AT LILIAN'S CHAMBERS
The room was quiet except for the distant rustling of wind brushing against the velvet curtains. Lilian sat curled by the window, the sunlight cutting shadows over her face. Her hands rested on her stomach, unmoving—still, as though afraid to disturb whatever rested inside her.
Then—
Bang!
The door burst open, nearly unhinged.
"Lilian!" Roselyn's voice trembled with excitement, breathless as she rushed inside. Her cloak trailed behind her like stormclouds.
Lilian jolted upright. "Roselyn? What is it—what's wrong?"
Roselyn rushed forward, grabbed both her hands. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you—" Her eyes were wide, almost feverish. "The palace is in chaos. There's talk everywhere—about Prince Henry. About something scandalous. I—I overheard two court ladies in the lower gallery laughing, saying 'The groom never even touched his bride, but touched everyone else instead.'"
Lilian's brows drew in sharply. "What does that mean?"
Roselyn hesitated, biting her lip. "They're saying he... that he had relations with the councillor. And Countess Rebecca. That it wasn't just once."
Lilian's breath hitched. "During the wedding?"
Roselyn nodded slowly. "And before. And—possibly after. I don't know how far the rumors go, but the Queen was seen storming through the East wing. The guards say she broke a porcelain swan."
Lilian blinked, stunned. "That doesn't make any sense. Why now? Why all at once?"
"I don't know. But something's changing." Roselyn leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Asher has been seen speaking to the King in private. Alone."
Just then—
Knock knock knock.
Three firm knocks on the door. A pair of palace maidens, heads bowed, appeared in the doorway with two royal guards behind them.
One of them stepped forward, voice formal. "Princess Lilian, the King and Queen have summoned you. A council meeting is underway. Your presence is requested—immediately."
Lilian looked from them to Roselyn.
Her heart began to pound again—not with fear this time, but with the strange, electric pull of the unknown. Something was shifting in the palace, and she was now caught in the eye of the storm.
Roselyn gave her hand a squeeze, her expression turning solemn.
"Lilian," she said quietly, "I don't know what they plan to do, but promise me this—whatever happens in that room, don't let them decide your worth. You walk in there like a queen, even if they still call you a girl."
Lilian stared at her, breath catching.
And for the first time since everything began, something inside her—fragile and buried—began to stir.
----
The hallways of the palace stretched endlessly before her, silent but watching.
Lilian walked between two guards, their steps heavy beside hers. They hadn't bound her wrists, but their presence was binding enough — as though she were a prisoner being led to judgment, not a princess summoned by family. Her slippers whispered across the marble floor, but in her mind the echoes roared. Every clink of the guards' armor was a reminder: she no longer belonged to herself.
People watched from the shadows — servants pausing mid-task, maids bowing their heads too quickly, whispering behind their hands. No one said her name. No one met her eyes.
She had once dreamed of walking these halls draped in silks, chin high, praised for bringing peace. Instead, she walked under the weight of suspicion, scandal, and secrets she didn't understand.
Roselyn trailed behind her, silenced by the presence of the guards, her earlier fire dimmed to a flicker. She wanted to reach for Lilian, say something — anything — but there was no room for comfort here.
At the towering doors of the council chamber, the guards paused. One stepped forward to knock.
Lilian breathed in slowly, willing her spine to stay straight, her chin to stay lifted — like Roselyn had said. Like a queen.
And then the doors opened.
---
The great doors swung open with a weighty groan, revealing the council chamber bathed in the hush of strained civility. Polished columns rose like stone sentinels, framing a vaulted ceiling painted with faded scenes of battles, saints, and old kings — all staring down as if to judge.
Inside, the room was full — not of people, but of pressure. The royal family sat at the long crescent table of carved obsidian and gold, faces tight with restraint and unreadable calm. The King sat at the center, his jaw clenched, fingers steepled beneath his chin. The Queen was beside him, her lips set in a line too thin to be neutral.
And then there was Prince Henry.
He sat rigid, hands balled into fists on the table, eyes burning with quiet rage. The moment Lilian stepped through the doorway, his gaze locked onto her like a curse.
She felt it — every flicker of attention, every breath drawn tighter in her presence. She moved forward, chin raised, heart thudding like war drums against her ribs. She did not speak. Neither did they.
Her seat had been placed far down the curve of the table — a distance that spoke louder than words. As she made her way to it, her skirts whispering behind her, silence followed like a shadow. Not even Roselyn was allowed to enter.
The doors closed behind her with a finality that rang like a sentence.
She sat.
And waited.
The Queen rose from her seat slowly, the train of her gown sweeping like a tide across the floor.
"I built this court with order," she said, her voice low but resolute. "With elegance, tradition, and power woven into every corridor. And now, because of lust, lies, or foolishness—take your pick—we are the subject of palace gossip and peasant mockery."
She turned to the King, her tone sharp.
"And now Zareth will demand answers. Their princess was to become Queen of Elarion one day, not a walking scandal."
The King opened his mouth, but she raised a hand to silence him.
"Do you think they'll believe she was untouched by Henry? That we did not deceive them by handing off a broken union to their bloodline?" Her eyes moved back to Lilian, razor-sharp. "They will see it as an insult. An act of war, even."
She paused, voice cold and calculated.
"There is only one path left to salvage what remains. We marry her to someone who wants her—someone who is already claiming the child."
A hush fell over the room.
The Queen's voice softened, but only just. "It will give us time. A new headline. Something… palatable."
Before the King could agree or object, a shadow moved at the edge of the chamber.
Prince Asher stepped forward from behind one of the carved pillars. He looked composed, unreadable—but something behind his eyes flickered with quiet intensity.
"Yes, like our marriage."