Chapter 78

The snow kept falling.

October watched it through the tall windows of the council wing, one hand resting over her belly. A flutter, not yet a kick, brushed beneath her palm. She pressed there gently. Her body still felt like her own—but not entirely. Something had shifted since Baldwin’s announcement. Not just in the palace. In her.

She was no longer just October.

She was the Emperor’s consort. Mother to the future heir.

And a target.

“I count five nobles who haven’t returned to court since the declaration,” Scheuer muttered, flipping through a parchment as she leaned against the window seat.

October looked at her. “Gone?”

“Hidig,planning,waiting. Who knows?” Scheuer shrugged. “They all sent vague letters. ‘Illness in the family,’ ‘urgent business at the coast,’ ‘winter migration of northern elk.’ That last one’s not even a thing.”

October didn’t laugh. She couldn’t in a situation like this.

“I keep thinking about what Baldwin said,” she murmured. “That the court would come for me. That truth was safer than silence.”

Scheuer snorted. “Your man’s a bastard for dropping that bomb the way he did, but he’s not wrong. The second they saw you as a threat, they started sharpening their knives.”

She glanced toward the hallway.

“They just don’t realize how sharp ours are.”

By the third week after the announcement, the fractures were clear.

Some houses—especially those with little to lose—threw their loyalty behind Baldwin with public statements and gifts sent to October. A shawl woven in Imperial green. A pendant carved from northern obsidian. Even baby booties—though October flushed so hard she hid those in a drawer.

But others were quiet. Too quiet.

Whispers followed her down hallways.

“She’s cursed, did you hear?”

“The child won’t survive winter.”

“The emperor is bewitched.”

And then came the first attempt.

It began innocently enough.

Tea with Duchess House Venst, a powerful older noblewoman who’d previously ignored October’s existence. Now she’d invited her personally, in public, to tea in the greenhouse garden—“To clear the air, my dear.”

Baldwin had told her not to go.

“I don’t trust that vulture,” he’d growled that morning, pacing shirtless in their room, hair wet from the bath.

“You don’t trust anyone,” October had said, buttoning her coat. “Besides, I won’t eat or drink anything. I’ll be careful.”

He caught her by the wrist.

“Promise me.”

She hesitated.

“…Promise me,” he repeated.

“I promise.”

She went.

The greenhouse was warm, sweet with blooming white roses and fresh snowmoss. October sat carefully across from the Duchess, who wore enough sapphires to drown in.

“My, you really do have the glow,” Alaire said, fake smile stretched wide. “Tell me, how far along are you?”

“Not quite far along,” October replied, politely. “The physicians say it’s early still.”

“Oh, but you already carry yourself like a mother,” the Duchess purred, pouring tea into October’s cup. “So composed. So... heavy with importance.”

She pushed the cup forward. “Sugar?”

“No, thank you.”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” She added two cubes anyway. “Pregnancy dulls the senses. You must indulge yourself. A little sweetness never hurt anyone.”

October stared at the cup.

The tea was too sweet.

She could smell it before she even brought it to her lips. Something beneath the honeyed scent—something bitter. Something wrong.

She set it down, slowly.

“I prefer bitter,” she said softly.

Duchess eyes flickered.

“I see,” she said coolly. “Well. Perhaps that’s what the Emperor likes too.”

Baldwin was waiting for her when she returned. Arms folded. Eyes hard.

“You didn’t drink it.”

“No.”

“You’re sure it was poisoned?”

“I didn’t ask for a taste test,” she said, tired. “But yes. I’m sure.”

He was silent for a long moment.

Then he said, “We should leave.”

October blinked. “What?”

“Let them try to burn down this court without me,” Baldwin said. “I’ll take you north. Away from here. Somewhere safer.”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed. “October—”

“I’m not running,” she said. “If I run, they win. And if I leave now, they’ll say I was never fit to stand beside you. I want our child to be born here. In the palace. In our home.”

His jaw worked.

And then, after a long pause, he said softly, “Then I’ll double the guard. No more solo walks. You sleep beside me every night. No exceptions.”

October nodded.

But the danger didn’t stop.

The second attempt was stranger.

A courier delivered a letter wrapped in fine gold-trimmed parchment to October’s sitting room. No seal. No name.

Inside, it was blank—until she held it near the fire.

Then black ink bloomed across the page.

"The womb you carry will rot. Turn back before the blood spills."

October dropped it.

The ink slithered off the page like oil. The parchment burned itself without touching flame.

The next morning, her hand was streaked with purple.

A hex mark.

Scheuer scrubbed it raw with saltwater while cursing under her breath.

“You should’ve let me kill that witch in Drel,” she muttered. “She would’ve known how to break this faster.”

Baldwin stood nearby, face pale with fury.

“Find who sent that,” he told his Captain. “If I must, I’ll burn half the court.”

October said nothing.

But she didn’t sleep that night.

She lay awake in Baldwin’s arms, one hand over her belly, the other clenched around the dagger she kept under her pillow now.

It was snowing again when the third attempt came.

Late. Quiet. Almost beautiful.

October had fallen asleep early. Baldwin had gone to the war room with his generals. Just for an hour, he’d said. “I’ll be back before the fire burns out.”

She never heard the intruder come in.

But she felt it.

A change in air. A whisper of movement.

She opened her eyes—and saw the glint of steel.

A masked figure stood over her bed, dagger raised.

No noise.

October rolled to the side with a cry—too slow.

The blade sliced across her arm instead of her belly.

She hit the floor hard, scrambling backward.

The figure lunged again.

And then the door exploded open.

Baldwin.

Sword in hand. Shirt unbuttoned. Fury in his eyes like lightning in a blizzard.

He didn’t speak.

He moved.

Steel clashed. Blood sprayed. The figure screamed—but only once.

When it was over, Baldwin stood heaving over a dead body, face splattered with red.

October was curled by the hearth, shaking. Blood dripped from her arm.

Baldwin dropped his sword and ran to her, dropping to his knees.

“Are you hurt? October—answer me!”

“I—I think I’m okay—” she gasped, clutching her belly. “I didn’t—I don’t think he—”

He pressed his hands over hers, then gently checked her skin. No wound to her stomach. Only her arm.

He let out a broken sound.

Then he kissed her forehead. Her cheeks. Her hands.

“Don’t ever leave me again,” he whispered. “Don’t sleep without me. Don’t breathe without me. I’ll kill every one of them if I have to.”

“I’m okay,” she whispered back, tears sliding down her face.

“You’re not,” he said. “But you will be. I swear it.”

He picked her up and carried her to the couch, wrapped her in his cloak, and sat beside her like a sentry, sword across his lap.

Neither of them spoke for a long time.

Later That Night

Scheuer stood over the dead assassin, arms crossed.

“He’s not one of ours.”

Baldwin nodded. “South?”

“Or east,” she muttered. “Definitely paid. I’ll find out who. They’ll wish they’d stayed dead.”

She looked over at October, sleeping now on the couch, wrapped in Baldwin’s cloak.

“She’s tougher than she looks,” Scheuer said quietly.

“I know.”

“But she can’t fight forever.”

“I won’t let her.”

Scheuer glanced at him.

“You should’ve married a pure blooded noble girl.”

“I didn’t want a pure blooded nobl

e girl.”

Scheuer sighed. “Then you better win this war. Because they’ll try again.”

He didn’t answer.

But his eyes never left October.