Aedric did not sleep.

  He stood at the window, the stone cold against his palms, watching the faint spill of lamplight from the guest wing. Laughter drifted faintly through the night, softened by distance. Maria's laugh. Unguarded. Familiar.

  It struck him like a wound.

  She had laughed that way once in his presence. Long ago. Before grief had taught him to listen for betrayal in every sound.

  A quiet knock broke the moment.

  "Enter," Aedric said, without turning.

  Varin slipped inside, silent as a blade drawn halfway. He carried a leather ledger and something small that glinted in the candlelight.

  "You're wakeful, Majesty," Varin said mildly.

  "The night is restless," Aedric replied.

  Varin set the ledger on the desk. From his palm, he produced a small silver horse, worn smooth with age.

  "This was found outside Princess Lysara's chamber."

  Aedric turned then. He took the object, weighing it in his hand. Southern craftsmanship. Old. Loved.

  "A child's toy," he said. "Hardly a threat."

  Varin inclined his head. "Of course. I only noted it because I remember seeing something similar in the Queen's possession when she first arrived. Keepsakes travel easily. So do... messages."

  Aedric placed the horse down. Carefully. Too carefully.

  "Speak plainly."

  Varin opened the ledger. A map unfurled beneath his fingers, blackened marks creeping along the northern border like rot.

  "The raids have escalated. Villages bled dry. Strongholds tested." He paused. "And the cold they leave behind is not natural."

  Aedric's chest tightened.

  Not frost.

  The old fear stirred, ancient and sharp. The thing that had taken his brother. The thing that wore magic like a curse.

  "Kaelen?" Aedric asked.

  "Running low on men and hope," Varin said. "If it falls, the North opens like a wound."

  Aedric was already moving. "Send—"

  "It will be too late," Varin cut in gently. "Unless I ride now. I can take the fastest men. We can hold Kaelen until reinforcements arrive."

  "Then go," Aedric snapped. "Why are you still standing here?"

  Varin hesitated. Just long enough.

  "Because leaving weakens the castle." His gaze flicked, briefly, toward the guest wing. "And the Queen's kin are... devoted. To Sareen. To her. Kael especially."

  The silence that followed was lethal.

  "You suggest I cage my wife's family."

  "I suggest," Varin said softly, "that while fear prowls our borders, we remove unnecessary variables. Respectfully. Temporarily. For your safety. For the heir's."

  Aedric closed his eyes.

  Maria's laughter echoed again, suddenly distant, already fading.

  "Do it," he said at last. His voice was rough, scraped bare. "Quietly. No chains. No insults."

  Varin bowed. Satisfaction barely touched his mouth.

  The doors closed without ceremony.

  No announcement. No accusation. Just steel sliding home.

  Maria felt it like a physical blow.

  She turned as the sentinels withdrew, her breath coming sharp, her hand instinctively flying to her belly. Rage flooded her, incandescent and wild.

  She found Kael and Lysara already standing, alert, every line of them coiled and ready.

  "I'm sorry," Maria said. The words tore out of her. "I—"

  Kael shook his head. "We know."

  "Varin," Lysara said, fingers resting on the sealed latch. "He played the Frost-Devourer like a hymn. Fear always sounds holy to men like him."

  Maria's heart thundered. This was not caution. This was conquest.

  "I will speak to Aedric," she said, already turning. "He will not allow this."

  Kael caught her arm. His grip was solid, grounding. Protective. "Do you trust him?"

  The question landed hard.

  Images warred within her. Eldrin's exile. Varin's smile. Aedric's hands trembling at the hearth, brushing warmth back into her skin. His forehead bowed to her belly, whispering promises he would never dare say to her face.

  "I do," she said. The certainty surprised her. "He is afraid. Not faithless."

  "Then make him choose," Kael said quietly. "Not between kingdoms. Between fear and you."

  Lysara stepped close, resting her palm briefly against Maria's cheek. "Kings are most dangerous when they are alone."

  Maria nodded.

  She smoothed her gown, squared her shoulders, and walked toward the King.

  Behind her, the guest wing remained sealed.

  Ahead of her waited a man standing at the edge of himself

  She found Aedric where he often retreated now: in their private chamber, standing by the vast stone fireplace, staring into the roaring flames as if searching for answers in the heat. He had shed his travel dust but wore the severe, unadorned black tunic of a warrior, his posture rigid and unapproachable.

  The moment Maria entered, she felt the palpable heat of his fury, far hotter than the fire. It wasn't the contained frost of his earlier anger; it was raw, wounded, and burning.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  "Aedric," Maria said, her voice soft but strained from her own rising tension. She approached him, stopping a respectful distance away, the curve of her belly pronounced beneath her simple woolen gown. "I must speak to you about my family."

