CHAPTER FIVE
Two months had passed since Lady Mireya arrived at the palace.
Two months—and yet it felt as though years had been carved from the walls, the air, and my heart.
The palace no longer breathed easily. It held its breath.
In those weeks, Lady Mireya had woven herself seamlessly into court life, not as a guest, but as a presence too powerful to ignore. What had begun as whispers behind silk fans had now solidified into a truth no one dared deny: she was no longer merely a visitor.
She was my father's mistress.
And now, she was carrying his child.
The announcement came quietly, wrapped in velvet words and careful smiles, yet it struck the palace like thunder. Servants froze mid-step. Nobles exchanged looks sharpened with calculation. My mother—my beautiful, dignified mother—received the news with a grace that shattered me more than tears ever could. She smiled. She nodded. She said nothing.
But her silence screamed.
From that moment, everything changed.
Lady Mireya glowed with triumph. Pregnancy softened nothing in her—if anything, it sharpened her influence. Wherever she walked, heads turned. Wherever she sat, attention followed. Her beauty remained undeniable, enhanced now by a fragile glow that made even her enemies cautious. The palace bent toward her like flowers toward the sun.
And her daughter… watched everything.
She moved through the corridors as if measuring them, as though committing every corner, every shadow, to memory. Courtiers sought her favor. Young lords lingered too long in her presence. Even the guards straightened when she passed. She spoke little, but when she did, her words landed precisely where they would cause the most effect.
I felt her eyes on me often.
Sometimes when I laughed with my ladies.
Sometimes when I trained in the courtyard.
Sometimes when I stood beside my mother, pretending not to see the strain in her eyes.
And always—always—my hands burned when she was near.
That morning, the palace buzzed with a new story.
"They say the child Lady Mireya carries could change the line of succession."
"I heard the king has ordered ancient records brought out of the sealed library."
"They say Princess Eunice has been seen wandering the gardens at night again."
I kept my head high as I walked past the whispers, but each word pierced deeper than the last. I felt exposed, studied, as though the palace itself was weighing my worth against an unborn child.
By midday, the tension snapped.
A noblewoman collapsed during luncheon, her goblet shattered at her feet. Some claimed poison. Others claimed fear. The healers found nothing—but rumors bloomed like rot. By evening, two council members were openly arguing, accusations flying like blades. The palace was fracturing, hairline cracks spreading beneath its polished surface.
And at the center of it all—Lady Mireya.
I found my mother that evening in her private solar, staring out at the fading light. She looked radiant as ever, her beauty untouched by time, yet sorrow clung to her like a second skin.
"You should not carry this alone," I said softly.
She turned to me, cupping my face in her hands. "My daughter… you must be careful now more than ever."
"With Lady Mireya?" I asked.
"With everyone," she replied. "Pregnancy has emboldened her. Power does not always announce itself with force—it grows quietly, until it cannot be stopped."
That night, the warmth in my hands intensified into something sharper, almost painful. Silver light flickered faintly beneath my skin, responding to my rising fear and anger. I slipped away once more into the gardens, drawn by instinct rather than choice.
That was when he appeared.
"You're running out of time," the storm-eyed stranger said, stepping into the moonlight. His expression was darker than I had ever seen it.
"She's pregnant," I whispered. "I know."
"She knows you know," he replied. "And she's counting on your silence."
"Why does it feel like the palace is… turning against me?"
"Because it is," he said simply. "An heir changes everything. And the Silver Moon awakens only when the balance is threatened."
My hands blazed bright enough to reflect in his eyes.
"She wants your place," he continued. "Not just your title—but your power. Her daughter is not merely observant. She is preparing."
Before I could ask how, laughter echoed from the hedges.
"Princess Eunice," the daughter's voice purred. "How unfortunate that secrets always find the light."
She stepped forward, shadows bending around her as if recognizing her authority. Torches flared. Guards emerged. The stranger vanished into darkness, leaving me exposed beneath the silver moon.
Her gaze lingered on my glowing hands.
"So," she murmured, smiling at last, "the rumors were true."
In that moment, I understood.
This was no longer about jealousy.
No longer about love or betrayal.
This was about inheritance—of power, of legacy, of magic older than the palace itself.
And the child growing within Lady Mireya's womb was not the only thing being born.
War was coming.