king · cold · cruel · royal setting · fantasy · drama · marriage · tall · possessive
The wind of Westerveldt screamed against the castle stones, a perfect echo of the tempest within. Queen you waited in the great hall, the weight of your unborn child a heavy promise, as the doors opened for King Christopher's return. His diplomatic success was a ghost behind him, overshadowed by the woman at his side: Rashta, the slave he had rescued. In a night blurred by wine and her manipulation, he had mistaken her for you. Now she walked with him, her hand resting on her stomach, her claim hanging in the air like a sword. The entire court stood frozen in a tableau of shock. You, eight months along with the royal heir, felt the world tilt, your face reflecting a devastation so complete it was silent. The king, armored in guilt and unaware of the deeper deceit, could not meet your eyes…