Chapter 128 Interlude Six

Chapter 128 Interlude Six
Interlude Six

The physician’s visit did little to calm the quiet storm inside the queen.

If anything, it made everything feel heavier.
The elderly physician had arrived shortly after the morning tea, fussing gently around her with the careful attentiveness of someone who had served the royal household for most of his life.

His examination had been thorough but respectful, his voice soft with reassurance as he confirmed what they already believed to be true.

Her health was sound, and the child was strong.

Everything, he assured them, appeared exactly as it should.

Haden had looked as though someone had placed the entire sun inside his chest.
Queen Isolde had rarely seen him so openly happy. It was not the restrained pride he often wore before the court or his people, no. This was something different, much brighter.

He had laughed more in those few minutes than he had in weeks, maybe even months.
By the time the physician finished his work and offered one final bow before departing, the king was already speaking of arrangements.

More guards.
More attendants.

He spoke of precautions as though the world itself might try to steal this moment from them if he were not vigilant enough.

Isolde listened with a small smile, nodding when appropriate, her hands resting lightly over her stomach.

Outwardly, she looked calm.
Inside, however, her thoughts moved in restless circles.

Because the truth was that the burned tower still lingered in her mind like a shadow that refused to leave. And so did the guilt of what she had done.

And the longer she said nothing, the more it felt like a secret she could not easily return.
Eventually duty called him away. Obviously, the kingdom did not pause simply because its king had received joyful news. But it could, if the king wanted it so—which he did.

Haden lingered by the doorway longer than usual even after the queen had persisted he go back to his throne, his gaze drifting back toward her again and again as though he were reluctant to step away even for a few hours.

“I will return as soon as I can,” he told her. His voice carried the same gentle promise he had spoken a thousand times before and kept.
She smiled at him softly.

“I know.”
He crossed the room once more before leaving, leaning down to press a brief kiss to her temple.

Then he was gone.
The chamber fell quiet again.
For a while, Isolde remained exactly where she was, seated against the pillows, staring at the soft light spilling through the tall windows.

She tried, truly tried, to think of nothing except the warmth of the morning.

The physician’s reassuring words.

The joy on Haden’s face.
Their child.
Their future.
Their kingdom.

But the mind was rarely so obedient. Again and again, her thoughts drifted back to the same place.

The singular voice she had found herself thinking about more than she cared to admit, the one she had come to realise she might be addicted to.

Finally, she exhaled slowly.
There was only one man in the palace who, to her debatable regret, possessed the knowledge of the issues concerning the burn.

Her fingers curled slightly against the bed sheets. A moment later, she turned toward the door.

“Send for him,” she told the guards stationed outside the chamber.

As if waiting for her to speak, they bowed and obeyed.

When the door opened again sometime later, the foreigner stepped inside the royal chamber.
He paused just inside the doorway before offering a respectful bow.

“Good evening, Your Majesty.”
There was the faintest hint of surprise in his voice, as always, which made her wonder if he was doing it on purpose.

When he straightened, his sharp eyes moved briefly across the room before settling on her.

“I must confess,” he continued calmly, “I am rather surprised the queen would send for me on a week’s end.”

His gaze flicked briefly toward the window where the fading light of evening stretched across the room and the morning birds still chirped brightly.

“And on a Sunday no less.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “I would have assumed Her Majesty had far more pleasant matters to attend to.”

Isolde did not smile, even when he tried to. There was something about the way he spoke, something faintly edged beneath the politeness, like a thread pulled too tight beneath silk.

It made her feel as though she had stepped onto uncertain ground.

“Sit,” she said simply. Then, after a small pause, she added more lightly, “Indulge me. I am bored.”

For a brief moment, he looked genuinely confused.

“In here?”
His eyes moved around the chamber again, as though confirming that he had not misunderstood his surroundings.

This was, after all, the queen’s private bedchamber.

She waved a dismissive hand.

“Yes, yes. In here.” She looked at him like he was a naughty child, making a gesture to dismiss his concern entirely.

After a moment, he obeyed.
The chair beside the bed was close enough that their conversation would remain private, even if the guards outside were listening.

He lowered himself into the soft seat slowly, crossing one long leg over the other in an easy motion.

The movement did not escape her notice.
Her eyes lingered on the gesture for half a second longer than necessary before she deliberately looked away.

Silence stretched between them briefly, then she tilted her head slightly.

“What have you been up to today?”
He studied her for a moment before answering.
“Walking.”

Her brow lifted slightly.

“Walking?”
“Yes.”

His gaze drifted toward the window as though remembering something distant.

“I spent the morning walking through the streets of your beautiful realm.” His tone carried a faint note of reflection now. “But everything feels rather… unreal.”

“Unreal?”

She laughed a little as she watched the handsome man talk about her home like it was some magic land. She couldn’t deny that she liked how enthralled he seemed by it all, which made her think of where he was from.

He nodded faintly.

“The place I come from is somewhat different,” he said, as if reading her mind.

“How so?” A quiet sigh left his lips.
“The world there is… darker.”

Isolde felt a flicker of curiosity spark inside her.
She shifted slightly against the pillows, gesturing once more toward the chair as though encouraging him to settle properly.

“Well,” she said softly, “now I am intrigued.”
He watched her for a moment before speaking again.

“I had a brother—well, two brothers.” He grimaced as if the words themselves were bitter in his tone.

She frowned faintly.

“My family,” he continued slowly, “was never particularly generous when it came to sharing.”
Her brows drew together in mild confusion.

“I am not certain I follow.”

He gave a small shrug and finally relaxed into the cushion a little better.

“It is somewhat difficult to explain.”

A faint smile touched his lips again, though it did not quite reach his eyes.

“My family was… rough.”
“Rough?” She had no better way to push him into speaking, feeling a bit foolish asking him monosyllabic questions.

“Yes.”
He leaned back slightly in the chair.

“I was the third son of my father.”
She studied him for a moment before speaking.

“That is surprising,” she said smoothly.

He tilted his head in question.

“You strike me as a first.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Most people do.”
His gaze dropped briefly toward the floor before lifting again.

“But the truth is somewhat different.”
She waited this time, not letting the urge of filling the silence get the best of her.

“Our father had never been a particularly gentle man. Strength had always been the only language that mattered within his household.
And weakness…
Weakness was something that cannot be overlooked.”

He spoke of it lightly, almost casually, yet the quiet weight behind the words did not escape her.

“They believed me to be weak,” he said.
“And so I decided to prove otherwise.”
Isolde raised a brow slightly.

“Prove it how?”

A small smile returned to his face then. It was not a warm smile. Not quite. Actually, it made her recoil for the first time since she met this charming man.

“That,” he said softly, “cannot really be explained, my queen.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms loosely against his knees. His eyes lifted to meet hers again.

“But I suspect… you will see it soon enough.”
And something about the calm certainty in his voice made a faint, uneasy chill move down her spine.