Chapter 51 THE PALACE STIRS
Night settled over the palace quietly, the way it always did. Torches burned low along the corridors, and the servants moved with care, careful not to disturb the Queen’s rest. Most believed Athalia slept peacefully now, watched over by her trusted physician and that belief made the silence heavier, and easier to shape.
Athalia lay on her bed, her breathing uneven but steady as her hand rested on her swollen belly, fingers barely moving. She had fallen asleep after a long evening of gentle persuasion from Selene.
Lira had retired to the adjoining room, leaving Selene alone.
She closed the door softly and turned back to the bed. The room smelled faintly of herbs and warm wax. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, pale and thin.
Selene reached into the folds of her cloak and brought out the globe.
It was smooth and cool in her hands, faintly glowing from within. She held it carefully, as though it were fragile.
“I need you awake,” she whispered, her voice barely sound.
She knelt beside the bed and placed the globe close to Athalia’s stomach, not touching, but near enough for the child to sense it. The air shifted slightly, like a breath drawn too deep.
Almost immediately, Athalia moved but she didn’t open her eyes. Her brow furrowed as a soft sound escaped her lips.
Selene hid the globe, turning it slowly, but the glow inside had already deepened.
Athalia’s body tensed, as her hand pressed hard against her belly.
“No,” she murmured, half asleep. “Please… not now.”
Selene watched carefully. “Are you alright?,” she said, not unkindly.
The pressure grew. Athalia gasped, waking fully now.
“Selene?” she whispered. “Something’s wrong.”
The child moved sharply, violently this time. Athalia cried out, her voice cutting through the quiet.
Selene stepped back at once and withdrew the globe, hiding it again beneath her cloak. She raised her voice just enough.
“Your Majesty,” she said urgently. “Stay calm.”
Athalia clutched the sheets. “It hurts,” she said, breathless. “It’s worse than before.”
At that moment, Lira rushed in.
“My Queen!” she cried. “I heard you scream.”
The child surged again, sudden and strong. Athalia cried out, her body shaking.
Lira’s face was drained of color. “This isn’t normal,” she said. “I must tell the King.”
“Yes,” Selene said quietly. “You must.”
Lira hesitated only a second before turning and running from the room.
Selene returned to Athalia’s side, placing her hands gently on her shoulders.
“Breathe,” she said. “Slowly.”
Athalia’s eyes filled with tears. “You said it would ease,” she whispered.
“It will,” Selene replied. “Maybe it’s coming.”
The palace woke quickly.
Doors opened and footsteps echoed. Guards moved with purpose and within minutes, King Adrain was awake, pulling on his robe as Lira spoke breathlessly.
“She screamed, Your Majesty,” Lira said. “The child… it’s hurting her badly. Perhaps, it's coming.”
Adrain’s face hardened. “Summon the physicians,” he ordered. “All of them.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The corridors filled with hurried voices and rustling fabric. Physicians were pulled from their beds, summoned without explanation. Lamps were lit and orders were shouted softly but urgently.
By the time Adrain reached Athalia’s chamber, three physicians were already inside, examining her with careful hands.
“She’s in pain,” one said. “Severe strain. It's child labor.”
Another frowned. “The child is strong and eager to meet his parents.”
Adrain looked at Selene. “But she’s not due till next month. What is happening?”
Selene lowered her gaze. “I don’t know your majesty. The pressure increased suddenly. I was warned this might occur.”
Athalia reached for Adrain’s hand. “Adrian,” she whispered.
He held her tightly. “I’m here.”
The child moved again, less violently now, but enough to make Athalia wince.
“We need to stabilize her,” one physician said. “Immediately.”
They worked quickly, murmuring among themselves, applying remedies that brought little relief.
Selene watched them, saying nothing.
Hours passed before the pain lessened, but she still felt it.
Athalia lay exhausted, her breathing shallow but calmer. The physicians stepped back, conferring quietly.
“This is beyond my skills,” one admitted.
Adrain turned sharply. “What is it?”
The man hesitated. “We cannot say.”
Adrain’s jaw tightened. He looked at Selene again.
“You knew this would happen.”
“Yes,” Selene replied.
“And you didn’t stop it.”
“I couldn’t,” she said. “This was what I was talking about. It keeps getting worse and I’m incapable of providing much help now.”
The room fell silent.
Adrain rubbed his face slowly. “Bring more physicians,” he ordered. “From the outer districts. From anywhere.”
The guards inclined their heads. “As you wish, Your majesty.”
By morning, the palace was full of healers.
They argued quietly as they examined Athalia repeatedly. They whispered among themselves, confused and unsettled. Selene stood apart, calm as ever, watching the strain deepen around them.
And the King, surrounded by physicians and fear, had done exactly what Selene needed him to do.
By the third day, exhaustion hung over the palace like a low cloud.
The Queen remained confined to her chambers. Though the pain no longer came in sharp waves, it never truly left her. She lay still most hours, her face pale, her eyes half-open as if she were listening to something no one else could hear.
The physicians came and went in shifts.
They argued quietly at first.
“It is a hormonal imbalance,” one insisted, adjusting his spectacles.
“No,” another replied. “The pulse of the child is irregular. That is not natural.”
“You are guessing,” said a third. “There is no record of such a condition.”
Selene listened from the corner of the room, hands folded, and expression neutral. She never interrupted and never corrected them openly, she simply waited.
Lira hovered near the door, growing more anxious each day.
“They don’t agree on anything,” she whispered to Selene.
“That is what scares me. There isn’t enough time,” Selene replied calmly.
Lira frowned. “It seems like the beginning of disaster.”
That afternoon, one of the senior physicians approached Selene privately.
“You have been caring for Her Majesty longer than any of us,” he said. “What do you think?”
Selene met his gaze steadily. “I think you are all skilled men,” she said. “But skill does not always mean experience.”
He stiffened slightly. “What do you mean?”
“There are conditions,” Selene continued gently, “that do not respond to common treatment. Conditions shaped by… rare influences.”
The physician hesitated. “You mean inherited illness?”
“Or something older,” Selene said softly.
His brow furrowed. “Older than medicine?”
Selene did not answer directly. She simply said, “Have any of you managed to reduce the Queen’s pain permanently? You all seem to be looking for how to suppress it”
The physician looked away. That night, the discussions grew louder.
“This is beyond us,” one said in frustration.
“We are physicians, not mystics,” another snapped.
“Why are our remedies failing?” a third asked quietly.