The night had barely passed. Fire still clung to the stone walls. Shadows still echoed with screams—screams only Gwi had heard. And yet, morning came.
Siera stirred awake in her quarters, a faint nausea still curling in her stomach, though less cruel than before. The scent of herbs lingered in the room, mingling with a trace of bitter tea left cold at her bedside. Her side ached dully under gauze and healing salves, but her head was clearer now—clearer, and heavier.
Her senses moved sluggishly, as though wading through silk and smoke. She blinked at the ceiling, the dim morning light brushing against her lids. Outside, the world stirred—too loud, too demanding. But inside her chambers, only stillness. She sat up slowly, biting back the remnants of nausea that clung to her like a second skin. Her limbs ached, but it was absence—raw, gnawing—that truly hollowed her.
The kingdom would not wait for her grief to settle or her body to fully recover. The council would seek her. The nobles would pry. She could not let them see her weakened—and she certainly could not let them know.
About the child.
Catelyn entered quietly, as if sensing her resolve before words were spoken.
"You’re getting up?" her voice was soft, but steady.
Siera nodded, already reaching for her robe. "The throne cannot sit empty too long. And neither can I."
Catelyn helped her dress in silence, gently fastening layers to hide the delicate curve still too slight for suspicion. But it wouldn’t be long.
As her outer cloak settled over her shoulders, Siera glanced once more toward the window—the wind brushing the curtains like a whispered warning.
She steeled herself.
She was Queen. And the kingdom still bled.
There was no room left for fragility.
Not now.
A knock came at the door.
"Your Majesty," Thiery’s voice trembled slightly.
She turned, her hand instinctively brushing her abdomen. “Enter.”
Thiery stepped in, his usually composed face pale, his lips tight. In his hands, a scroll and a letter.
He bowed. “There is news… of the king.”
Siera’s pulse quickened as she notice the horror of Thiery's expression. “What's news?"
Thiery opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if unsure where to begin. His eyes flicked briefly to Catelyn before returning to Siera.
"Your Majesty..." he began, voice low, almost hesitant. "Forgive me. I—it's not easy to say."
Siera felt her breath pause. Her fingers curled slightly against the edge of her robe.
Thiery drew a breath. "He’s gone."
The silence that followed cracked like ice—and it spread beneath her ribs.
“What do you mean, gone?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“His chambers were found empty this morning. He did not return to the palace last night. Nor to any outpost. And Lady Lyn is gone as well. There were tracks—but they vanish beyond the western ridge. No official departure. No note. Nothing.”
The scroll in his hand trembled.
“People have noticed,” he added. “The nobles are already convening. The city is… stirred.”
Siera stood too quickly. Pain lanced through her side, but she didn’t flinch. “Stirred how?”
Thiery hesitated, then said it plainly. “Rumors. That the king has fled. That he feared being exposed as the orchestrator behind Lord Maren and his followers’ deaths. That he knew the council was turning. That… he ran. With his secret lover.”
The words struck her like stones. Her breath hitched.
“No,” she whispered. “He wouldn’t…”
But the sound outside was already changing.
The palace, once filled with ritual silence, now buzzed like a hive. The noble halls roared with speculation. Pages sprinted down corridors, and whispers slithered beneath every tapestry.
“I knew he was hiding something.”
“Maren’s death wasn’t justice—it was vengeance.”
“They say the girl—Lyn—was always beside him. Maybe she was part of it all.”
“Maybe even the Queen was tricked.”
Eros arrived at her side in minutes, his heavy boots echoed in calm, controlled steps.
“Don’t listen to them,” Eros said firmly, hands on Siera’s shoulders. “They’re vultures. They smell fear and paint it as proof.”
But Siera’s eyes were already far away.
“He wouldn’t leave without a reason,” Eros continue “And not without telling you.”
Siera lowered herself slowly into her chair, her legs folding beneath her with practiced grace—but her hands trembled slightly as they found the curve of her temple. Her thoughts lagged behind reality, clawing their way through the sudden haze of disbelief.
Gone?
The word pressed against her ribs like a vice. Her mind reached desperately for something solid, some recent moment that might make sense of it all—
And there it was: Gwi’s voice, quiet but sharp with pain. “Is this your way of telling me to disappear?” he had asked, after he knew the truth she’d hidden.
At the time, she thought it was only hurt speaking. But now—
She blinked, throat closing. Was that… his goodbye?
She clutched the fabric of her robe tighter around her, the memory slicing deeper than her healing wounds. Her pulse roared in her ears.
“Gwi…” she whispered, the sound slipping past her lips without permission.
The silence did not answer. Only her own ragged breath filled the space.
She wasn’t ready to believe it. But the ache blooming in her chest whispered a truth she couldn’t yet bear to name.
Catelyn crouched in front of her. “You trust him, don’t you?”
“I want to,” Siera whispered. “I have to. I know his flaws. His guilt. But this—this isn’t who he is.”
The room stilled.
Her hand fell to her abdomen again. She stared at it.
“Was that quiet nod… the only goodbye he had left to give me?”
Eros and Catelyn exchanged glances.
Then—
The memory returned:
The last time she saw him. The way his hand lingered slightly too long at the doorframe. The nod he gave her—not one of a warrior returning soon. But of a man… releasing something.
Releasing her.
Her heart clenched. Her throat burned.
She whispered it aloud, barely audible—just for herself.
"What is this supposed to mean, Gwi?"
Only the wind remained—to whisper where his voice should have been.