Months pass, and I let myself disappear into the rhythm of law school deadlines, case analysis, late-night study groups, and thick textbooks filled with principles of justice and reform. The world of statutes and legal jargon is a welcome distraction. It keeps my thoughts from wandering too far into the palace corridors or toward the empty side of our shared bed.
Cassian, meanwhile, is swallowed by palace affairs. There's trouble stirring again in the northern provinces, and an envoy from Asoba is expected soon. We see each other in quiet mornings and slow, candlelit evenings but the intensity of early marriage has mellowed into a solemn partnership. Respectful. Familiar. Focused.
We haven't spoken of children. Not since the wedding.
But the whispers have returned.
"They say the Queen is restless."
"They say the Crown Prince's time is ticking."
"They say Celeste cannot bear children."
I hear it in hushed conversations, floating in the air like mist, always present, always just behind me. Esther filters what she can, but palace gossip finds cracks in the thickest walls.
One afternoon, I receive a letter delicately sealed with the sigil of the Royal Temple.
A "recommendation," it reads. An invitation for a discreet "cleansing" by the Temple Physician, to enhance fertility and restore balance to the womb.
I stare at the letter for a long time before I burn it.
I say nothing to Cassian.
But deep inside… something aches.
Not from the pressure. Not from the fear of being barren.
But from wanting another child, one I can carry freely, without secrets or shame. A child born not of hidden pasts, but of a future I've chosen.
Because the truth is… I already have a child.
Ray.
Born of a mistake. Born of love. Born of one night neither of us could forget.
He is mine. Ours. But only I know that.
And sometimes when I watch Cassian speak with his quiet dignity, the natural ease with which he commands a room, the warmth he gives without even knowing, I wonder what he would do if he knew the boy he plays with always … is his son.
I've held onto this secret with trembling hands, waiting for the right moment. Waiting for the world around me to still long enough to tell him the truth.
But that moment hasn't come.
And now… with the pressure mounting and a kingdom watching my belly more than my accomplishments, I begin to wonder if the Queen or someone else is moving pieces behind the curtain.
One night, while Cassian is away on royal duty, I stand before the tall mirror in our private chamber. My hand drifts to my stomach, soft and flat.
"I want another child," I whisper. "One that doesn't have to be hidden."
A chill moves across the room, as though the palace walls heard me and are already making plans.
***
I don't tell anyone, not even Esther. Not yet.
It starts with a letter written in my own hand, unsigned, requesting a consultation under a different name. I send it through a trusted palace guard to the private quarters of Dr. Menas, the most sought-after fertility physician in Matica, a quiet man known for treating royals, nobles, and commoners alike with equal care… and complete discretion.
We meet in his home, not the palace. He insists on privacy, and I'm thankful for it.
He examines me thoroughly; professionally, patiently. Not once does he falter in his tone or address me as anything other than "My Lady," unaware or unbothered by the fact that I'm the Crown Princess.
After an hour of gentle prodding, whispered incantations, and the use of herbs I've never seen before, he leans back with a thoughtful breath.
"You are not barren, My Lady," he says with certainty. "Your body is… quiet, not broken. Something is interfering with your natural rhythm."
"Interfering?" I ask, sitting up straight. "What do you mean?"
"There's a kind of suppression… not natural, not medical. Almost spiritual. As though your womb has been… sealed."
A chill passes through me. His words echo in my mind:
As though your womb has been sealed.
"Can it be undone?"
"Yes," he nods slowly, eyes narrowing in thought. "But it would require a cleansing, not just of the body, but of your surroundings. Someone, somewhere, has tampered with your fertility, whether intentionally or not, I cannot yet tell. But with the right herbs and time… you should conceive again."
My hands tremble slightly as I adjust my veil.
Not barren. Not cursed.
Tampered with.
I thank him, and he gives me a wrapped pouch of dried roots and herbs; earthy and fragrant, and another smaller bag with a single black seed. I'm to brew and drink it every full moon, and perform a bath ritual in silence before dawn.
As I leave his home, the sun is dipping behind the hills. The palace seems far away now; a world of whispers and veiled threats.
And I can't help but think of the Queen… of Shea… of the incense, and chants, and that look in her eyes.
Someone has been playing gods with my body.
But they've underestimated me.
They've forgotten that I, too, am learning to fight back, not with swords or crowns, but with knowledge, with resilience, and with truth.
The road to healing has begun.
And with it, the path to unveiling the enemy hiding in plain sight.