Chapter 13 Aug 19, 2025 Celeste The next morning, I could hardly get out of bed. My head throbbed, my stomach turned at the smell of the breakfast tray, and the sun felt far too bright. I had been moved to new chambers three doors down from the King. The room was twice the size of what I'd shared with Renard, with tall windows overlooking the rose garden and furniture that actually matched. No one questioned the reassignment when it came from Alexandre's lips. There were fresh orchids on my writing desk every morning-no note, no signature, but always orchids. The servants moved around me with careful deference, like I might break or explode at any moment. "I'll call for the physician," Hannah said, setting down a damp cloth for my forehead. "No, it's not that," I muttered, curling in on myself. I hadn't eaten much the day before. Maybe that was it. But she didn't look convinced. She stood at the foot of my bed for a long moment before quietly saying, "You're late, aren't you?" I blinked up at her. "What?" "Your courses," she said gently. "You're never late. You count things. You'd know." I didn't answer. I didn't need to. Ten minutes later, she returned with a small wrapped packet tucked under her shawl. She didn't say where she got it. Just handed it to me and closed the door. The wait felt endless. My hands shook. When the result appeared, it said what my body already knew but my mind had tried to deny. Pregnant. My breath caught, and I pressed my fingers to my lips, like I could hold the truth inside. A child. His child. There was no plan for this. No script for what came next. Just the rising tide in my chest, a hundred thoughts crashing at once. The way he had touched me, the way he had looked at me like I was more than a name-I hadn't let myself believe it could mean anything lasting. But now… I needed air. I wrapped my shawl tighter and slipped through the side corridor toward the east balcony. The sky was pale, the air sharp. I gripped the railing and stared out at the distant tree line, trying to breathe. "Couldn't sleep either?" The voice behind me was warm, familiar, quieter than usual. I turned my head. Alexandre stood there, coat draped over one arm, eyes soft beneath the early light. "I wasn't expecting anyone to be here," I said. He stepped beside me, keeping a polite distance, though his gaze lingered. "Nor was I," he said, voice calm. "But something told me this was where you'd be." I looked back at the trees. "You always know where to find me." "I try to," he said. Then, after a pause, "You look pale. Are you unwell?" I hesitated. "Just tired." He didn't press. Instead, he leaned on the railing beside me, watching the same horizon. "I've had a thousand things to say to you," he murmured, "and none of them feel right anymore." "I don't want to hear anything. I want to survive this." "Same thing," he said. "One just comes with a crown." "I don't want a crown." His eyes darkened. "No. You want them to bleed. Renard. Mireille. Me. Yourself." I gripped the railing tighter. "That's not fair." "It's true. You don't crave power. And that's far more dangerous." He was right. I didn't want power for its own sake. I wanted to matter. To someone. To myself. He brushed a curl from my cheek, fingers careful. "You're not the same girl who came here." "I thought you said this couldn't happen again." "I did." "But you're here." "So are you." I turned toward him, heart racing. "Then what are we doing?" He didn't answer. "I feel like I'm standing on the edge of something," I whispered. "You are. And once you jump, there's no going back." "Would you catch me?" His voice caught. "I might. But I'd break with you." The wind lifted my skirt. The lanterns flickered. My entire body trembled-not from cold, but from the way those words wrapped around me. "You're teaching me to be cruel," I said. "It doesn't have to be like this." I looked at him-really looked. The lines around his eyes, the weight in his shoulders, the hunger in his silence. Then he stepped back. Just enough to leave me breathless. "We should go inside," he said quietly. But neither of us moved. "Alexandre," I started, then stopped. There was something I needed to tell him. Something I'd been avoiding for weeks now. "What is it?" I took a shaky breath. "I'm with child." The words hung between us like a blade. His face went completely still. "How long have you known?" "I just found out mysel." He was quiet for so long I thought he might not respond at all. "Is it…" He couldn't finish the question. "I don't know," I whispered. "It could be yours. Or it could be Renard's from… before." It was a lie. I knew exactly whose child it was. There was no before with Renard-not in the way that mattered. But I couldn't say it aloud. Not yet. I needed more time. Alexandre ran a hand through his hair. "Christ." "The timing…" I swallowed hard. "It's close enough that no one will question it. Renard will claim it as his. He'll have to." "And if it's mine?" "Then we'll never tell a soul. The child will be raised as the heir to the throne, and no one will be the wiser." He stared out at the gardens. "You're asking me to watch my child call another man father." "I'm asking you to protect us all." The silence stretched between us. Finally, he nodded. "Does Renard know?" "Not yet. I'll tell him tomorrow." "He'll be suspicious about the timing." "Let him be. As long as he claims the child publicly, it doesn't matter what he thinks privately." Alexandre's jaw tightened. "And if he refuses?" "He won't. His legitimacy depends on having an heir. He needs this child as much as we do." "We?" I met his eyes. "Yes. We. Whether this child is yours or his, we're all bound together now." He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel his warmth. "You realize what this means? If anyone discovers the truth…" "They won't. They can't." "Céleste." His voice was rough. "If this child is mine…" "Then we'll love it from a distance and pray it never knows the truth." He reached for me, then stopped himself. "I should go." "Yes," I agreed. "You should." But he didn't move. And neither did I. "Everything changes now," he said. "Everything already changed. This just makes it permanent."