Athalia moved towards him.
"You worry yourself too much," she said softly as she placed a shawl around Adrian's shoulders. "There is no purpose in troubling him with questions about the past."
But Adrian felt no comfort.
The king died the following spring, passing quietly in his sleep.
The bells tolled through the kingdom, long and deep. People filled the palace courtyard to mourn. He had not been perfect, but he had been beloved.
And with his passing, the path cleared for Adrian to ascend.
The coronation was held under clear skies, just at the end of spring. Banners hung from the towers, music drifted across the courtyard, and nobles dressed in rich silks bowed one by one as the crown rested on Adrain's head.
It was the day the kingdom awaited—the Ascension of Prince Adrain and his newly crowned Queen beside him.
Inside the palace, Athalia stood before a tall bronze mirror. The reflection that stared back was composed, regal and collected, yet behind her calm eyes flickered something unspoken.
Her maid, Lira, fastened the final clasp of the her dress.
"Your Majesty," Lira whispered, stepping back. "You look… radiant."
Athalia smiled faintly. "Radiant is only useful if they believe it."
Lira lowered her eyes. "They do believe it."
Athalia did not respond. She studied her reflection a moment longer, as though trying to see whether her new crown already rested on her head. Her gown draped like moving water, yet embroidered with silver threads that caught the light.
There had been a time, not long ago, when she was merely a shadow beside her younger sister Emelia who was kind-hearted, beloved and praised for gentleness. But now Athalia stood alone at the center.
A knock came.
King Adrain entered the chamber, dressed in ceremonial armor and the crest of Seatopia pressed into the steel
His voice softened. "Are you ready?"
Athalia turned to him. "For the crown? Yes. For everything that follows… I suppose we will see."
Adrain smiled at her. "We will lead together. I have no doubt the people will adore you."
She allowed herself a quiet breath. "Well, I guess we give them no choice."
Queen Athalia stood beside him, not as queen, for she was not the king's wife, but as the honored wife of the new king. Yet her presence radiated authority all the same.
The coronation echoed across the square with cheers, drums, and the ringing of silver bells. When Adrain and Athalia stepped forward to kneel before the high priest, the crowd fell silent, breath held.
"Rise, Adrain, King of Arrandelle and Athalia, your Queen."
They stood. And the cheers returned like a storm breaking open. Queen Elizabeth was also present and happy the inheritance of the first wasn't given to the second.
From that moment, Adrain and Athalia's popularity grew with startling speed. Their poise, confidence and measured kindness impressed both nobles and common folk.
Once the ceremonies ended and Adrain stepped onto the palace balcony to greet the cheering crowd, Athalia spoke softly behind him.
"Do you see? This kingdom is yours."
Adrain looked out at the people, faces lifted, hands raised and voices chanting his name. And for a moment, a rare and genuine calm settled over him.
"They cheer because they believe in you," Athalia said. "Do not disappoint them."
A quiet breath escaped him. "I will not."
In the weeks following the Ascension, the first year of Adrain's reign glittered with triumphs.
Adrain made efforts to resemble the kind of ruler Eric had once been. He was generous, present among his people and attentive to the needs of the villages that often felt forgotten.
Taxes shifted and adviserships changed. Certain noble families found themselves rising and others falling. Athalia's influence threaded itself through every corridor of governance, though never loud, never direct, but unmistakably present.
The kingdom expanded as well and several territories long disputed near the northern borders were reclaimed under Adrain's command. A series of swift, strategic campaigns surprised even the generals. Adrain had always been intelligent, but the confidence with which he now gave orders was new, yet steady, methodical, and precise.
Victories brought spoils that brought prosperity, and prosperity brought loyalty. Warriors returned with triumphs, villages celebrated, and the kingdom's flag rose in newly reclaimed lands. Merchants prospered, crowds cheered, and the image of Adrain as a just, capable ruler solidified.
Meanwhile, Athalia encouraged every gesture of kindness and knowing it supported the image she had crafted. They attended councils, hosted charitable events, and went to see wounded soldiers returning from border conflicts.
