Smarth: "How could you say that to her? She's just a child!"
The dining table drowned in heavy silence; only the sound of cutlery broke the stillness of the room, then faded beneath the weight of unspoken words. Elizabeth stared at her plate as if the food no longer mattered. Her voice came out calm, yet worn and fragile:
"Why shouldn't she know where she comes from? Should I let my daughter grow up not knowing her people and her real family?"
Smarth exchanged a look with her, as though waiting for a response he already knew. His reply came sharp—more like a verdict than advice:
"Do you want her to hate us? To inherit your family's anger? What are you trying to plant inside her?"
Elizabeth stood still for a moment, childhood memories flashing before her eyes like faded pictures. She was only sixteen; her heart trembled between fear and responsibility. She whispered to herself, "What am I going to do, oh God? And if my father finds out…"
Smarth's next question came cold and detached:
"How did you get pregnant so soon?"
She stammered, her voice trembling with anxiety:
"Is that what matters to you now, Smarth? My belly will start to grow, and they'll find out I'm pregnant… What should I do?"
The next words from Smarth's mouth cut through the air:
"Kill the child."
The words gathered in her throat, and even the air seemed to stop moving. "What?" her voice shook.
"It was a mistake," he said, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. "If you give birth, it'll be an illegitimate child, and your father will never agree to this. End it."
The warmth drained from her chest; the shock hit Elizabeth like a blow. She remembered his promise—a vow that he would fight, that he would convince them, that he would make things right. She asked, in the tone of a betrayed child:
"Didn't you say you'd convince them… with the Wolf Fang?"
Smarth smiled, a smile devoid of emotion, and cupped her face between his hands with a look that felt more calculating than affectionate.
"Yes, but I'm eighteen, and you're only sixteen. Do you really think they'll let us marry now? Will they accept me as their king? Don't ruin everything. The child will only complicate matters. Trust me—I'll handle everything when I turn twenty. For now, end it."
Elizabeth felt her heart might burst. "He's our son, Smarth."
"Of course he is," he replied, calm and cold, "but not now."
—
Elizabeth snapped back from the memory. "She's my daughter, and what I tell her is between me and her. Her uncle doesn't need to interfere."
She rose from the table. "Please, finish your meal," she said, then left the dining room, while Smarth kept staring at his plate.
Mary stood nearby, nervous, her voice low as she asked, "Sir Smarth, shall I bring you tea, or would you prefer dessert?"
Smarth chewed slowly and said, "You haven't answered my question."
Mary hesitated. "Pardon?"
His tone hardened again: "When will you take the Wolf Fang from her neck?"
Mary sighed in fear. "Sir Smarth, please…"
He replied without mercy: "I don't accept refusal as an answer. I'll let you think about it, and in the morning, I expect to hear 'Yes, Sir Smarth.'"
Then he stood up and left the room. Mary remained frozen in place, tension carved into her face. She whispered to herself like a sad prayer:
"Oh God, why do all disasters fall on me?"
Children's laughter filled the garden, breathing life into the place — as if trying to make it forget the secrets and the coming danger it concealed.
Elizabeth sat on the stone bench near the trees, sipping her tea quietly, her eyes following Alessandra and Harry as they ran through the flowers, full of innocent joy untouched by worry.
Mary approached with soft steps, carrying a tray with a small cake that smelled of vanilla. With a gentle smile, she said,
— "My lady, I've brought you some dessert."
Elizabeth took a sip of her tea, then looked up at her and said,
— "Sit beside me, Mary."
Mary sat down, trying to appear calm, though her hesitant eyes betrayed the unease inside her.
Elizabeth, still watching the children, said,
— "Look at them… how sweet they are when they play. They know nothing of the tragedies adults live with; they carry no burdens. Tell me, Mary… what is Smarth trying to do?"
Mary hesitated, stammered a little,
— "Pardon?"
Elizabeth fixed her with a long, silent look — enough to make Mary speak.
— "He wants to unite our kingdom — the kingdom of the spirits — away from the wolves and the swordsmen."
Elizabeth slowly set her teacup down, her tone sharp yet controlled:
— "I knew he was planning something wicked… just like him."
Mary took a tense breath, then said in a low voice,
— "He… has made contact with the spirits."
Elizabeth turned toward her suddenly, her face filling with fear.
— "What!?"
