Chapter 20 Aug 18, 2025 Celeste "Your Highness, we may have… misjudged the situation." Lady Catherine's voice trembled slightly as she set down her teacup, the fine china rattling against its saucer. Across from me in the Blue Salon, Lady Marguerite and Lady Fontaine sat in similarly uncomfortable silence, their afternoon gowns pristine but their composure cracked. These were the same women who had whispered about my "condition" just weeks ago. The same women who had excluded me from committees and social gatherings. Now they sat in my chambers, requesting an audience. "Have you?" I kept my voice pleasantly neutral, though my heart raced with the shift I could feel happening around me. "How so?" Lady Marguerite leaned forward, her fan snapping shut with nervous energy. "The King's… displeasure has been quite clear. Count Dubois's exile sent a message that none of us could ignore." "What message was that?" "That you are under royal protection," Lady Fontaine said quietly. "And that opposing you means opposing the crown itself." I sipped my tea, letting the silence stretch. Through the tall windows, I could see courtiers walking the gardens below, their conversations now conducted in careful whispers. The palace felt different. "I'm not sure I understand," I said finally. "I was under the impression that my… condition was a source of scandal. That my presence here was somehow… problematic." The three women exchanged glances. Lady Catherine cleared her throat. "We may have been… hasty in our judgments," she admitted. "The succession is paramount, after all. A royal heir is a blessing, regardless of… timing." "Timing," I repeated, tasting the word. "Yes, timing can be so important, can't it?" "Your Highness," Lady Fontaine said, setting down her cup with deliberate care, "I want to offer you the use of our family estate. For your confinement, when the time comes. It's secluded, peaceful. Perfect for a royal birth." The offer hung in the air like a white flag of surrender. These women who had tried to destroy me were now offering sanctuary, protection, alliance. The reversal was so complete it almost made me dizzy. "How generous," I said. "Though I wonder what's prompted such… kindness?" "Wisdom," Lady Marguerite said bluntly. "Pure wisdom. The court is changing, Your Highness. Those who adapt will survive. Those who don't…" She shrugged delicately. After they left, I remained in the salon, watching the shadows lengthen across the marble floor. Hannah entered with fresh orchids for my writing desk, her movements careful around the flower arrangements. "The Prince didn't attend today's council meeting," she said quietly as she arranged the blooms. "Oh?" "Third time this week. Lord Beaumont says he's been… indisposed." I knew what that meant. Renard had been drinking more heavily lately, his carefully maintained princely facade cracking under pressure. Yesterday, I'd passed him in the corridor and caught the scent of wine on his breath at noon. His clothes had been disheveled, his eyes bloodshot. "How indisposed?" "Cook says he threw a goblet at a servant yesterday. Called him a spy. The man had only come to light the fire in his chambers." The image of my husband's deterioration should have saddened me. Instead, I felt only a cold satisfaction. Renard was unraveling, and everyone could see it. His threats, his cruel bargains-they held less power when he couldn't even maintain his composure in public. "And the council?" I asked. "Postponed. Lord Beaumont said they couldn't proceed without the Prince present, but…" Hannah hesitated. "But?" "But several members suggested the King might want to consider… alternative arrangements for future meetings." The implications were clear. Even the council was losing faith in Renard's ability to lead. The crown prince who had once seemed so assured, so entitled to his inheritance, was becoming a liability. That evening, I took dinner in the main hall for the first time in weeks. The reception was markedly different from my last public appearance. Nobles who had once avoided my gaze now nodded respectfully. Conversations didn't die when I approached-instead, several courtiers actively sought me out. "Your Highness," Lord Beaumont said, bowing slightly as I passed his table. "You look radiant this evening." "Thank you, my lord." "The kingdom is blessed by your… condition. We all pray for a healthy child." The words were careful, politically safe, but the meaning was clear. The winds had shifted, and the smart money was now on my survival-and my child's legitimacy. I retired to my chambers feeling something I hadn't experienced in months: hope. Real, tangible hope that this child might have a future worthy of its royal blood. That I might have won this impossible game after all. But as I lay in my bed, moonlight streaming through the tall windows, I heard something that froze my blood. A voice outside my window, so quiet I almost thought I'd imagined it. But the words were clear, deliberate, meant to be heard: "You and your bastard will burn." I sat up in bed, my heart pounding. The gardens below were dark, silent. No movement, no shadows. But the threat lingered in the air. Someone was still out there. Still planning. Still waiting for the right moment to strike.