Chapter 168

Chapter 168
A soft knock interrupted the heavy silence.

“Your Majesty,” a voice called politely from the hall. A young man in a finely tailored vest stepped cautiously into the throne room, bowing deeply as he addressed the Queen. “The artist is ready for you. He’s finished setting up the easel—he’s just waiting on you. "
Queen Henriette straightened, her composure returning in a heartbeat. She adjusted the folds of her gown with practiced grace and gave a cool nod. “Very well. I’ll be there in a moment.”
Thess blinked. “So all this—” she gestured at the floral arrangements, the banners, the golden trim on the thrones, “—was for a painting? Here I was thinking you actually got married.”

Queen Henriette smiled thinly. “I did.”

“To King Roberto,” she added almost lazily, turning toward the doors without even glancing back.

The words dropped like stones in water.

Thess froze. “Wait—what?”
Henriette’s heart thudded. She looked sharply at the Queen’s retreating back. “What about King Arin?” she called after her, voice rising with a tangle of disbelief and dread.

Queen Henriette paused at the doorway. Her hand rested on the carved frame, fingers elegantly curled, and she glanced over her shoulder with deliberate nonchalance.

“He slipped,” she said, too casually. “Hit his head on the edge of the reflecting pool. Some kind of memory loss.” Her voice carried a strange lilt, almost playful. “I sent him back to his father’s kingdom. I figured you’d be happy to know—he’s all yours now.”

Her eyes dropped to Henriette’s belly again, calculating.

A beat passed. Then she added, colder now, “As long as that isn’t Roberto’s.”

Henriette met her gaze squarely, forcing her voice to stay calm. “It’s not King Robert’s,” she said, the lie rolling easily off her tongue.

Queen Henriette’s eyes searched hers for a flicker of guilt. Finding none, she turned without another word and swept out of the room, her skirts whispering against the stone floor as the artist’s assistant scrambled to follow.

The doors closed behind her with a soft but final thud.
Silence reclaimed the room.

Henriette exhaled, only then realizing she’d been holding her breath. She turned to Thess, whose mouth was still open in shock.

“She married King Roberto?” Thess finally said, her voice incredulous. “The same man you—?”
Henriette nodded slowly, pressing a hand to her belly.

“She doesn't know the truth,” Henriette murmured, her voice suddenly small. “No one does.”

Thess turned to her sharply. “But it’s not Roberto’s, right? You said it wasn’t.”

Henriette closed her eyes. The lie still lingered on her lips like bitter wine.

It was Roberto’s.

The timeline made it undeniable—those nights, those few quiet moments before everything fell apart. Arin had never touched her, not like that. Not then. Not in that way. Only Roberto. Only once. That had been enough.

And yet… her heart still whispered Arin’s name like a prayer.
“I love Arin,” she said quietly, staring at the throne room doors. “But this baby...”

She trailed off.

Thess didn't press her. She simply stepped closer and laid a hand gently over Henriette’s.

“You have to find him,” Thess said softly.

She had come back through the portal for answers—but now, she had something far more urgent.

She had to choose between the truth... and the man she still loved.

Henriette stood in the guest chamber, a hand on the windowsill, her eyes locked on the distant hills beyond the castle walls. Somewhere past them—perhaps only days away—was Arin. Alive. Alone. Unaware. She needed to reach him. She needed to tell him everything before someone else did—before Queen Henriette twisted the truth beyond repair.
“I’ll leave before dawn,” she whispered to herself. “Just Thess and me. Quietly. No one will stop us.”

She turned to grab the pack Thess had prepared when it happened.

A sharp, deep cramp pierced through her abdomen—so sudden and fierce it bent her double. She grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself, knocking over a small silver vase. It clattered to the floor, water spilling across the stone.

Then came the wetness.

She froze. Slowly straightened.

Her legs were soaked. A warm rush spread down her thighs, and when she looked down, the pale fabric of her dress was darkening fast.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

“No... Not now.”

But the sharp pain returned—twisting deeper this time, like her insides were being wrung out by invisible hands.

“Thess!” she screamed.

The door burst open a moment later. Thess took one look and ran to her side.

“Your water broke,” she said, already guiding her to the bed. “You’re in labor.”

“No,” Henriette gasped, gripping Thess’s arm. “It’s too soon. It’s—too early.”

Thess’s face was tight with concern. “You’re full term, Henriette. It’s not early. But it’s coming fast.”

Henriette tried to steady her breathing. She'd imagined this moment many times—quiet, calm, surrounded by midwives in some safe village, after everything else had been resolved. After she’d told Arin. After she knew who she would be when she held the child in her arms.

But life—like magic—rarely followed the script.

Pain rippled through her again, stronger, pulling her under. Her knees buckled. Thess caught her.

“Lie down. I’ll get help.”

“No! Not the Queen’s people,” Henriette hissed, sweat already forming on her brow. “I don’t trust them. Just you. Please.”

Thess didn’t argue. She moved quickly, bolting the door and dragging over the travel blankets and supplies from their packs. She boiled water in the fireplace. She soaked cloths. She held Henriette’s hand as wave after wave of agony rolled through her.

And then the worst began.

The baby wasn’t coming quickly. Hours passed. The sun dipped, then disappeared. Candles flickered against the walls. Henriette was writhing, soaked in sweat, her lips cracked from screaming.

“It won’t come out,” she sobbed. “Something’s wrong. It’s not coming.”

Thess pressed cool cloths to her forehead, her face tight with fear. “You have to keep trying. Henriette, listen to me—you have to push. You’re strong enough. You are.”

Henriette shook her head. Her limbs felt like molten lead. Her hands trembled. “I can’t—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can!” Thess shouted, grabbing her shoulders. “This baby needs you. Push, damn it!”

Henriette screamed—a sound that tore the air apart—and bore down with everything she had.

Nothing.

Then again. And again. The pain blurred her vision. She thought she might pass out. Her throat was raw. Her body burned. It felt like dying.

And then—

“I see the head!” Thess cried. “Henriette—one more push. Just one.”

Henriette screamed again, her body arching, and—

The room went suddenly quiet.

The baby was out.

The baby was out.

Thess caught the slippery, fragile bundle in her arms, turning it quickly, clearing its mouth. For one heart-stopping second, the child didn’t cry.

And then—
A wail.

Thin, high, and strong.

Henriette collapsed back, sobbing, her body trembling violently. She could barely lift her head, her vision swimming, her ears ringing.

“It’s a boy,” Thess whispered, tears in her eyes as she wrapped the baby in a soft linen cloth and brought her to Henriette’s chest. “You did it.”

Henriette looked down at the tiny face, flushed and wet, eyes closed but lips moving. He looked perfect. Whole. Real.

“My son,” Henriette choked. “My son…”

She clutched the child to her chest, though her arms felt weak. She could barely keep her eyes open.

Thess frowned. “You’re still bleeding,” she murmured. “Henriette—you’re losing too much blood.”

Henriette didn’t hear her. Her vision had gone gray at the edges.

“Stay with me,” Thess said firmly, pressing her hands over Henriette’s abdomen to slow the bleeding. “Henriette—look at me.”

But Henriette was slipping. Floating.

And then everything went black.