The council chamber was thick with the murmur of lords, parchments scattered across the long table. Aldric sat at the head, shoulders tense, half-listening as numbers and harvest reports were read aloud. Then the heavy doors slammed open.
Commander Kael strode in, chest heaving, bowing only briefly before speaking.
"Your Majesty—" his voice was urgent, almost trembling, "I bring word from Queen Aurora's maid. She is… she is with child. She is presently in Her Majesty Queen Ava's chamber."
A stunned silence swallowed the chamber. The lords froze, wide-eyed, then gasps of joy broke like a wave. Smiles spread, heads nodded, whispers of "an heir" rushed through the air.
Aldric went utterly still. His fingers tightened against the carved wood of the throne, his breath halting as though the words had struck him dumb. For a heartbeat, he looked as if he had not heard correctly. Then his chair scraped back, and he stood—no, leapt—upright.
His face broke into a wild, unguarded smile. Without another word, he strode toward the door, then half-ran, half-walked, his cloak sweeping behind him.
"Your Majesty—" Kael called after him, but Aldric did not slow. The commander gave a short bow to the bewildered lords. "This meeting is dismissed. Attend to your posts."
Then, with a grin tugging at his lips, he followed his king at a brisk pace.
The corridors blurred beneath Aldric's feet. He was moving too fast to notice the bows of courtiers or the startled glances of servants. By the time he reached his mother's chamber, his chest was heaving—not from exhaustion but from exhilaration.
The maids bowed low at his arrival, their faces glowing with the secret they carried.
Aldric wasted no time. He pushed through, his gaze finding Aurora at once. She sat quietly on a cushioned chair, her hands folded across her lap, her silver-white hair catching the light like spun frost. Her face was pale, but her eyes—those gentle, uncertain blue eyes—lifted to him.
He crossed the chamber in strides, then fell to his knees before her, pulling her into his arms with such joy that she gasped softly against his shoulder. He held her close, trembling with a laughter he could not contain.
Behind him, Ava gave a knowing smile, then nodded to the maids. Quietly, they slipped from the chamber. Even Ava herself, regal and gracious, excused them, leaving the two alone in the stillness.
Aldric drew back just enough to look at her, his hands cupping her face. His voice broke with awe.
"Aurora… tell me it is true."
Her lips curved, shy and uncertain. "It is, Your Majesty."
He closed his eyes, forehead pressing against hers, as if grounding himself in the truth of her words. A shaky laugh escaped his chest. "By heaven … a child, our child." His thumb brushed her cheek as he whispered. "Do you know what you have given me? What you have given Velmora?"
Aurora's lashes lowered. "I know only that it frightens me… and yet… it feels as if light has chosen to grow within me."
Aldric kissed her hands, one after the other, reverent as a man kneeling before an altar. "No, not light. You. You are the light, Aurora. Everything I ever hoped for, yet never dared to believe I would hold."
She looked at him then, her voice soft, trembling. "Will you truly rejoice in this child? Even if there are whispers?"
His answer came without hesitation, fierce and raw. "Whispers mean nothing. You are mine, Aurora. And now—" his palm rested gently over her abdomen, wonder flickering in his eyes—"now you carry my heart twice over."
Her breath caught, tears shimmering. She leaned forward, and he kissed her—not with the urgency of desire, but with the deep, aching tenderness of a man overwhelmed by gratitude and love.
When at last they parted, he whispered against her lips, "I will protect you both. With every breath in me. I swear it."
Aurora closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest. And in that chamber, joy bloomed quietly, as if even the walls themselves had sworn to guard their secret.
-
The palace breathed differently that morning after. Laughter bubbled softly, like hidden streams, drifting from kitchens, corridors, and gardens alike. Maids hummed while carrying baskets, guards straightened their shoulders with pride, and even the lords walked lighter in step.
Everywhere, the same words bloomed like spring after drought.
"Our queen is with child."
"The heir of Velmora!"
"The White haired Queen brings us hope."
The joy spread so quickly it became a living thing. And it pressed sharpest against the hearts of three women.
Selene walked the corridor with two attendants, her veil trailing behind her. She heard the laughter of maids ahead, their voices unrestrained.
"They say His Majesty has not stopped smiling since the news."
"And Queen Aurora glowed brighter than dawn in Queen Ava's chamber."
Selene's steps slowed. The attendants lowered their eyes, sensing the shift in her air. She lifted her chin, but her gaze had hardened to stone.
"Not once. Not once in all my years did he smile so for me."
The joy of the palace was a knife twisting in her ribs, reminding her of every cold night, every silence she had endured.
In another wing, Virelda sat by the fountain with her embroidery, the sunlight pooling around her. The laughter of children playing in the courtyard reached her ears—laughter fueled by the news, for even the little ones spoke of a "palace baby."
She laid down her needle. Her hands trembled slightly.
Sadness carved itself deeper across her face. She had always carried herself with quiet dignity, but now her eyes betrayed her. The more the joy spread, the more her own emptiness seemed to echo within her chest.
She closed her eyes as the sound of the children's laughter grew louder, each peal reminding her of what she would never have.
Evelyn, however, burned.
She had been passing through the western corridor when she overheard two young guards, whispering with wide grins.
"Our queen is to be mother of Velmora's heir. A new dawn for the kingdom."
"Bless the White haired Queen!"
Evelyn's steps faltered, her hand tightening around her fan. A smile curved on her lips, sharp and poisonous. She let out a soft laugh—loud enough for the guards to hear.
"Careful, sirs. You praise her as though she were already a saint."
The guards stiffened, exchanging uneasy looks. One stammered, "We meant no disrespect, my lady."
Evelyn's eyes glimmered. "Oh, none taken. I only jest." Her tone was honey, but her gaze was fire.
She swept past them, her silks trailing like flames. Inside, her fury clawed at her chest. Every giggle, every bow, every whispered blessing was salt against her pride. She murmured.
"If this joy continues, Aurora will rise above us all. And that, I will never allow."
-
The chamber was quiet, warm with morning light. Aurora sat at the edge of her bed, her white hair spilling loose, her hands resting uncertainly over her stomach.
Two of her maids lingered close, their faces lit with quiet joy.
One of them knelt before her, voice soft.
"My lady… you must not be afraid. You will make a wonderful mother."
Aurora's eyes lifted, uncertain, almost searching.
"But what if I am not enough? What if I fail?"
The second maid stepped closer, shaking her head with a smile.
"You cannot fail. Not you. You carry kindness in your heart—gentleness in your touch. That is what a child needs most."
Aurora's breath trembled; her gaze dropped again to her hands. A pause, heavy and fragile.
The first maid reached out, covering Aurora's hand with her own.
"Even if doubts come, remember this—your child will grow knowing they were loved. That alone makes you greater than you think."
Aurora blinked back the shine in her eyes, lips curving into the faintest smile.
"You make me believe… perhaps I can."
The two maids exchanged a glance of quiet relief, their faces brightening with pride. Around them, the silence was no longer heavy but filled with promise.