"I traded my future for a crown," she whispered, her voice barely more than breath. "And now the kingdom demands what I can no longer give. But I will not let Emelia win."
Her fingers tightened slightly.
"Dear sister… forgive me."
---
When night settled over the palace and silence crept into its halls, Queen Athalia sat alone at her writing table. The flicker of candlelight danced across her face as she dipped her quill into ink.
Her hand did not tremble.
Each stroke was deliberate. Precise.
Cold.
"To the Shadow Guard,
The target is the princess. Confirm the end.
—A."
She read it once.
Then folded it neatly, sealing it with melted wax. Her signet ring pressed into it with quiet finality.
Lira entered just as Athalia slipped the letter into a small pouch.
"Is that for the King, Your Majesty?" she asked, her tone innocent.
Athalia's gaze did not lift immediately. When it did, it was smooth. Unreadable.
"No," she said calmly. "For someone who requires instruction."
Lira bowed, sensing no room for further questions, and withdrew.
---
Moments later, Athalia stepped into the dim corridor. The torches along the walls burned low, casting long shadows that seemed to breathe with the night.
From one of those shadows, a hooded figure emerged.
Silent.
Waiting.
Athalia extended the pouch.
"You know what to do," she whispered.
The figure nodded once.
Then disappeared as though it had never been there.
---
Far from the capital, in a quiet villa untouched by palace schemes, Princess Emelia stood by her window.
Her hand rested gently over her abdomen.
Her gaze lingered on the night sky, distant and thoughtful.
Behind her, Eric approached quietly, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"You're thinking too much again," he murmured.
"I'm thinking about our child," she replied softly. "About the life waiting ahead. I just hope Arrandelle remains safe when he or she arrives."
Eric pressed a kiss to her temple.
"I will protect both of you," he said firmly. "That is my promise."
But beyond the villa—
Hidden among the trees—
Unseen eyes watched.
Cold.
Patient.
Unmoved by warmth or hope.
---
Back in the palace, Athalia returned to her chambers.
There was a strange lightness in her steps.
She moved toward the window, gazing down into the courtyard where torches flickered against stone walls.
Time passed.
Minutes stretching into an hour.
Then—
A soft tap.
A pebble struck the balcony rail.
Athalia stepped outside.
A shadow slipped away into darkness.
On the stone lay a small parchment.
She picked it up.
Opened it.
Two simple words stared back at her.
"It is done."
---
Athalia exhaled slowly.
Relief spread through her chest, warm and steady.
Not guilt.
Never guilt.
Only the quiet satisfaction that a threat had been erased before it could grow.
A faint smile touched her lips as she turned back inside.
---
Adrain stood in the chamber.
She paused briefly.
"I didn't hear you enter."
He studied her, his expression curious.
"You seem… different tonight," he said, stepping closer. "Lighter. Should I ask what has brought you such joy?"
Athalia tilted her head slightly, a teasing edge in her tone.
"Must there always be a reason?"
He smiled, taking her hand gently.
"Not always. But I notice when my queen shines like this."
He leaned closer, his voice softening.
"Perhaps we should not waste such a rare mood."
She laughed quietly. "Adrain, it is late."
"That has never stopped us before."
She let him pull her close.
Part of her responded to the moment.
The other part calculated.
A child would secure her place in ways nothing else could.
And the herbs she once relied on had not been taken.
Not recently.
That night, she did not resist.
And the king slept peacefully, unaware of the storm she had already set into motion.
---
Morning arrived with soft light spilling across the room.
Birdsong filled the air as Lira entered with water for bathing.
Athalia rose with an ease that felt unfamiliar.
Almost… effortless.
As she prepared for the day, Lira observed her carefully.
"You seem joyful this morning," she said.
Athalia allowed a faint smirk. "The morning is pleasant."
Adrain entered soon after, fastening his robe.
"Still glowing," he teased. "Should I assume last night is to blame?"
Athalia chuckled lightly, not denying it.
He stepped behind her, pressing a kiss to her neck.
"If one night brings you this much joy, perhaps we should repeat it."
She nudged him away gently. "Enough."
"Is that a refusal?"
"Perhaps."
Their laughter lingered briefly—a rare, softer side of royalty few ever witnessed.
---
Athalia stepped into the hallway, humming quietly.
Everything felt aligned.
Perfect.
Then—
"Your Majesty."
A palace guard approached, bowing deeply.
His voice lowered.
"The princess… she suffered greatly. She lost too much blood. The child did not survive."
A pause.
"The task succeeded."
---
For a fraction of a second—
Athalia smiled.
Then it vanished.
Replaced instantly with shock.
"What?" she exclaimed, her voice rising convincingly. "My sister… lost her child?"
She turned sharply.
"Take me to her."
As she passed the guard, her gaze flickered briefly.
A silent signal.
A warning.
Others were nearby.
---
The palace corridors stretched endlessly the next day.
Marble floors reflected faint fragments of her expression as she walked.
Calm.
Composed.
Untouched.
Inside, something had settled.
A dangerous kind of peace.
---
Later, in her private chamber, she sat before her mirror.
Her hand rested against her flat stomach.
"If I have a child…" she murmured softly, "no one will ever replace me."
Adrain entered quietly, placing his hands on her shoulders.
"I want a child," he admitted. "But not at the cost of your happiness."
She leaned into him, her voice gentle.
"Then perhaps we should try… properly."
His eyes warmed.
And once again, they moved forward together.
Not out of love alone.
But purpose.
---
Days passed.
Routine returned.
Yet whispers began to spread.
Servants murmured in corners.
Voices carried secrets faster than truth.
"They say the princess lost the child…"
"And more than that… she may never conceive again."
The rumor spread like fire.
From kitchens to gardens.
From halls to guard posts.
By nightfall, the entire palace knew.
Princess Emelia would never bear a child.
---
In her chamber, Queen Mother Elizabeth sat in silence.
A single candle flickered beside her.
Her hands trembled slightly in her lap.
"My Queen," her maid Maya said softly, "the physician has confirmed it."
Elizabeth closed her eyes.
"I feared this would happen."
Her voice cracked.
"Eric suffered… and now Emelia suffers too."
Maya knelt beside her.
"You acted under pressure…"
"Do not comfort me," Elizabeth whispered bitterly. "I failed them."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
Then suddenly—
"Prepare my carriage."
Maya blinked. "At this hour?"
Elizabeth stood, her resolve firm despite the tremor in her hands.
"My son needs me."
A pause.
"And Emelia must not face this alone."
"Will you inform King Adrain?"
Elizabeth shook her head.
"No," she said quietly.
"He would not understand."