The rain in Belgravia didn't just fall; it punished. It was a cold, relentless grey sheet that turned the white marble of the Palace stairs into a treacherous mirror. Lulan Roselle Von Heist stood at the foot of those stairs, her thin coat soaked through to her skin. Her hair, once pinned back in a neat, middle-class bun, now hung in wet, dark ribbons against her pale face.
In her hand, she clutched a small, crumpled medical report from the local clinic. Positive. The word felt like a death sentence and a miracle all at once.
"I need to see Prince Leonard," she told the guard for the fifth time. Her voice was trembling, not just from the cold, but from the rising tide of panic in her chest. "Please. Just tell him Lulan is here. He'll know."
The guard, a man whose face was as
frozen as the stone statues guarding the gate, didn't even look at her. "His Royal Highness is occupied with the engagement gala, Miss. Move along before I have you removed for loitering."
"Engagement?" The word hit Lulan harder than the wind. "No... that's not possible. He told me... he promised..."
The heavy gold-trimmed doors at the top of the stairs creaked open. A sliver of warm, amber light spilled out onto the wet stone. The Royal Chamberlain stepped out, stopping three steps above her. He didn't offer his umbrella.
"Miss Von Heist," he said, his voice clipping through the air. "The King has become aware of your... persistent presence. This is a sum that your family could not earn in three lifetimes. It is the price of your silence. You will leave Belgravia tonight."
He dropped a check. Lulan watched it flutter into the mud. She didn't pick it up. She looked past him, up to the high windows of the ballroom. For a split second, she saw a shadow—a tall, broad-shouldered man standing behind the glass. Leonard. He watched her stand in the rain, then he turned away.
He didn't come down. He didn't fight for her. He simply let the curtain fall.
The Walk of Shame
The walk from the Palace District to the middle-class suburb of Rosengard took nearly an hour. Lulan's boots squelched in the rising puddles. Every street corner held a memory. There was the café where Leonard had worn a hat and glasses just to sit and hold her hand. There was the park where he had promised her that he would change the laws of the land to marry her.
Liar, she thought. Each step was a heavy beat of realization. She wasn't a woman to him; she was a summer hobby.
By the time she reached the Von Heist manor—a house that tried very hard to look grander than it was—Lulan was shivering violently. She pushed open the heavy oak door. The scent of expensive tobacco and lavender floor wax met her.
"Lulan? Is that you?" Her mother, Maryse, hurried into the hallway. She gasped, seeing her daughter's state. "Heavens! You're soaked. Where have you been? Your father is in a terrible mood—the Royal auditors were at the office today—"
"He's getting married, Mother," Lulan said, her voice hollow.
The Family Fracture
Her father, Thomas Von Heist, appeared at the top of the stairs. He was a man who lived and breathed for status. His eyes were red with fury.
"I know," Thomas barked. "The whole city knows! The engagement to Lady Beatrice was announced on the radio an hour ago. And here you are, looking like a drowned rat at the palace gates! Do you have any idea how that looks for my business? To have my daughter begging at the feet of a man who has clearly discarded her?"
"I wasn't begging," Lulan said, her spine straightening. "I went to tell him the truth."
"The truth?" Thomas descended the stairs, his footsteps booming. "What truth could possibly be worth our reputation?"
Lulan took a deep breath. The air in the hallway felt thin.
"I'm pregnant, Father. I'm carrying Leonard's children."
The silence that followed was deafening. It was the kind of silence that precedes a storm. Her mother let out a strangled sob, covering her mouth with her silk handkerchief. Her father's face turned a dangerous shade of purple.
"You... you stupid, prideful girl," Thomas whispered. It was worse than a shout. "You let a Prince ruin you? Without a marriage contract? Without a guarantee?"
"I loved him!"
"Love is for the poor!" Thomas roared, his hand striking the bannister. "You have brought a scandal into this house that will bury us! The King will crush my firm to keep you quiet. I will not let you drag us down with you."
"Thomas, please," Maryse begged.
"Quiet, Maryse! Lulan, you will take the Chamberlain's money. You will go to the countryside, you will handle... the 'problem,' and you will never mention the Astley name again."
Lulan looked at her father, seeing him clearly for the first time. He didn't care about her heart. He didn't even care about his future grandchildren. He cared about his licenses and his standing at the club.
"No," Lulan said. Her voice was quiet, but it vibrated with a new power. "I am keeping them. And I am leaving. But I won't take a cent of their blood money."
"Then you leave with nothing!" Thomas pointed to the door. "If you walk out that door with those bastards in your womb, you are no longer a Von Heist. You are nothing to this family. Do you hear me? Nothing!"