  Aedric did not turn. His broad shoulders remained tense, his jaw clenched. "I have already spoken to the guards. The guest wing is secured. It is a necessary precaution."

  "Necessary precaution?" Maria demanded, the indignation finally breaking through. "My sister and my cousin are not spies! They risked the long Northern roads to ensure the well-being of the heir! They came out of love, Aedric, not treason!"

  Aedric turned then, his eyes dark, hard, and utterly unforgiving. The jealousy he had struggled to contain at the dinner table now spilled over, bitter and corrosive.

  "Love?" he repeated, the word laced with savage derision. "Is that what you call it, Maria? The way he looks at you? The way you laugh, completely unguarded, in his presence, when you can barely offer me a civil word?"

  Maria recoiled, stung by the intensity of his attack. "What are you talking about? Kael is my cousin—"

  "He is more than that, and you know it!" Aedric roared, taking a step closer, his voice low and dangerous. "He is the man whose letters you guarded," Aedric snapped. "Whose name you speak like a prayer. The man you were alive with tonight, while I stood and watched you shine for someone else."

  He swept his hand toward the fire. "I watched you tonight! You shone, Maria! You looked more alive, more happy, than you have since that miserable lie you told me! You were untouched, unrestrained, basking in his attention! Was that the reunion of cousins, or the reunion of lovers?"

  Maria stared at him, bewildered and utterly devastated by the accusation. Her hands flew to her mouth, shock momentarily silencing her.

  "Aedric, that is monstrous," she whispered, shaking her head. "How can you even—"

  "Do not lie to me again!" he cut her off, the memory of her earlier betrayal fueling his rage. "I have learned my lesson, Maria. I know what your laughter costs, and I know who pays the price! He is not just family; he is a rival! A constant reminder of the life and the heart you kept fiercely locked away from me!"

  Tears, hot and sudden, sprang to Maria's eyes, fueled by exhaustion and the unfairness of his mistrust.

  "He is my cousin," Maria stated, her voice trembling but firm, trying to inject sanity into his madness. "He is family! The blood of Sareen! My first and oldest friend! If I am joyful in his presence, it is because he is the only tether I have left to the home I sacrificed to marry you!"

  "Sacrificed?" Aedric scoffed, humorless and brutal. "Or is it a convenient escape route? He is the one you will rely on when the Northern winter truly settles! He is the one you trust more than your own King!"

  Maria felt the blood drain from her face, the accusation striking deeper than anger, it struck at the root of her greatest fear. She took a step back, defiance hardening her stance.

  "Defied by this monstrous accusation," Maria retorted, her voice shaking with controlled fury. "I am carrying your child, Aedric. I have given you the heir you craved. I have endured your suspicion and your coldness! And in return, you spit your base jealousy at me and imprison the only people who came to offer comfort!"

  Her hand pressed protectively to her belly. "Release them."

  The fire roared.

  "Or what?" he asked quietly.

  "Or you prove that your love is as conditional as your mercy," she said, her voice trembling but unbroken. "And that fear will always matter more to you than me."

  Aedric merely stood there, his dark eyes unreadable, the firelight casting long, harsh shadows over his face. He watched her tears, her defiance, her trembling body, searching for the weakness, the sign of the lie he knew must be there.

  "You have given me nothing but silence and lies, Maria," Aedric finally said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. "You have yet to earn my belief."

  He turned back to the fire, dismissing her, his back a wall of stone. "They stay confined. It is decided."

  Maria stood in the middle of the chamber, her body rigid with a despair so complete it felt cold. She was right. Eldrin was right. The man would not, could not, choose trust over his own fear. She was utterly alone.

  The fire that had seemed so warm minutes ago now felt like a taunt, unable to melt the cold, final certainty of his rejection. He would not choose trust. The man who touched her belly with reverence was utterly ruled by the King who saw only a lie.

  She did not sob. She did not beg.

  Clarity came instead. Cold. Steady. Terrifying.

  She had failed her family.

  And she had failed herself, for believing love could soften iron, and she had failed the oath she made to herslef to not miss or remember Eldrin.

  Varin returned to Eldrath two days later, not one. He arrived not with the desperate speed of a man battling a crisis, but with the measured confidence of a commander who had averted one. He had stabilized Fortress Kaelen, routed the latest band of raiders, and returned with tales of the Frost-Devourer's fear receding into the deep north. He was a hero, a reminder of Aedric's effective rule, and the man who had been right about the danger.

