The room was quiet once Theresa's mother-in-law left. She sat upright on the bed, her hands resting on the flatness of her abdomen. It still ached faintly—phantom pains of a life that was no longer there. The scent of herbs hung in the air, remnants of the healer's visit, but none of it could mask the coldness that had settled into her bones.
She reached out, brushing her fingers over the silk sheets as if caressing a child that never came to be. Her voice was soft at first, almost gentle, as though speaking to a sleeping infant. "Getting pregnant was a choice made for me," she began, her tone steady. "That was the deal I had to make. To secure my place. To make myself indispensable. A queen bearing the heir—what could be more valuable?"
Her eyes hardened, the softness vanishing.