At one such visit, an elderly soldier tried to kneel before the King and Queen. Athalia gently stopped him.
"Please, sit," she said softly. "A man who has defended his home kneels to no one."
The soldier's eyes watered. Around him, murmurs of admiration spread.
Later, as she and Adrain walked through the palace corridors, he glanced at her sideways.
"You have a way with people."
She answered quietly, "I simply say what needs to be said."
"And somehow," he said, "it always seems to be exactly what they long to hear."
Athalia turned her face away, though a small smile crept in.
Her charm seemed almost natural, though at times even she couldn't tell where genuine grace ended and something else began in her. It was something she had once sought in secret moments of desperation and something she had paid dearly for.
But those thoughts she buried carefully.
One evening during a banquet celebrating a returning battalion, the nobles gathered around her as if drawn by unseen force.
"Your Majesty, your speech moved the entire court," Lady Essenia said, eyes bright. "You carry yourself like a queen born for this."
"And the markets flourish as you predicted," added Lord Halden. "Even the farmers say they feel safe again."
Athalia smiled politely, offering measured responses that seemed thoughtful yet effortless.
Across the hall, Adrain watched her from the throne. He marveled at how quickly she had become the heart of the kingdom's admiration.
Later, when the banquet ended and they walked to their chambers, he spoke softly.
"You've become the pillar of our people."
Athalia hesitated. "Or the mirror of what they hope for."
"Either way, they trust you."
She looked ahead. "And trust is a dangerous thing to hold."
"His Majesty is proving to be stronger than expected," one courtier murmured during the banquet.
"Stronger?" another replied. "He has surpassed the expectations we had compared and more disciplined too."
Athalia heard such things often, though she always pretended not to listen.
One evening, after a war council meeting, he spoke to Queen Elizabeth, now the Queen mother, privately.
"Mother," he began carefully, "do you ever think we judged too quickly? That exile was… harsh?"
She stood beside the window, pouring wine into a silver cup. She paused only a moment before turning.
"Do you think you're brother is innocent?"
"I think," Adrain said, "that I never once felt he would harm Father. Not truly."
Queen Elizabeth stepped closer, her expression soft. "You are king now. The past is behind us."
"That does not answer my question."
She touched his cheek lightly. "What do you wish to do? Bring him back? Undo the judgment?"
Adrain's lips parted, but he found no words.
"The kingdom is stable," she continued. "The people trust you. Your leadership is taking us into a stronger era. Do not destabilize the foundation you have built."
He lowered his gaze. "I only want to know the truth."
Queen Elizabeth's voice remained gentle, but her eyes turned cold for a brief moment. "Sometimes truth does more harm than lies."
Adrain lifted his gaze, surprised.
But she had already turned away from him.
The kingdom's golden image continued for months more with celebrations, festivals, and returned wealth filling the lives of the people.
Yet beneath the surface of prosperity, there were moments Athalia couldn't quite explain.
Strange dreams plagued her nights with shadows whispering, cold hands brushing her skin and a voice calling her by name from somewhere beyond reason.
She woke trembling more often than she could admit.
One night she sat upright, breath sharp. Lira rushed in.
"Your Majesty! Are you well?"
Athalia pressed a hand to her forehead. "A dream. Nothing more."
But Lira did not look convinced. "You've had many such nights lately."
Athalia forced a steady voice. "It will pass."
Still, after Lira returned to her bedding, Athalia whispered to herself:
"It must pass. I have earned too much for it to crumble now."
The next morning, however, the faintest sickness curled in her stomach. She brushed it off as exhaustion, but the days that followed brought the same weakness and the same unease.
Finally, Lira spoke.
"Your Majesty… forgive me. But I believe you should see the royal physician."
"There is no need," Athalia answered sharply.
But Lira's eyes softened with a kind of loyalty Athalia did not often encourage.
"It is not exhaustion," she said quietly. "I know the signs."
Athalia froze.
"What signs?"
Lira swallowed. "You are with child."
"What?"