The palace had settled into a rhythm since the Emperor's return.
Days passed into weeks, then two months, with court meetings, petitions, and harmony.
Daphne's laughter carried through the halls of the Rose Home, her visits bringing light to children and women alike.
In Katherine's chambers, she shared long afternoons, their friendship deepening in the glow of motherhood and sisterhood.
On the surface, all was well.
But beneath the calm, a whisper had begun to creep.
At first, Alaric thought little of it, an idle comment overheard by Marcus in the training grounds, a muttered remark in the kitchens.
But then it grew teeth.
It's been a year…
And still no heir.
Perhaps the Rose of Eldoria is infertile.
The words did not come from the tongue of enemies, but from the mouths of common people, courtiers, even allies who had no malice, only questions.
Alaric was furious, the kind that could cut bone.
