Chapter 32 THE FORBIDDEN
“Do you think you’re brother is innocent?”
“I think,” Adrain said, “that I never once felt he would harm Father. Not truly.”
Queen Elizabeth stepped closer, her expression soft. “You are king now. The past is behind us.”
“That does not answer my question.”
She touched his cheek lightly. “What do you wish to do? Bring him back? Undo the judgment?”
Adrain’s lips parted, but he found no words.
“The kingdom is stable,” she continued. “The people trust you. Your leadership is taking us into a stronger era. Do not destabilize the foundation you have built.”
He lowered his gaze. “I only want to know the truth.”
Queen Elizabeth’s voice remained gentle, but her eyes turned cold for a brief moment. “Sometimes truth does more harm than lies.”
Adrain lifted his gaze, surprised.
But she had already turned away from him.
The kingdom’s golden image continued for months more with celebrations, festivals, and returned wealth filling the lives of the people.
Yet beneath the surface of prosperity, there were moments Athalia couldn’t quite explain.
Strange dreams plagued her nights with shadows whispering, cold hands brushing her skin and a voice calling her by name from somewhere beyond reason.
She woke trembling more often than she could admit.
One night she sat upright, breath sharp. Lira rushed in.
“Your Majesty! Are you well?”
Athalia pressed a hand to her forehead. “A dream. Nothing more.”
But Lira did not look convinced. “You’ve had many such nights lately.”
Athalia forced a steady voice. “It will pass.”
Still, after Lira returned to her bedding, Athalia whispered to herself:
“It must pass. I have earned too much for it to crumble now.”
The next morning, however, the faintest sickness curled in her stomach. She brushed it off as exhaustion, but the days that followed brought the same weakness and the same unease.
Finally, Lira spoke.
“Your Majesty… forgive me. But I believe you should see the royal physician.”
“There is no need,” Athalia answered sharply.
But Lira’s eyes softened with a kind of loyalty Athalia did not often encourage.
“It is not exhaustion,” she said quietly. “I know the signs.”
Athalia froze.
“What signs?”
Lira swallowed. “You are with child.”
Silence fell like a sudden weight.
Athalia gripped the edge of her vanity table, breath unsteady.
“No…” Her voice cracked. “That cannot be.”
“It is true,” Lira whispered gently. “I have seen it before.”
Athalia stepped back, shaking her head as if denying reality might undo it.
Her voice lowered to a tremble. “Lira… you do not understand. I cannot be pregnant.”
“Why, Your Majesty?”
Athalia’s eyes glazed with fear. “Because...”
For the first time in many months, Athalia felt the walls closing around her. She remembered the voice of the old sorceress in the hut deep within the forest, a voice she had followed when desperation pushed her beyond the boundary of caution.
“You will have beauty, influence, admiration and everything you desire,” the sorceress had said. “But the price must be bloodless. No child shall pass through your womb. For power and new life are never permitted to dwell together.”
Athalia had agreed.
She had wanted so much then.
And now…
Her hand trembled over her abdomen.
“No…” she whispered again. “It was not supposed to happen.”
Lira, confused but loyal, stepped closer. “Your Majesty, a child is a blessing.”
Athalia’s eyes hardened. “Not this time.”
Lira paled.
"Is there a reason for the unhappiness, your majesty."
Athalia ignored the question.
She turned away, voice cold with panic. “I must go back to her.”
At dusk, cloaked and silent, Athalia slipped out of the palace through the lower gardens. Lira followed at a distance, equally disguised.
They reached the forest path, the one Athalia remembered all too well. The hut stood beneath gnarled branches, exactly where it always had.
But when Athalia pushed the door open, her breath stopped.
The hut was empty.
Completely abandoned.
“No,” Athalia whispered, frantic. “This cannot be.”
She searched the shelves which had dust-covered vials, broken jars and scattered herbs. The air felt wrong and hollow. The sorceress’s presence was gone, as though wiped clean.
“She’s not here,” Lira said softly.
Athalia slammed a palm against the wall. “She promised she would remain where I could find her.”
Lira stepped toward her cautiously. “We must leave before someone sees us.”
Athalia didn’t move
Her voice dropped to a broken murmur. “Maybe, she knew.”
“Your Majesty?”
“She knew this would happen,” Athalia said, eyes wide with realization. “She knew I would come back and she hid herself.”
Lira’s breath trembled in confusion. “What does that mean?”
Athalia swallowed, throat dry.
“It means i'm doomed. And now… I don’t know what becomes of me.”
Unknown to both of them and hidden beyond the edge of the clearing, a faint silhouette watched.
“You mean “You”, right grandma?”. One of the Child asked.
“Yes, smart one. The Sorceress said. “I was draped in shadows and observed silently. But eyes glowed with something unreadable. It wasn’t malice, nor pity, but inevitability. I had a feeling she will break the rule.”
Then i vanished into the dark.
Athalia returned to the palace, Athalia moved like a ghost. She hid her sickness, her fear and her trembling hands. Adrain noticed her change almost immediately.
“You are distant,” he said one afternoon as they reviewed council matters.
“I am tired,” she answered simply.
“You have carried much responsibility these past months,” he said gently. “Take rest. The kingdom is in good hands.”
She closed her eyes briefly
Athalia opened her eyes, masking her fear with a smile. “You are proving yourself a capable king.”
Adrain didn’t quite believe her, but he let it rest.
For a time, the kingdom continued to prosper. But whispers began soft at first.
“Her Majesty seems pale again.”
“She seldom attends the markets now.”
“The Queen grows quieter each week.”
And though the people still admired her, their confidence which was so easily given became just as easily unsettled.
Athalia’s reflection troubled her. Her once luminous complexion seemed dimmer. The edges of her beauty felt strained, as though a hidden decay tugged from beneath the skin.
She touched her cheek, whispering, “Not yet… please, not yet.”
Yet, the nightmares worsened.
One night she dreamed of a child crying in a cradle of thorns. When she reached for it, the child lifted its head with eyes dark and face twisted with something not human.
She awoke with a scream.
Lira rushed in, finding her Queen drenched in sweat.
“It’s the same dream,” Athalia whispered, shaking uncontrollably. “Every night now… the same child.”
Lira hesitated. “Perhaps the physician…”
“No,” Athalia snapped with sudden desperation. “No one must know. Not yet.”
Tears welled in Lira’s eyes. “Your Majesty… this secret is breaking you.”
Athalia covered her face.
“I think it is too late to save me.”
Over the next weeks, Athalia withdrew from daily activities. She appeared for important councils but spoke little. She walked the palace gardens alone, hands clasped over her stomach and eyes unfocused.
Adrain approached her gently one evening.
“Athalia… are you unwell?”
She hesitated. “Only tired.”
“Then rest,” he said softly. “I worry for you.”
She turned away.