Chapter 34 PRINCESS EMELIA IS PREGNANT?
At court gatherings, nobles spoke in polite tones, but the tension was clear.
One evening, Athalia entered the banquet hall and heard whispers.
“Three years without an heir…”
“Perhaps she cannot conceive.”
“Should the king consider a second wife?”
“Hush, don’t let her hear.”
She sat beside Adrain, posture perfect with a smile unshaken. But her ears burned.
After the feast, Adrain escorted her to their chambers. His voice was tight and he had a softness strained with frustration.
“They gossip because they fear uncertainty,” he said. “But I don’t want their doubts to weigh on us.”
Athalia looked away, her voice quiet. “Sometimes doubt is heavier than truth.”
He took a breath. “Do you doubt me?”
She turned to him, startled. “No.”
“Then do not doubt that we will find our way.”
She closed her eyes. “I do not and I am trying.”
Adrain reached for her hand. “Then trust me.”
She wanted to.
But in the darkness of her heart, fear whispered, If he knew… he would never forgive you.
By the fourth year of Adrain’s reign, the pressure grew unbearable.
At councils, nobles couched their concerns in diplomatic language: “stability,” “legacy,” “future security.”
But Athalia could feel their eyes boring into her.
Prince Adrain, though respectful, grew restless too. He loved his wife, but the kingdom’s expectations tightened around him like iron.
One evening, he confronted her again but this time with worry shading into desperation.
“Athalia, tell me truthfully, have you spoken to the physician?”
She paused too long.
“Athalia.”
“No,” she whispered.
“Why?” he demanded softly. “If there is a concern, we must face it together.”
She shook her head. “Some things cannot be faced.”
“Are you saying, a child is not one of those things!”
His frustration echoed in the chamber before he caught himself, stepped back, and softened his voice.
“I’m sorry. I did not mean to raise my voice.”
She looked at him then and saw the sadness beneath his face.
She stepped closer and placed a hand on his chest.
“We will be all right,” she murmured. “Have patience with me.”
He covered her hand with his own.
“I have patience,” he said. “I simply fear you are hiding something from me.”
Her heart lurched.
“I am not”.
He searched for sincerity in her eyes.
He nodded in dissatisfaction and left her room.
One day, Lira approached her cautiously.
“Your Majesty… the herbs… will they always be needed?”
Athalia stiffened. “You know why they are necessary.”
Lira’s voice trembled. “But the king grows more troubled each day. And the kingdom will not wait forever.”
Athalia turned sharply. “Do you think I don’t know that?”
Lira bowed deeply. “Forgive me. I only worry.”
Athalia softened marginally. “Lira… I made an oath. A pact that I cannot break.”
Lira’s eyes widened. “Is it truly impossible to break? What if she was messing with you?”
Athalia swallowed hard. “She had said, breaking it would demand consequences I cannot bear. And I fear she meant it.”
Lira stepped closer. “Then… what will you do?”
Athalia whispered, “I do not know.”
She forced herself to take the herbs again the following morning.
Yet doubt had already entered her heart.
“What if there was no curse?”
“What if I am wrong?” she whispered. “What if the curse has faded or doesn't exist? What if… there's still time for a normal life?”
But then she remembered the sorceress’s eyes.
One day, the queen sat in her garden glimmered under the soft wash of afternoon sun, a sanctuary of sculpted hedges, flowering vines, and graceful fountains that whispered over marble bowls. It was here that Queen Athalia gathered with the noblewomen for tea, a customary gathering meant to project harmony and refinement.
Silk fabrics rustled as the women settled beneath a pale canopy. Silver trays carried pastries and jasmine-scented tea, and the air was filled with the delicate murmur of polite conversation.
Athalia, dressed in a gown the color of pale rose, sat at the head of the arrangement, poised, elegant and admired. The threads of her authority were woven into every glance she received.
Lady Verena broke the surface tension first. The woman’s jewelry gleamed as she leaned forward with a practiced smile on her lips.
“Your Majesty,” Verena began sweetly, “the palace shines brighter these days. His Majesty’s victories at the borders, and the prosperity of the realm… such stability is a blessing.”
Athalia returned a courteous smile. “The king works tirelessly for the kingdom’s future.”
“Indeed,” said Lady Riona with an exaggerated sigh. “But you know how restless the people can be when they sense unanswered questions.”
Athalia’s fingers tightened slightly around her teacup. “What questions?”
The noblewomen exchanged glances too quickly, and too coordinated.
Lady Verena folded her hands gracefully. “Some wonder… after three reigns of King Adrain’s rule… when the kingdom might welcome an heir.”
Athalia’s expression did not change, but inside her chest, something tightened like a pulled thread.
Lady Riona fluttered her fan. “People only speak because they care deeply for the kingdom, Your Majesty. They only wish to see the royal line secured.”
Another woman chimed in, gentler but no less intrusive. “They admire your strength and beauty, of course. But they whisper that perhaps… Perhaps the king may need to consider the future more boldly, if nature continues to delay.”
Athalia understood the meaning instantly.
It meant a second wife. A threat wrapped in honeyed words.
She placed her cup down slowly, so deliberately that the faint click against the saucer silenced the entire table.
“The kingdom’s future,” Athalia said softly, “is in capable hands. Rumors are not instruments of statecraft.”
The women bowed their heads politely, but the gleam in their eyes betrayed their satisfaction. They had planted their seed and now watched for its reaction.
Lady Verena crossed one leg over the other, leaning in. “And then, did you hear the news of Princess Emelia?” she said, almost as if mentioning a harmless detail. “Rumors have it, Your Majesty, that she is newly with child?”
Athalia’s heart faltered.
“Emelia?” she repeated, her voice calm but her pulse suddenly audible in her ears.
“Oh yes,” Lady Riona confirmed eagerly. “She conceived just recently. Although, we are pained about Prince Eric’s misdeeds, the kingdom is delighted Arrandelle has an heir. They say it is a good omen for the kingdom as well.”
Athalia’s throat tightened in a slow, burning coil.
Emelia. Carrying a child.
The noblewomen continued, their voices fluttering around Athalia like stinging insects.
“They say Princess Emelia looks radiant.”
“Her marriage is blessed indeed.”
“And of course… The contrast is difficult to ignore. She is younger, and already…”
Athalia felt the dryness in her mouth spread like dust.
They were using her sister who was gentle, soft-spoken, and mild-mannered as the standard she herself had failed to meet.
The conversations blurred together. The rustle of leaves, the trickle of fountains and even the clink of fine china faded beneath the steady, pounding ache between Athalia’s temples.
Princess Emelia was pregnant. Everyone knew except her.