at the cost of your peace."
Her throat tightened.
Time was no longer a luxury.
She leaned into him, speaking softly but smiling, "Perhaps we should try… more intentionally."
His eyes warmed. "Then let us continue where we left off."
Their lips met.
Athalia did not think of the herbs again, or the pregnancy she once feared, or the pact that threatened her life.
She thought only of securing the future. A future she refused to lose.
At dawn, Athalia stood alone at her window, staring at the moon.
Her hand pressed to her abdomen that was flat, empty and safe.
Lira entered quietly behind her.
"Your Majesty?"
Athalia didn't turn. "Yes?"
Lira's voice was soft. "Will you take the herbs tonight?"
Athalia closed her eyes.
Her voice cracked.
"Yes."
But, she had forgotten she had not taken the herbs in 2 days.
Each morning in the palace followed a familiar rhythm. Athalia would rise before King Adrain, slip out of bed quietly, and step into the marble bathing chamber where the morning light filtered in through thin curtains. Lira, her loyal maid, would already be waiting with warm water, scented oils, and robes.
"Good morning, Your Majesty," Lira always greeted with a gentle bow.
"Good morning," Athalia would reply softly, hiding her lingering exhaustion from another disturbed night.
After she dressed, she and Adrain met in the western courtyard for breakfast. Their relationship had grown steady after emelia's pregnancy was destroyed.
After the Information from the guard, one day, she overheard whispers in the servants' quarters, spoken by a kitchen maid who had never left her post yet somehow claimed to know the secrets of everyone.
It was from her, many in the palace confirmed truths of the royal household and their authenticity.
"They say the princess lost the child," the young maid murmured over a basin of cut fruit. "And not just that… they say she cannot conceive again."
Another servant stepped closer. "How did you know?"
"Word reached through the queen mother's messenger," she said confidently. "The miscarriage damaged her womb. She may never carry another."
The words spread with frightening speed.
By evening, the tailors knew, the gardeners and by midday, the palace guards heard.
And soon the rumor circuited the entire palace staff:
Princess Emelia, once the beloved daughter-in-law of the kingdom, could no longer bear children.
Some spoke with pity, some with disbelief and some with cruel satisfaction.
But for the queen mother, it was not rumor, it was truth wrapped in tragedy.
Queen Mother Elizabeth sat silently in her private chamber, her hands clasped tightly on her lap. Her face, though aging gracefully, showed the strain of sleepless nights and a heart burdened with guilt.
A single candle flickered beside her, casting trembling shadows on her gown. She looked smaller than usual, diminished, yet almost fragile.
The door opened quietly.
Her new maid, Maya, after her most trusted handmaiden had died, stepped in.
"My Queen," Maya said softly, "the royal physician has confirmed the news… Princess Emelia may never bear children again."
Elizabeth closed her eyes. "I feared she would hurt. Just like the way Prince Eric was sent away."
"It was probably the stress of exile," Maya whispered. "They say she fell ill before…"
"No," Queen Elizabeth cut her off, her voice trembling. "It was not an illness. It was everything I allowed to happen."
Maya bowed her head, saying nothing.
For years, the queen mother had lived under suspicion. Sometimes some whispered, and others spoke boldly in private. They passed accusations that she had played a role in the downfall of Prince Eric because of her calm and composed nature throughout his trial.
She overheard them say he had been framed, cast out, and declared a threat to the kingdom he could have inherited. Others said she manipulated the council to ensure Adrian ascended the throne.
But Queen Elizabeth knew the truth was simpler and more cruel. She had been silent when she should have spoken.
Afraid when she should have been brave and loyal to the wrong people at the wrong time.
"It is my fault," Queen Elizabeth murmured, tears gathering in her eyes. "Eric suffered because I failed him. And now Emelia suffers as well. I didn't intend to harm him, I didn't want a war between brothers. That's all I tried to do, but someone else was making their move. I still have no idea who it is!."
Maya knelt beside her. "My Queen, you acted out of love and probably under pressure…"
"Do not comfort me with lies," Elizabeth whispered bitterly. "I was their mother. I should have protected them but I failed."
Silence grew between them until Queen Elizabeth stood abruptly.
"Prepare my carriage."
Mara blinked. "Your Majesty? At this hour?"
"Yes, I am leaving."