That evening, Queen Ashley stood like a vision summoned from moonlight, her beauty undeniable, her presence ethereal. Draped in a gown of silver silk that glimmered like starlight, she moved with quiet grace, the fabric whispering secrets with every step.
In the warm glow of their private chamber, King Torin watched her, his eyes filled with awe and affection. His smile—a soft beacon—illuminated the space as surely as the golden sconces that lined the walls.
"How do I look?" Ashley asked, her voice a gentle melody.
"As beautiful as ever, my queen," Torin replied, stepping closer, his tone rich with love.
"Where are you off to?" he asked, brushing a lock of hair from her shoulder.
"It's the weekend," she replied with a smile. "I'm visiting the orphanage, then attending to the palace's philanthropic efforts."
He sighed softly, pulling her into an embrace and capturing her lips in a tender kiss. "Don't stay too long."
"I won't, my love," she whispered, adjusting the hem of his robe, her touch lingering.
"I'll be bored without you," he murmured with a playful pout.
"Then I'll summon Finley to play for you while I'm gone," she teased, her fingertips brushing his lips.
"But even Finley can't fill the space my queen leaves behind," Torin said with a smirk.
With a last glance and a silent call to a nearby guard, Queen Ashley ordered for Finley, the palace harpist, to be sent. Then, with poise and purpose, she stepped from the chamber, her heart light, unaware of the storm looming in the palace corridors.
Moments later, Finley arrived, cradling his harp like a lover's secret. The chamber doors closed behind him like the curtains of a play, and he began to play—his baritone voice weaving through the strings, crafting a melody that curled around King Torin like smoke. The king closed his eyes, surrendering to the music, to the peace it offered... and the man who gave it.
---
In another wing of the palace, Queen Elara stood before her mirror, her brows slightly furrowed.
"Prepare me for a walk, Olivia," she said, her voice edged with tension. "I feel… unsettled."
Her maid, Olivia, moved with precision, adjusting Elara's gown and brushing her hair into gentle waves. Elara studied her reflection, trying to decipher the weight pressing against her chest.
"Thank you, Olivia," she said, her tone softening. "You've done well."
As they approached the door, Elara suddenly faltered—then collapsed.
Olivia screamed, her panic echoing down the marbled halls. Within seconds, Duke burst into the room.
"What happened?" he demanded, racing to Elara's side.
"She wanted a walk… and then she just—collapsed," Olivia stammered, tears rising.
Duke gathered Elara into his arms, laying her gently on the bed. "Get the physician!" he barked. "Elara, please—stay with me," he whispered, brushing her damp hair from her forehead.
Minutes later, Zorvath, the palace physician, arrived, her robes swirling around her like a tempest. She examined Elara carefully, then opened her satchel, mixing herbs into a bitter-smelling concoction. Ancient words slipped from her lips in quiet incantations as the room shimmered with a trace of magic.
"She'll be fine," Zorvath said finally, turning to Duke. "She needs rest, nourishment… and care for the life growing within her."
"Life?" Duke blinked, stunned. "You mean—?"
Zorvath smiled. "Yes, Your Highness. Queen Elara is with child."
A wave of emotion surged through Duke—disbelief, relief, joy. In an unthinking burst of happiness, he threw his arms around Olivia, then quickly stepped back, cheeks burning.
"I—apologies. That was... unexpected."
"No offense taken, Your Majesty," Olivia said with a graceful bow, a kind smile on her face.
Zorvath packed her things. "Call on me if there's any change."
Once alone, Duke knelt beside Elara's bed, his hand resting lightly on hers.
"We're going to be parents," he whispered, wonder softening the worry in his gaze. Then, rising quickly, he said to Olivia, "Look after her. I must tell my parents."
---
Duke practically flew down the corridor, heart pounding with exhilaration. He flung open the door to his father's chamber—and froze.
Inside, King Torin and Finley stood locked in a passionate embrace, bare and vulnerable in a way no son should ever see.
"What the…!" Duke's voice thundered across the room, breaking the spell.
Torin scrambled to cover himself after he pulled out, guilt washing over him like a tide. "Duke—this isn't—what you think—"
"Oh, it's exactly what I think," Duke growled, his voice thick with betrayal.
Finley stepped forward, desperation plain in his eyes. "Please—"
"Don't," Duke spat. "Don't you dare speak."
Torin reached for his son, anguish carved across his features. "It's complicated, Duke. I—care for him."
"Complicated?" Duke's voice cracked with disbelief. "You've dishonored my mother for… for this? You've shamed yourself. This kingdom."
Finley's voice wavered. "We're not hurting anyone. We love each other."
Duke gave a bitter laugh. "Love? Is that what you call this? You should both be ashamed."
He turned to his father. "While my mother gives her heart to the people, you lie in bed with your harpist."
Torin's expression shifted from guilt to desperation. "You knew?"
Duke's gaze sharpened. "I've known. I saw the glances, the lingering touches. But I never thought you'd be so brazen. I protected your secret—for her sake. But perhaps it's time she knew."
"I'm sorry, son," Torin said softly. "But I don't regret loving Finley. I am still king."
"No. You're a man hiding behind a crown," Duke replied coldly. "And I hope for your sake you understand what you've just destroyed."
Torin reached for him once more. "Duke, please. I love your mother—and Finley, this is who I am I can't deny the fact and I you've know about this a long time ago."
But Duke stepped back, his jaw tight, his eyes like steel. Without another word, he
turned and left, leaving the shattered king behind, alone in a silence heavier than any harp could lift.