Chapter 26 Aug 18, 2025 Celeste "She must be banished immediately. The scandal has poisoned the very foundations of the crown." Lord Sinclair's voice carried through the thick oak doors of the council chamber as I approached, my daughter sleeping peacefully in my arms despite the chaos surrounding her birth. Three days of whispered meetings, emergency sessions, and frantic correspondence had led to this moment. "Banished?" Duke Laurent's voice rose in sharp disagreement. "She's the mother of a royal child. You cannot simply cast aside royal blood." "Royal blood?" Count Moreau laughed bitterly. "That's exactly what's in question here." I paused outside the great doors, feeling the weight of history pressing against my shoulders. Inside, the most powerful men in the kingdom were deciding my fate-and my daughter's. The guards flanking the entrance nodded respectfully, but their eyes held the wariness of soldiers in a war zone. Hannah appeared at my elbow, her weathered face creased with worry. "My lady, are you certain about this?" "I've never been more certain of anything." The massive doors swung open, and conversation died as if someone had drawn a blade across the throat of sound itself. Every face in the chamber turned toward me-some hostile, some curious, all calculating the political implications of my presence. I walked forward with measured steps. The baby stirred in my arms but didn't wake, her tiny fist curled against the embroidered blanket that bore no royal insignia. "Your Highness," Lord Beaumont rose from his seat, his voice carefully neutral. "Perhaps this matter would be better discussed-" "Without me?" I took my place at the center of the semicircle they'd formed, my back straight and shoulders squared. "How interesting that men would debate the fate of a woman and child without allowing them to speak." "This is highly irregular," Lord Sinclair protested, but Alexandre raised a hand for silence. "Let her speak," the King said quietly. "She has that right." The chamber fell silent again, expectant. I could feel their eyes cataloging every detail-the way I held my daughter, the steadiness of my voice, the defiance in my posture. "I've listened to your discussions from the corridors," I began, my voice carrying clearly through the vaulted space. "Exile. Abdication. Treason. Fascinating words from men who weren't present for any of the events they're so eager to judge." "Your Highness," Duke Laurent interrupted, "the accusations made by Prince Renard-" "Are the desperate words of a man who couldn't accept what he never wanted in the first place." I shifted my daughter slightly, her perfect features visible to the assembled nobles. "But I didn't come here to defend against lies. I came to speak truth." Count Moreau leaned forward. "Then speak it, Your Highness. Tell us plainly-who is this child's father?" The question hung in the air like a sword above my head. Every man in the room held his breath, waiting for words that could topple kingdoms or cement dynasties. I looked at each face in turn-some hopeful, some fearful, all hungry for the scandal they believed would spill from my lips. "I never lied," I said clearly. "Not about what I am. Not about what she is." "That's not an answer," Lord Sinclair pressed. "We need-" "You need nothing but what I choose to give you." My voice carried a authority I'd learned through months of court battles. "You want to know about bloodlines? About legitimacy? About what makes a ruler worthy of a crown?" I stepped closer to their table, close enough to see the beads of perspiration on their foreheads. "She is royal," I said, my eyes moving deliberately from face to face. "That's all the bloodline you need." "But the father-" Count Moreau began. "Is irrelevant." The words cut through his protest like a blade. "You've spent months debating timing and mathematics. But look at her." I turned my daughter so they could see her sleeping face. "Look at her and tell me she doesn't belong to this kingdom." Silence stretched through the chamber. Outside the tall windows, I could hear something that made my heart soar-voices. Hundreds of them, growing louder with each passing moment. "What is that sound?" Lord Beaumont asked, moving toward the window. The chanting was clear now, rolling through the palace gardens and echoing off the stone walls with gathering strength: "Céleste! Céleste! Céleste!" Not Renard's name. Not Alexandre's. Mine. Lord Beaumont's face went pale as he peered through the glass. "Your Majesty, there are hundreds of people gathered outside the gates. Commoners, merchants, even some minor nobles." "What are they saying?" Alexandre asked quietly. "They're calling for the Princess," Duke Laurent said, his voice filled with wonder. "They're calling her name." The sound grew louder, more insistent. My people-for somehow, impossibly, they had become my people-were making their voices heard. The woman who had arrived as an unwanted bride had become something else entirely in their eyes. A woman to give them an heir, a hope for the future. I turned back to the assembled nobles, my daughter secure in my arms and the voice of the kingdom rising outside our windows. "Gentlemen," I said with quiet dignity, "I believe you have your answer." The chanting continued, washing over the palace like a tide that would reshape everything in its wake. Some of the nobles looked terrified. Others thoughtful. A few-including Lord Beaumont-actually appeared impressed. "The people have spoken," Alexandre said finally, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority. "Perhaps we should listen."