  Aedric, restored by the success and Varin's loyalty, summoned Maria to his private study.

  "Varin reports that the immediate threat is contained," Aedric stated, his voice flat, sitting behind his desk, a king, not a husband. "He is correct that the safety of the realm must come first."

  Maria stood before him, her face a mask of cool indifference, the anger from their confrontation now settled into a deep, glacial reservoir.

  "You speak of safety while holding my kin hostage," she replied, her voice low and even.

  Aedric's jaw tightened at her coldness. He had expected relief, perhaps a glimmer of her earlier passion. He met her gaze, his own eyes carrying the weight of his compromise.

  "They are no longer hostages," he said. "They are guests. Princess Lysara will remain. Her presence is a welcome gesture of alliance, and her comfort will ensure the health of the heir."

  He paused, letting the concession hang in the air. "However, Lord Kael's presence is an unnecessary distraction. His continued stay, especially with the unrest at the border, creates a political liability I will not tolerate. He will depart at dawn."

  It was a brilliant political maneuver: he secured a family member for the birth, satisfying his need for legitimacy, while banishing the source of his intense personal jealousy.

  Maria did not rage. She simply inclined her head, accepting the inevitable. "As the King commands."

  The farewell in the courtyard was swift and mercilessly formal.

  Morning frost clung to the stone, pale and brittle, as if the castle itself were holding its breath. Aedric stood beneath the archway, unmoving, Varin at his side. The Captain's gaze tracked every motion with predatory focus, as though waiting for a single misstep that might justify blood.

  Maria stood alone at the center of it all.

  Her spine was straight, her hands folded neatly before her, the image of a Northern Queen perfected through pain. Only the weight of her belly betrayed the strain beneath the stillness.

  Kael approached her last.

  To the watching guards, it was nothing more than a courteous farewell between distant kin. No impropriety. No softness.

  But when Kael stopped before her, his expression gentled in a way he allowed no one else to see.

  He did not take her hands.

  Instead, he bowed his head slightly, a warrior's respect, deliberate and restrained.

  "Send word when the snows begin to turn," he said quietly. "I will know how to read it."

  Maria's throat tightened. She kept her face composed. "You always did," she replied, her voice steady, almost cool.

  His eyes flicked, just once, to her belly.

  "Take care of him," Kael said. "And of yourself. You have always carried more than you should."

  Something broke in her then, but she did not let it show.

  "You should go," she said gently. "The road will harden soon."

  Kael nodded. He hesitated only a heartbeat longer, then added, softer, "You were never meant to be alone in the cold."

  Before she could answer, he stepped back.

  He released her, giving Aedric a curt, challenging nod before mounting his horse and rode out through the gates without once looking back.

  Maria watched until the last echo of hoofbeats vanished into the pale morning.

  Only then did she feel the hollowness settle in her chest.

  Aedric was satisfied. He had reasserted control, won the day, and purged the sight of his rival. He looked at Maria, expecting a flicker of warmth, a sign that her relief at Lysara's stay might temper her anger.

  Maria met his gaze. Her expression was utterly devoid of emotion, distant and cold. She did not offer a word or a glance. She turned, walking toward the castle with slow, measured steps, her back a wall of beautiful, impenetrable ice.

  Aedric watched her go, Varin's pleased silence at his side. He had won the battle for control, but he had lost the warmth of his Queen and realized it might not return.

  The early winter had been harsh, but the atmosphere within Eldrath was colder still. Weeks bled into one another, marked only by the shifting light and the relentless, strained silence between the King and Queen.

  Maria was now immensely pregnant. She was heavier, slower, her movements graceful but cumbersome, often needing a moment to catch her breath after walking a long hall. Her skin, usually pale, now held the flush of true health, and her silver hair shone with a rich vitality.

  But her heart remained locked away.

  Dinner was now a strained, regular ritual in the private dining hall. Aedric, Maria, and Lysara sat at the large table, the space between the King and Queen vast and deliberate. Varin was always present, seated at the far end, his quiet presence a constant, watchful wedge.

  Tonight, Maria felt particularly heavy. She wore a deep emerald gown that accentuated the roundness of her body. Lysara sat beside her, effortlessly filling the gaps in conversation, discussing Sareen's politics or the latest fashions, her subtle presence a shield for Maria.

  Aedric watched them. He watched how Lysara would discreetly ease the cushion behind Maria's back, or how she would gently shift a goblet out of Maria's reach. He watched the easy intimacy they shared, a mirror of the affection Maria had refused him.

