chapter 165

chapter 165
Back in her own world, Henriette figured that since she had unexpectedly returned and found herself grounded in the dull familiarity of her apartment, she might as well take the opportunity to grab a quick cup of the bitter, comforting coffee she’d come to rely on—and maybe call her brother, who she hadn't spoken to in far too long, just to hear a voice from home that wasn’t tied up in kingdoms, crowns, or ancient magic.

But when she finally returned to the bathroom, heart pounding with anticipation and fear, and lowered herself into the tub to try crossing back into the ancient world—nothing happened; the water remained still, mundane, just water in a bathtub, and the magic she had once slipped through was gone, as if it had never existed at all.

She sat frozen in the warm, scented water, her breath shallow, her fingers curling around the porcelain edges as realization set in like a slow, creeping chill in her bones.
That bitch, she thought bitterly, the words sharp and jagged in her mind, as a sickening understanding washed over her. She tricked me. Queen Henriette actually tricked me into coming back—and then sealed the way behind me.

Her thoughts spiraled in disbelief, confusion tangling with a growing sense of betrayal. But why? Why would she do that? King Arin was clearly smitten with her, and I never gave her any reason to believe I was a threat.
Hot tears welled up without warning and spilled down her cheeks, mingling with the beads of water already clinging to her face, and though the room was quiet, her sobs slowly broke the silence—soft at first, then louder, messier, uncontainable.

A soft, tentative knock tapped against the other side of the bathroom door, the sound hesitant but urgent, as if the person on the other side was unsure whether to intrude.
“Henriette?” Thess’s voice filtered through, low and full of concern, the warmth and worry in her tone cutting through the haze. “Are you okay?”
“No,” Henriette managed to sob, the word escaping her throat like a broken thing, small and fragile but heavy with everything she couldn’t yet say.

The doorknob turned slowly, cautiously, and Thess stepped inside, her expression softening instantly at the sight of her friend crumpled in the tub, shoulders shaking.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, voice low, careful, as though speaking too loudly might shatter Henriette completely.
Henriette sniffed, struggling to piece her thoughts together into something that made sense. “Queen Henriette must have emptied the tub on the other side,” she said through tears, her voice thick, “and now I can’t get back through.”

Thess blinked, her brows furrowed in confusion and disbelief, her mind refusing to accept what she was hearing. “Why would she do that?” she asked quietly, her voice caught between skepticism and concern, because the Queen she knew—her best friend—would never do something so cruel.
Henriette didn’t answer. Instead, she inhaled deeply, then dipped fully beneath the water, as if submerging herself might somehow force the portal open again—or prove beyond doubt that it was really gone.

She stayed under for several heartbeats, eyes open in the cloudy warmth, willing something—anything—to happen. But the silence pressed in.
Finally, she surfaced, gasping, and pushed her wet hair back from her face. “It’s not working,” she whispered, barely able to meet Thess’s eyes.

“There has to be a reason,” Thess said gently, moving to the side of the tub and holding out a towel with quiet insistence. “We’ll try again tomorrow, okay?” she added, wrapping Henriette in soft cotton as if that could protect her from everything that had gone wrong.
Henriette said nothing, only nodded, the weight of her disappointment pressing down like lead in her chest.

Days slipped by in a blur of wet hair, hopeful breaths, and disappointment. Every morning, Henriette tried again—lighting candles, whispering incantations, holding her breath—but each attempt ended the same way: in silence, in stillness, in failure.
Then, one morning, just as she leaned over the side of the tub, ready to lower herself in yet again, a sudden wave of nausea rose from her stomach like a tide, swift and unstoppable.
She lurched back from the water, barely making it to the toilet in time, where she collapsed to her knees and emptied the contents of her stomach with violent force.
The cold tiles pressed against her skin as she knelt there, gasping, arms braced on either side of the bowl—and then, in the middle of the quiet aftermath, a thought struck her with the weight of a stone.
I haven’t had my period, she realized, staring blankly at the floor, her mind suddenly sharp with memory and panic. Not for... weeks. Maybe longer.

She sat back slowly, one hand moving to her stomach, the other gripping the edge of the counter as if for balance, as her thoughts spiraled into places she hadn’t dared consider before.
A little while later, dressed in jeans and a hoodie, her hair pulled back messily, she drove through morning traffic to the nearest pharmacy, sunglasses shielding her eyes from the world—and maybe from herself—as she parked, stepped inside, and walked straight to the aisle she had always avoided until now.

She didn’t need anyone to tell her what she already suspected. She just needed to see it confirmed in two pink lines.