The palace was silent, but not peaceful.
Queen Seraphine lay in bed beneath layers of velvet and silk, her breath shallow, her heart pounding like a war drum. The midwives had come and gone, whispering among themselves in hushed tones that barely masked their fear. They'd cleaned the blood—though none could explain where it had come from—and changed the sheets thrice over. Still, the scent lingered: iron-rich, wrong.
It wasn't normal blood.
She could feel something shifting inside her now—like tendrils curling through her womb, stretching, testing. It didn't move like a child should. There was no kick, no flutter. Only pressure. And hunger.
Seraphine pressed a trembling hand to her belly, feeling the pulse beneath her fingertips. Not hers. Something else.
"You're afraid," the voice whispered from within. "Good."
Her eyes flew open. She sat up too quickly, dizziness washing over her as she scanned the room for movement, for sound, for anything that might betray the presence of another.
There was only silence. And the echo of laughter—not from her lips, but from somewhere deeper.
She closed her eyes again, trying to steady her breathing. She needed clarity. Strength. But all she found was darkness blooming behind her eyelids, curling around her thoughts like smoke.
***
Three days passed in isolation.
The royal physician had ordered complete rest, though he dared not say why. He avoided looking at her directly, his hands shaking slightly when he checked her pulse. The nurses who attended her were new—none of them the ones who had been present the night of the Blood Moon.
When she asked what had happened to Elira, they said only that she had left the palace abruptly.
No one would meet her gaze.
At night, the dreams began.
She saw herself lying on an altar carved from bone, her stomach split open like a fruit, steam rising from the wound. A small figure stood beside her—its face obscured by shadow, its tiny hands slick with blood.
And always, the lullaby:
"Sleep, my mother, sleep so deep,
I'll grow while you lie still and keep
Your silence tight, your love untrue,
Until I feast and rise anew."
She woke screaming every time, soaked in sweat and something darker.
***
On the fourth day, he arrived.
Kael the Hollow.
He came without announcement, dressed in dark leathers and bearing a sword that looked older than the kingdom itself. His armor bore no crest, his cloak no insignia. He moved like a man used to walking alone.
"I've seen her," he said before even bowing. "In my dreams."
Seraphine studied him from her bed, wary but intrigued. He looked tired—no, worse than that. Emptied out. As if life had tried to fill him once and failed.
"You claim to have seen… her?" she asked.
"In my dreams," Kael repeated. "A girl made of teeth and shadow. She spoke to me."
Seraphine's breath caught.
"What did she say?"
Kael hesitated. Then, quietly: "She told me your name."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Seraphine sat up straighter. "Why are you here?"
"To protect you," he said simply. "Before it's too late."
She laughed bitterly. "Too late for whom?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "I am sworn to your service, Queen Seraphine. If you will have me."
She stared at him, searching for deception. Finding none.
"Very well," she said. "But know this—I do not believe in knights anymore."
"I don't blame you," Kael replied. "Neither do I."
***
Later that night, after Kael had stationed himself outside her chambers, Seraphine lay awake again.
The moonlight had shifted, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Her reflection in the mirror flickered strangely—as if something moved just beneath the surface.
She turned away.
Then came the sound.
Not loud. Barely audible.
A soft tapping.
From inside her womb.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Like fingers against flesh.
She gasped, clutching her stomach.
"Are you watching, Mother?" the voice asked gently. "I can see you, you know."
Seraphine didn't speak.
"You don't want me to be real," the voice continued. "But I am. More real than you think."
"Please," Seraphine whispered. "Let me go."
A pause.
Then, softly:
"Not yet."
The tapping stopped.
But the silence felt heavier than before.
***
By morning, two more nurses had fled the palace.
One was found wandering the gardens, muttering about voices in the walls. The other vanished entirely, leaving behind only a single shoe and a smear of blood on the marble steps.
Lady Nyxara finally arrived that afternoon, summoned at last.
Draped in black robes stitched with silver thread, her pale eyes gleamed like glass shards. She carried with her the scent of dried herbs and old parchment.
"You waited too long," she said upon seeing Seraphine. "She's already begun to stir."
Seraphine met her gaze. "Tell me what I'm carrying."
Nyxara stepped closer, placing a cool hand on Seraphine's belly. For a moment, her expression remained unreadable.
Then her face paled.
"She knows we're talking about her," Nyxara murmured. "And she doesn't like it."
Seraphine swallowed hard. "What is she?"
Nyxara pulled back slowly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"She's not a child."
"No," Seraphine agreed, her voice hollow. "I think she's something much worse."