  "You look well, Maria," Aedric finally observed, his voice formal, attempting a neutral bridge.

  Maria lifted her water goblet, she had not touched wine since the lie and took a slow sip. She did not meet his gaze.

  "The heir is thriving, Your Majesty," Lysara answered smoothly for her sister. "The North clearly agrees with him."

  Maria merely nodded, acknowledging the statement without engaging with the speaker.

  Aedric's frustration was visible only in the tautness of his jaw. He wanted to reach out, to ask about the aches she hid, or the small movements of the child he sometimes felt pulsing beneath the sheets when he lay beside her late at night. But every time he looked at her, he saw the accusation of his betrayal in her cold, distant eyes.

  He tried again, turning to his meal. "I have received reports of a trade treaty from the Western Marches. I will need to review it tomorrow."

  Maria cut her venison with delicate precision. "The treaty on iron ore will favor the West unless you limit their access to the Northern passes, Your Majesty. It is old strategy."

  She spoke the words without looking at him, a matter of fact, a function of her Queenly duty. Her tone was cold, efficient, and devoid of the personal warmth he craved. She offered her mind, but withheld her heart entirely.

  Lysara smiled faintly, seeing the exchange. a small, necessary victory. Maria had learned that since he would not offer him his trust, he would only receive her commands.

  Aedric said nothing more. He finished his meal in silence, defeated by the glacial wall Maria had built.

  In their private chamber later that night, the cold war continued. Maria sat on a plush ottoman near the fire, her heavy velvet gown pulled up around her waist, revealing the great, taut curve of her bare abdomen. She was slowly and methodically massaging it with a scented oil, her fingers working against the stretched skin. The low firelight cast a warm, golden sheen over her pregnant form, making the sight deeply intimate and vulnerable.

  Aedric entered, stripping off his heavy tunic, his movements economical and remote. He glanced at Maria, seeing the breathtaking sight of her exposed belly, and his stride faltered momentarily. He had seen the bump through silk, but this raw, tangible sight of the life she sustained arrested him.

  He moved toward the fire, rubbing his chilled hands together, avoiding looking directly at her, though his eyes kept flickering back. "You are heavy," he observed, the words clipped and direct, avoiding sentimentality.

  Maria merely shifted slightly, a small shrug of her massive shoulders, acknowledging his observation without confirming or denying. She continued her slow, deliberate massage, her gaze fixed on the rise and fall of her belly.

  Aedric watched her. He wanted to help, but knew his touch would be met with an instant stiffening, a withdrawal of her warmth. Instead, he dropped to his knee before the fireplace, stoking the embers.

  "Look at you, all curves and weight," he murmured, speaking more to the baby than to her, his voice rough. "You must be exhausted, little one."

  Maria paused in her task. She still didn't look at him, but she did not stop him either. This was the only door she left ajar, the door to their child.

  Aedric finished with the fire and stood. He walked behind Maria. Instead of helping, he did the only thing he felt permitted to do. He reached out, his hand hovering, then gently resting on the great, taut, oiled curve of her abdomen.

  His touch was not possessive or demanding, but profoundly reverent on her warm skin. He felt a strong, sudden kick beneath his palm.

  Maria inhaled sharply, a sound of surprise, not protest.

  He lowered his head, pressing his lips gently to the curve of her belly, a fleeting, tender kiss against the warm, smooth skin. "Ah," Aedric whispered, a raw note of awe entering his voice. "He is strong. A true Northern Prince."

  He moved his hands slowly, tracing the curve. "You must be uncomfortable," he repeated, gentler this time. "This burden..."

  Maria finally spoke, her voice still cold, directed at the wall, not him. "The burden is temporary, Your Majesty. It is necessary."

  Aedric sighed, the sound heavy with pain and frustration. He wished she meant the pregnancy. He knew she meant his coldness, his suspicion, his demands.

  He lowered his head slightly, leaning closer to the curve of her body, his voice a low plea that she could not dismiss. "Tell him I did not abandon his mother. Tell him I merely had to protect his kingdom."

  Maria shut her eyes. She felt the warmth of his breath on her skin, the weight of his guilt, the tenderness he refused to show her, all transferred to the child. She remained silent, offering neither forgiveness nor comfort, forcing him to address the cold truth she had erected between them.

  He lingered a moment longer, savoring the shared heartbeat, before pulling his hands away. He moved to the other side of the chamber, preparing his own bed, leaving Maria to finish her self-care alone.

  Maria was close now, her time near. Aedric was desperate to reclaim the man she loved, but he could only touch the King she served. The heir was close to being born, but the man and woman who made him were further apart than ever.