Mary continued, lowering her head,
— "He promised them that if he became king, he would grant them all their desires… My lady, what if he truly is the rightful heir to the throne?"
Elizabeth cried out, clutching her head in alarm,
— "What are you saying!?"
Mary hesitated before whispering,
— "I suggest that we give him…"
Elizabeth cut her off sharply,
— "Mary! What you're saying will lead us to ruin!"
Mary lowered her eyes and murmured in a trembling voice,
— "My lady… you know well, he won't stop. He made you a promise — and he intends to keep it."
Elizabeth fell silent for a moment, her gaze heavy with anger and sorrow, then drifted away — pulled into the past as if a door inside her memory had just been forced open.
She was sixteen — a young girl in a wide dress meant to hide her growing belly.
Mary entered the room nervously and whispered,
— "My lady, what if your father finds out?"
Elizabeth was brushing her hair in front of the mirror, her calmness clearly forced. She replied coldly,
— "He won't… unless you tell him."
— "But your belly has grown, he'll notice soon! And you haven't even told Smarth that you didn't lose the baby!"
Elizabeth turned toward her sharply.
— "Enough, Mary. You're making me anxious, and that's not good for the baby. I'm going to see Smarth. Take care of things here."
Mary called after her,
— "My lady…!"
But Elizabeth was already gone.
She walked toward the forest, to the large tree beside the lake — the place they called "the lovers' spot."
There, Smarth was waiting, standing with a somber face that seemed to weigh down the air around him.
Elizabeth approached with hesitant steps and said in a warm, worried voice,
— "My Smarth, what's wrong, my love?"
He smiled faintly and leaned down to kiss her forehead.
— "My queen…"
Elizabeth embraced him.
— "I missed you…"
He chuckled softly.
— "It feels like you've gained some weight. Every time I see you, you're a little heavier!"
She laughed too, trying to hide her nervousness.
— "And more charming as well! My father's been having delicious meals prepared — I can't resist, what can I do?"
She sat beside him, her tone turning anxious.
— "Now tell me, what's wrong?"
He looked at her for a long moment, then said seriously,
— "Please… I'll tell you, but don't press me with questions."
Her heart trembled.
— "I promise. Speak."
Smarth took a deep breath.
— "My brother Fenrick discovered what I was planning… and he took the Wolf Fang from me."
Elizabeth gasped, tears filling her eyes.
— "What!?"
He answered in a trembling voice, heavy with anger and fear,
— "He wants to take everything — just because he's older and thinks he's wiser!"
She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
— "Smarth… what are you saying?"
Their eyes met — and in his, she saw defeat.
He spoke hoarsely,
— "I'm afraid of losing everything… I'm afraid of losing you."
—
Elizabeth returned to the present, her eyes resting on the cup of tea grown cold between her hands. She whispered bitterly,
— "I don't want his promises anymore… I just want peace. What is he planning? Does he mean to kill the king?"
Mary flinched and replied quickly,
— "No, no! That's all he told me."
Elizabeth shot her a sharp look.
— "What exactly did he tell you?"
— "He said he spoke with the spirits and wants to unite our kingdom."
— "Just that? And why would he tell you of all people?"
Mary grew even more nervous.
— "I don't know, my lady… he just did."
Elizabeth sighed deeply, holding her head in her hands.
Mary hesitated, then whispered,
— "My lady… does he know that Alessandra is his daughter?"
Elizabeth shouted, her voice cutting through the air like a whip,
— "Mary! Don't speak of things that are not your concern! Please!"
At that moment, Harry came running toward her, calling out playfully,
— "Mother! Are you done? I want to go!"
Mary laughed softly.
— "Harry, why are your hands dirty? Did you fight with Alessandra again? Come here."
She took his hand and led him back into the castle.
Elizabeth remained alone, sighing and running a hand through her hair. Her gaze fell on her daughter Alessandra — golden-haired, the perfect reflection of her younger self… her daughter, the child of her first love — Smarth.
She lifted her eyes toward the castle and saw Smarth standing in the king's chamber, looking down at her from the window with unreadable eyes.
She whispered sorrowfully, barely audible,
— "I only ever wanted to live in peace with you…"
Then she lowered her head, closing her eyes, and murmured bitterly to herself,
— "What nonsense… I'm the king's wife. Enough foolishness, Elizabeth."