Alaric was a man who read battlefields with one glance, yet lately, he almost could not read his wife.
Daphne smiled still, soft, gracious, beautiful as always but he saw the weight behind it.
Saw the way her hands lingered a moment longer at her lap before reaching for him.
Heard the quiet catch in her voice when she asked simple questions, as though she was testing him, weighing him.
He had known for days now.
She had heard.
Tonight, when she told him she wanted to walk in the palace gardens to clear her mind, he immediately agreed.
His tone was calm, steady but deep down, it was not only to cheer her.
It was also to shield her.
The gardens were quiet, lit by lanterns and the pale silver of the moon. The air was rich with jasmine and roses, the same flowers that had been planted to honor her name.
Daphne's steps were slow. She trailed her fingers along the blossoms as though they could steady her.
