In the lower gallery of the west wing, King Theodor was working with the military treasurer and the cartographers. Fresh scrolls with garrison payroll calculations, rough canvas maps of the borders, and tiny wooden tower markers were spread out across the long table, marking the most troubling sections of the frontier. Theodor was not sitting; he paced alongside the table, bending now toward the figures, now pressing his palm to the rough fabric of the map, as if feeling the terrain through the cloth. He hadn't even removed his gray traveling cloak: this meeting had begun immediately after the morning inspection of the stables and, according to the schedule, was expected to last until lunch.
-Scribe, amend this: the Luczki outpost will receive additional wages from Ravel's reserves,- he threw over his shoulder, counting the towers. - The snow there will melt sooner than here, and the roads will turn to mire.
The scribe nodded, steadying his inkwell, but didn't manage to record the order. The gallery door burst open, and a dusty adjutant practically flew inside.
-Your Majesty...- he gasped and could say no more, breathless.
For a second, the king kept his gaze on the map, as if deciding whether to sacrifice the flawless order to this unexpected news. Then he straightened.
-Speak.
-Her... Her Majesty the Queen... has awakened. She rose from bed without assistance and demands to see His Highness the Prince.
The room fell silent, as if someone had ripped the very echo from the corridors. The treasurer loosened his belt. A cartographer mechanically closed his compass.
Theodor looked at the adjutant, not with storm, not with wonder, not even doubt, but with something measured, like the polished edge of a blade.
-Verified?
-By the court physician,- the adjutant hurriedly added, lowering his gaze. -Her condition is reliably confirmed.
The king laid his hands on the table. His fingers lightly gripped the rough edge of the boards — slow, almost imperceptible. He brushed aside one tower marker near the Luczki outpost, as if folding away an unfinished game.
-The council will continue without me,- he said in his usual, businesslike tone. - Master Moderno, postpone the allocation of reserves until evening.
The treasurer bowed. The cartographer pressed his compass to his chest. Theodor turned toward the doors, sweeping his cloak across his shoulder in one smooth movement.
In the corridor, he paused briefly, closing his eyes for a moment, as if to allow the new reality to connect with the old. No one saw that pause except for the nearest torchbearer and he wisely pretended to be studying the mosaic patterns on the floor.
The next step was his usual stride: quick, purposeful, the gait of a man who knew how to turn news into action.
He headed for the small garden , toward the woman the court had long since deemed a shadow.
The small garden was bathed in the soft light of late morning. The air was fresh. The grass, still wet from watering, and the tender flowers of the living hedges scented the breeze. Theodor walked slowly, forcing himself not to rush, though his heart hammered unevenly in his chest. The gravel crunched faintly under his boots. He had no idea what to expect. He simply walked. Because he could do no less.
When he saw them, his throat went dry.
Beatrice was sitting on a marble bench. In her arms rested little Prince Laer, curled up like a tiny ball, his nose nestled against her chest. She was softly humming something, too distant to catch the words, but close enough to feel how that quiet, simple moment sank straight into his ribs. Theodor stopped. He knew he should approach. Should speak. Should say something important. But all he could do was stand and watch.
She looked so alive. So real. A woman he realized he had never truly known.
He had always respected her. Revered her dignity, her strength, her silent acceptance of fate.She had been the perfect ally in the game of thrones. Beatrice had been exactly the woman he needed as a monarch. And he had been grateful to her for it. For the son. For the peace.
But not for love.
There had been no love, no burning, no fire ,in their marriage. Not because Beatrice hadn't wanted it. He knew her hopes. Sometimes he had caught her glances, full of expectation, which he had diligently extinguished without ever touching them. Because he couldn't give what he did not possess.
Then why did his heart ache so sharply now?
He looked at her, at the woman who was his wife and wasn't certain he was seeing the same woman. She seemed lighter. Clearer. As if she had shed some invisible burden that had weighed on her before.
Little Laer stirred in her arms, and Beatrice lowered her head, brushing her lips against his hair, absently, tenderly. As if it was the most natural thing in the world. Bitterness burned in Theodor's throat.
