Chapter 22 Aug 18, 2025 Celeste Renard missed three consecutive dinners, sending word that he was "indisposed" each time. When he did appear at yesterday's afternoon gathering, he'd arrived late, his cravat askew and the scent of wine heavy on his breath despite it being barely past noon. "The Prince seems… troubled," Lady Catherine had murmured to her companion, loud enough for me to overhear. Now, as I made my way toward the Council Chamber for what Alexandre had called an "urgent private meeting," I could hear raised voices through the heavy oak doors. I paused in the antechamber, my hand resting on my rounded belly where the child stirred restlessly, as if sensing the tension that crackled through the palace corridors. "-completely unacceptable behavior," Lord Beaumont was saying, his usually measured tone strained with frustration. "The Crown Prince has responsibilities that cannot be shirked," added Duke Laurent. "The people expect stability, continuity-" "The people expect a leader who can string together a coherent sentence!" Renard's voice cut through their diplomatic protests like a blade. "Don't pretend you haven't noticed. Don't pretend you're not all watching me, waiting for me to fall apart completely!" I pressed closer to the door, my heart racing. Through the slight gap, I could see into the chamber where Alexandre sat at the head of the polished mahogany table, his expression carved from stone. The assembled nobles-Lord Beaumont, Duke Laurent, Count Moreau, and three others-sat in uncomfortable silence, their papers forgotten before them. Renard paced behind his chair like a caged animal, his usually pristine appearance disheveled. His dark hair fell across his forehead in unruly waves, and his jacket hung loose, as if he'd lost weight he couldn't afford to spare. "Perhaps," Alexandre said quietly, his voice carrying the authority of absolute power, "you could explain what's troubling you so deeply that it affects your ability to serve the crown." "What's troubling me?" Renard laughed, but the sound held no humor. "What's troubling me? Look around this table, Father. Look at these men who are supposed to advise me, support me, respect me. Can you see it in their eyes? The doubt? The whispers behind closed doors?" "Your Highness," Lord Beaumont interjected carefully, "if there are concerns about your leadership-" "Leadership?" Renard spun toward him, his eyes wild. "What leadership? I'm a figurehead! A puppet dancing to someone else's strings while my own wife-" He stopped abruptly, his jaw working as if he were fighting to contain words that wanted to spill out. "Your wife," Alexandre said, his tone dangerously soft, "is carrying the future of this kingdom. I would choose your next words very carefully." "The future of this kingdom," Renard repeated slowly, each word dripping with bitter irony. "Yes, let's talk about that future, shall we? Let's talk about bloodlines and legitimacy and the sacred trust between husband and wife." The temperature in the room seemed to drop. I could see the nobles exchanging nervous glances. "Renard," Alexandre warned, but his son was beyond hearing reason. "Do you know what it's like," Renard continued, his voice rising with each word, "to sit in council meetings while men discuss your heir? To listen to debates about succession when you know-you KNOW-that the child your wife carries has more royal blood than anyone in this room?" "That's enough," Alexandre said, rising from his chair. "No, it's not enough!" Renard slammed his fist on the table, making the crystal glasses jump. "I've been patient. I've been silent. I've played the role of devoted husband while watching everyone pretend that timing doesn't matter, that mathematics is somehow flexible when it comes to royal pregnancies!" Lord Beaumont cleared his throat nervously. "Your Highness, perhaps we should postpone this discussion-" "Postpone what? The truth?" Renard's laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. "The truth that my wife conceived this child before our marriage was even consummated? The truth that I haven't shared her bed since our wedding night? The truth that the precious heir everyone's so eager to celebrate isn't mine at all?" The silence that followed was deafening. I pressed my hand to my mouth, fighting the urge to either flee or burst into the room. The child within me kicked frantically, as if sensing the danger surrounding us. "You're drunk," Alexandre said coldly. "I'm honest," Renard shot back. "For the first time in months, I'm being completely honest. And the honesty is this-I will not stand here and pretend this farce of a child is my heir. I've been humiliated in every possible way, and you all sit here and nod like trained dogs!" "You're speaking treason," Duke Laurent whispered. "I'm speaking facts!" Renard's voice cracked with emotion. "Facts that every person in this palace already knows but is too afraid to say aloud. My wife is carrying another man's bastard, and you want me to claim it as the legitimate heir to the throne!" The words hung in the air like a death sentence. I could see Alexandre's hands clenched into fists, could see the way the color had drained from the nobles' faces. This was the moment everything fell apart-the moment months of careful pretense and political maneuvering crumbled into dust. "Who?" Alexandre's voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried more menace than any shout. "Who do you accuse?" Renard's eyes met his father's across the table, and I saw something pass between them-understanding, fury, and terrible knowledge. "You know who," Renard said quietly. No one spoke. No one moved. The very air seemed to hold its breath. From my hiding place in the antechamber, I watched the tableau of powerful men frozen in a moment of devastating truth. Alexandre's face had gone white as marble, his storm-gray eyes fixed on his son with an expression I couldn't read. "Get out," Alexandre said finally, his voice so low I had to strain to hear it. "What?" Renard blinked, as if coming out of a trance. "Get out. All of you. Leave us." The nobles rose hastily, gathering their papers with shaking hands. Lord Beaumont bowed nervously. "Your Majesty, if there's anything-" "Now," Alexandre commanded. They filed out through the main doors, leaving father and son alone in the vast chamber. I remained frozen in the antechamber, knowing I should leave but unable to move. "You've just destroyed everything," Alexandre said once they were alone. "Good," Renard replied. "Maybe now we can all stop pretending."