The Departure
Lulan didn't cry. She went to her room and packed a single leather suitcase. She packed her mother's old medical encyclopedia, a few changes of clothes, and a photograph of herself as a child, before she knew what heartbreak felt like.
As she walked out of the house, her mother tried to press a small gold ring into her hand. Lulan pushed it back.
"I need to do this on my own, Mom. If I take anything from this house, I'll always be beholden to his shadow."
She walked into the night, headed for the train station. She bought a one-way ticket to Cordova—a place where the reach of the Belgravian Crown was weak. As the train pulled away, Lulan watched the lights of the palace fade into the distance.
"Watch me, Leonard," she whispered against the cold glass of the window. "I'm going to build a world where you are the one who isn't invited."
The Border of Nowhere
The train station was a cavernous, iron-ribbed beast that smelled of wet coal, stale tobacco, and the desperation of people who had nowhere else to go. Lulan sat on a splintered wooden bench, her single suitcase tucked between her feet. Her clothes were still damp, the hem of her coat heavy with the mud of the palace grounds.
Every time the station doors opened, a gust of frigid wind swept through, making her shiver. But the cold outside was nothing compared to the ice in her veins.
She looked at the ticket in her hand: Belgravia Central to Cordova Frontier. One way. No return.
Across the station, a large television screen mounted on the wall flickered to life. It was a late-night news bulletin. Lulan's heart skipped a beat as Leonard's face appeared. He was dressed in his full military regalia, standing on the palace balcony. Beside him was Lady Beatrice, a woman who looked like she had been carved from fine porcelain and dressed in diamonds. They were smiling. They were the image of a perfect future.
"The Kingdom celebrates tonight," the news anchor's voice echoed through the empty station. "The union of the Astley and Claremont houses promises a new era of prosperity for Belgravia..."
Lulan looked away, her eyes stinging. She placed her hand over her stomach. Do you see that? she thought, whispering to the lives growing inside her. That is the man who thinks he has won. He thinks he can erase us like a mistake on a chalkboard.
A wave of nausea hit her—the first real sign of her pregnancy making itself known. She hurried to the station's public restroom, a dim, flickering place with cracked mirrors. She leaned over the sink, breathing hard, waiting for the world to stop spinning.
When she finally looked up, she didn't recognize the woman in the mirror. Her eyes were sunken, her skin pale, but there was a new, dangerous spark in her pupils. The girl who had loved Leonard was dead. The girl who would have done anything for a royal smile had drowned in the rain.
"I am Lulan Roselle," she whispered to her reflection. "And I am the only one you have now."
The Crossing
The train journey was a blur of clicking tracks and dark forests. Lulan didn't sleep. She spent the hours staring at the dark reflection in the window, watching the lights of Belgravia's wealth disappear, replaced by the rugged, industrial landscape of the borderlands.
When the train finally screeched to a halt at the Cordova Frontier, it was three in the morning. The air here was different—sharp, metallic, and free.
She stepped onto the platform, her legs feeling like lead. She had no plan. She had no money except for the few coins in her pocket. She had refused her father's help and the Prince's bribe. She was a woman with a suitcase and a secret, standing at the edge of the world.
As she walked toward the station exit, a black car with tinted windows was idling near the curb. A man stood beside it, wearing a long, grey military overcoat that looked like it had seen a hundred battles. He was tall, with hair the color of steel and a face etched with deep lines of experience.
This was General Julian Lascourine. He wasn't looking for a daughter; he was looking for a miracle. And Lulan, standing there with her head held high despite her rags, looked like exactly the kind of miracle he could use.
"You're late, girl," the General said, his voice like grinding stones.
Lulan stopped, her grip tightening on her suitcase. "I don't believe I had an appointment with you, sir."
The General smirked, a gesture that didn't reach his sharp, observant eyes. "You don't. But I have a habit of knowing when someone with a brain is being thrown out with the trash. You're a Von Heist, aren't you? The one who thought she could tame a Prince."
"I am no one's 'Von Heist' anymore," Lulan snapped, her voice cracking with exhaustion. "And I am no one's 'trash'."
"Good," the General said, opening the car door. "I have no use for a Princess. But I have a great deal of use for someone who wants to burn the world down and rebuild it. My chef just quit, and my estate needs a woman who knows how to keep her mouth shut and her mind sharp. You hungry?"
Lulan looked at the car, then back at the dark tracks leading back to a country that hated her. She didn't know this man. She didn't know if he was a savior or a different kind of monster. But she knew she couldn't stay on this platform.
She stepped toward the car. "I'm starving," she said.
As the car pulled away into the Cordovan night, Lulan watched the border lights fade. The first chapter of her life—the one of the middle-class girl and her Prince—was officially closed.