He remembered how difficult the birth had been for Beatrice. How long she had struggled to recover. How quietly, almost imperceptibly, she had faded afterward. And he... He had gone on.Ruling. Waiting. As if he had known he would lose her.
He slowly took a step forward. The fabric of his cloak rustled softly across the grass. Beatrice raised her head. Their eyes met.
On Beatrice's face weariness, like a fine layer of ash, but her eyes were clear, without the old cloudy sorrow, deeper, more unreachable. There was no trace of old grievances.There was something else. And that "something else" struck harder than any words. Theodor involuntarily clenched his fists.
She lifted her gaze to him and met his eyes calmly, almost studying him. He stepped closer.His shoulders squared automatically, and his voice came out steady:
- How do you feel?
The answer wasn't as important as the fact she could answer at all. He looked at the knot of her fingers supporting Laer and felt a strange, dual emotion rise in his chest, gratitude and a tentative envy. He knew how to hold a sword, a quill. But to hold a child like that , no one had ever given him time to learn.
Beatrice didn't answer immediately. She tilted her head slightly, as if deciding whether it was even worth speaking.
-Alive, -she said at last, calmly. - The rest... doesn't matter much.
-The physician confirmed your strength?- Theodor asked. -I think it would have been wiser to rest a bit longer in bed...
-I had little choice,- she said, turning her gaze aside. -I had already been... away too long. I couldn't stay in this room any longer -She whispered it under her breath. Theodor didn't catch the last words clearly but continued:
-It's safer within these walls...
-And sometimes,- she said, looking at him intently, -walls wound deeper than swords.- Her gaze dropped deliberately to his belt, where his simple sword hung, a weapon Theodor almost never removed, even at court. A faint, prickling smile flitted across her lips.
-Still wearing your old sword,-she remarked, her voice soft, almost lazy. Almost.
Theodor raised an eyebrow, catching the strange note in her tone.
-A loyal companion,-he answered simply.
Beatrice tilted her head slightly, and the corners of her mouth curved into a thin, sharp half-smile.
-Loyal, yes,- she agreed quietly.-It served you well... especially when you needed to finish things quickly.
For a heartbeat, her voice grew softer, but it didn't waver. And before he could clarify what exactly she meant, Beatrice, as if she hadn't said anything strange at all, gracefully rose and walked toward the flowering bushes. Theodor remained standing, frowning slightly, unsure what stung him more, her cryptic words or the sense that behind them lay some long-buried truth.
-What do you mean?- he asked finally.
Beatrice glanced back at him from beneath her long lashes, her gaze heavy, predatory in its stillness.
-Oh, nothing important,- she said almost sweetly. - It's just... sometimes old habits are harder to forget than they seem.
And she turned smoothly away, leaving behind the faint scent of jasmine and a strange, clinging unease Theodor couldn't explain. He stood there, feeling the invisible wall of silence and something heavier settle between them.
He inclined his head slightly:
-I must return to my duties, Your Majesty.
Beatrice turned to him calmly.Her face remained flawlessly composed — no smile, no warmth.Only her voice carried a faint, almost ghostly trace of the old courtesy she maintained out of habit:
-Of course,- she said. She stepped aside, giving him a clear path.- And do try not to lose yourself among your outposts and maps, Your Majesty. The kingdom still needs its king, alive, not buried under parchment.
It wasn't a joke, nor real concern, more a fragment of an old reflex, forged by years of court life. Theodor hesitated slightly. Her tone was polite, but deep in her words lurked a strange, fine detachment. Almost against his will, he allowed himself a brief, warm smile — light as breath.
He nodded:
- I will do my utmost not to disappoint, Your Majesty.
Then he turned and walked away with brisk, precise steps, too fast, as if escaping something unseen. His cloak billowed behind him. Beatrice remained alone amidst the garden greenery.She watched the blue edge of his cloak disappear around the corner, but inside, she felt nothing.
Only the quiet, stubborn warmth where her son still lay nestled in her arms.