The council chamberwas thick with the scent of incense, though it did little to mask the stench of whispered conspiracy. Councilor Gena leaned forward in her seat, her thin fingers steepled, her sharp eyes glinting like knives in the lamplight.
“It is confirmed,” she said, her voice low, carrying across the chamber with deadly certainty. “We have watched her for two months. The Lunareth girl has missed her blood. She is with child.”
Murmurs rippled through the chamber like a hiss of serpents.
Councilor Varin scowled, slamming a heavy hand against the marble table. “Then Solmiris’s shame is doubled. The child within her is blasphemy carved into flesh.”
“Not just blasphemy,” Gena countered, her lips curving in a thin smile. “Opportunity.”
Several heads turned at that, uneasy. Gena rose, her long cloak trailing across the floor as she paced slowly. “The people already grow restless. They whisper of refugees draining our coffers, of weakness in the Angel-King who bends for foreign filth. This child will be the spark. All we need do is fan the flames.”
One of the younger councilors shifted uneasily. “And if Val-Theris learns of our hand in it?—”
“He need not learn,” Gena cut in, her tone sharp as steel. “Rumor is a fire that requires no hand to guide it.”
Varin’s scowl deepened, though there was grudging agreement in his voice. “We must act quickly, then. The people will never kneel to a bastard heir.”
“They will not need to,” Gena said smoothly. “We will force his hand. Force him to choose: his crown…or his whore.”
The chamber stilled at her words, the implication hanging heavy. At last, another councilor leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “And what of the child?”
Gena’s smile thinned further, cruel. “Best it is never born.”
And though Val-Theris and Jesenia still slept peacefully in each other’s arms that night, dreaming of names and futures, the first stones of ruin had already been laid beneath their feet.
Three days later, while Val-Theris was locked away in the war chamber discussing the situation at the border, Jesenia had been summoned by the Council without warning. Five guards came for her and escorted her through the dark corridors of the palace to a small room, where Councilors Varin and Gena waited.
“Lady Jesenia,” Councilor Varin began smoothly, his voice measured, silk laid over steel. “We are grateful you have come.”
“I wasn’t aware it was optional,” Jesenia replied softly, trying to hide in the folds of her shawl.
Varin smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll speak plainly, then. You carry the child of Solmiris’s king.”
The air in the chamber grew colder. Jesenia’s heart stuttered, but she kept her expression steady. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do not lie, foreigner!” he snapped.
Gena, thin and sharp as a blade—leaned forward, her knuckles resting against the wooden table between them. “Thatchild will not inherit Solmiris’s throne. Lunarethian blood will not stain Seraveth’s crown.”
Jesenia’s breath caught, but she forced herself to meet Gena’s gaze. “You have no right to accuse the king of such lies.”
“We have every right,” Varin interrupted, his voice steady and soft as falling ash. “The king does not govern alone. We have tolerated your presence because you kept small. But now, you have become dangerous.”
The room fell silent except for Jesenia’s ragged breathing.
Varin leaned back, folding his hands lightly in his lap. “Remove yourself from Seraveth before the child is born. Before your body shows our people this disgusting display of weakness,” he said smoothly, his tone almost gentle now. “Or we cannot guarantee your safety. Nor theirs.”
They said nothing more, and did not stop her as Jesenia backed out of the room with a panic she had never known. She retreated to Val-Theris’s room, collapsing onto the chaise and muffling her sobs of fear with her hand.
What cruelty to threaten an innocent child.
There was no excuse for that evil, and Jesenia knew if she did not abide by their demands, they would not hesitate to make good on their threats.
When Val-Theris entered the chamber many hours later, he saw the look on her face. Unfocused. Fearful. Distant. He rushed to her immediately, his hair falling forward as he kneeled before her with all the concern of the heavens in his gaze.
Her name left his lips softly, but she flinched. “Tell me,” he murmured, his voice low and steady despite the storm he felt building in his chest. “What is it? Are you in pain? Is the baby?—”
“They know,” she whispered, so quietly he barely heard her.
