The air in the Queen's solar was thick with unspoken things—secrets, tension, dread. Lilian sat still on a velvet-cushioned bench, her spine too straight to be comfortable, her fingers twisted in her gown as if the fabric could anchor her. Her heartbeat was too loud in her ears, a war drum out of place.
Across from her, the royal healer rose from where she had been kneeling. The woman's ash-gray braids fell over her shoulders like vines, and her lined face bore the calm of one who had delivered too much truth to be swayed by the emotions it stirred.
"She is with child," the healer said, voice soft but final. The room seemed to stop breathing.
A stunned silence fell. And then—
"What?" The Queen straightened, a flicker of disbelief flashing in her eyes.
The ladies-in-waiting stiffened. A few gasped. One dropped her fan.
But it was Henry who reacted first.
The prince pushed back from his chair, his face draining of color. "That's a lie," he spat, stepping forward. "She's trying to trap me. I never touched her!"
The words struck Lilian like thrown stones. Her lips parted, but no sound escaped. Her breath caught on the sharp edge of shame. Everyone was looking at her—like a scandal come to life, like filth dragged into royal silk.
Then a voice cut through the storm.
"It's not his."
All heads turned.
Prince Asher stood in the archway, the early light gilding his face in gold. His expression was unreadable—serene, but not soft. A mask carved from shadow and fire.
"The child," he said again, voice clear and deliberate, "is mine."
The room rippled with gasps. One of the ladies clutched her pearls. The Queen rose slowly, as if her rage had weight.
"What sort of madness is this?" she asked coldly. "You slept with your brother's bride and expect me to believe it's chivalry, not shame?"
Asher's gaze never flinched. "Believe what you will. The child is mine. And I will answer for it."
The Queen studied him with narrowed eyes, then turned to the healer.
"Do it again," she ordered.
The healer hesitated—not fearfully, but reluctantly. Her eyes flicked toward Lilian, then back to her instruments. She repeated the test, slower this time, her movements deliberate. When she stood, she nodded once.
"The results haven't changed."
Her voice was even, but something flickered—too brief to name. A quick, wary glance toward Lilian. Asher saw it. He said nothing.
Henry laughed bitterly, pushing past a chair. "Enjoy your bastard, then," he hissed, glaring at Lilian with open disgust. "She's yours now."
He stormed out, the doors swinging closed behind him.
The Queen turned to the rest. "No word of this leaves this room. If I hear a whisper, I will know who to blame. Leave."
The courtiers filed out quickly, eyes cast low.
Only Lilian and Asher remained.
The Queen paused at the threshold, casting one last look over her shoulder at Lilian.
"You've made quite the entrance into our family, my dear. Let's see if you survive the storm you've brought."
The door closed.
Silence returned—but it was different now. Thicker.
Lilian stood there, trembling.
She whispered, "But I'm a virgin…"
Asher turned to her, slowly. His voice was gentle now. "Then what do you think happened?"
"I—I don't know!" she cried, stumbling back. "I don't know, I don't know, I don't know—" Her hands gripped her head, and she fell onto the edge of her bed, rocking as the weight of confusion and fear crushed her breath. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Asher didn't move to touch her.
He walked to the table instead, poured cool water into a glass, and placed it on the bedside stand. Quiet, patient. Watching her. Guarded.
She buried her face in her hands, sobbing harder now, a girl too lost to even be angry.
Asher sat across from her—close, but not too close.
"I don't believe you're lying," he said quietly. "But something is happening. And I intend to find out what it is."
She lifted her eyes to him slowly, her breath shaking. Their gazes locked—hers full of torment, his unreadable.
But in that silence, something passed between them. A tether. A question. A promise.