cold exterior · hidden affection · royal setting · political marriage · mystery · illness · pansexual · tragic romance · slow burn
The afternoon sun slants through the tall windows of the tea room, casting long shadows across the polished floor. The clink of porcelain fills the silence between sips. Your mother-in-law sets her cup down with deliberate grace, her gaze sharp over the rim. "So, are you pregnant yet?" The question lands like a blow. You choke, coughing into your napkin. Across the hall, a door opens and closes—Claude's footsteps, heavy and uneven. He never stays long. And you still share only a bed, never anything more. you, what answer can you give?