Three days had passed since the king's death, and the investigation showed no signs of resolution. The palace had descended into chaos, whispers filling every corner as rumors spread like wildfire. Evelyn couldn't escape the suffocating anxiety weighing down on her, her thoughts consumed with the guilt gnawing at her. The love potion she had given to Gareth had been meant to make him fall in love with her, not to kill him. But now, with the king dead, she could be accused of murder—and the punishment for such a crime was execution.
As the hours passed, Evelyn's desperation grew. She had to be sure that the potion had caused his death, and to do that, she needed to destroy the evidence—the tiny bottle that had brought her so much hope and had now ruined everything. Her hands trembled as she rifled through her belongings, her mind racing with every possible outcome. She couldn't just leave it in the palace—it was too dangerous.
Finally, her fingers closed around the vial. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at it. Could it really have been her fault? The fear of discovery gnawed at her, but there was no turning back now. She had to act quickly.
She made her way toward the palace gates, desperate to dispose of the bottle far from the palace walls. But the entire palace was on lockdown, royal guards stationed at every exit. The walls felt like they were closing in on her, and she was trapped.
Just as she turned to retreat, her breath caught in her throat. She bumped into someone, and when she looked up, she found herself face-to-face with Kaelen.
His piercing gaze locked onto her, and Evelyn's heart pounded in her chest. His eyes flickered briefly to the bottle in her hand before meeting her eyes again. He smirked, a look of suspicion crossing his face.
"Evelyn, it's been a while since you saw each other"
He said
"Yeah sure"
"At least say hey to me, you abandoned me when I couldn't be king "
He said with a smile moving a bit closer to her
"Let's not talk about this Kaelen, I'm busy"
"What's wrong, Evelyn? You look nervous" he asked, his voice cold yet somehow laced with curiosity.
Evelyn quickly composed herself, swallowing hard as she forced a trembling smile. "I'm just… devastated by the news of the king's passing. I didn't expect it."
Kaelen studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable, but there was a knowing glint in his eyes. "Really?" He paused, then smirked again. "Did your love spell work?" he whispered, leaning in close enough that his breath tickled her ear.
Evelyn froze, her blood running cold. She tried to back away, but before she could react, Kaelen grabbed the vial from her hand. His smirk grew wider as he examined the small bottle, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous understanding.
"Kaelen, no—" she started, panic rising in her chest.
He pulled her roughly through a hidden passage, the sound of their hurried steps echoing through the quiet corridors. When they reached a secluded room, Kaelen shoved her inside, slamming the door behind him.
"I know what you did, Evelyn," he said, his voice low and deadly. "You poisoned Gareth, didn't you?"
Evelyn's world spun as she sank to her knees, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think—only beg. "Please… Kaelen… Please, I didn't mean for him to die! I never wanted this to happen! I just wanted him to love me!"
Kaelen's eyes flashed with a mix of amusement and cold resolve as he watched her crumble before him. "You're pathetic," he sneered. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out? You think I wouldn't notice when you started acting strangely?"
Evelyn gasped, the truth of it hitting her all at once. He knew everything. He was going to expose her, ruin her. "Please, Kaelen…" she pleaded, tears streaming down her face. "I swear, I didn't know the potion would kill him! I only wanted him to love me. Please don't tell anyone, I'll do anything…"
Kaelen smirked, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw. "You're lucky I don't just hand you over to the guards right now," he said coldly. "But there's something I want from you. Something that will keep you alive."
Evelyn swallowed hard, her voice shaking. "What do you want from me?"
Kaelen stepped back, his gaze darkening. "The throne is about to be decided. Margret is pregnant, and if she gives birth to a son, that child will be the next in line to rule." He paused, watching Evelyn closely as he saw her processing the information. "I don't want that to happen. I'll do whatever it takes to ensure I become king, and that means eliminating any competition."
Her breath caught. "What do you want me to do?" she whispered, her voice trembling with fear.
Kaelen's smile widened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "When Margret gives birth to a boy, I want you to kill him. Kill the child. Make sure he doesn't live to see the throne."
Evelyn's body went cold at the thought. She shook her head frantically. "No! I can't! I can't do that! It would make everything worse… I'm already guilty of so much…"
Kaelen's voice grew hard. "If you don't, I will expose you, and your life will be over. But if you do what I ask, I'll make sure you're protected. If I become king, no one will touch you—even if the truth about your involvement comes out. You'll be mine."
Evelyn's heart pounded in her chest, every breath feeling like a struggle. She was trapped, and she could see no way out. Kaelen's words echoed in her mind. If she did what he wanted, she could survive. But at what cost? How could she live with herself after killing an innocent child?
"I'll do it," she whispered, her voice hollow with defeat. "I'll do whatever you say."
Kaelen's smirk deepened. "Good," he said softly, his voice carrying a dark promise. "Then you'll have everything you've ever wanted."
But as Evelyn looked up at him, the weight of her decision pressed down on her like an anchor, pulling her further into the darkness.
*********
Two days later
The entire town had gathered in the square, the air thick with grief. The sky was heavy with dark clouds, casting a shadow over the funeral procession. King Gareth's body lay on a pyre, surrounded by the mourners—his family, advisors, soldiers, and citizens—who watched in silence, each person struggling with their own sorrow. The heat of the flames flickered with a bitter light as the fire began to consume the King's remains, sending thick plumes of smoke into the sky.
Margret stood at the front of the crowd, her tear-streaked face a picture of devastation. Her daughters clung to her side, their small forms trembling with the enormity of the loss. She felt as though a part of her had been torn away forever. The flames reflected in her eyes, yet it was the pain in her heart that threatened to consume her whole.
Her knees buckled, and she would have fallen if Evelyn hadn't been there to steady her. Evelyn wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close as Margret cried out, her sobs wracking her body with such intensity that it seemed as if the weight of the world had settled on her shoulders.
"Margret," Evelyn whispered, trying to offer some comfort, though her own heart was heavy with the knowledge of her role in this tragedy. She could feel Margret's pain like a physical ache, but she knew she could never fully understand the depth of it.
The flames grew higher, crackling in the cold wind. The smell of burning wood mixed with the scent of loss, and the crowd's collective grief seemed to intensify.
All around them, people wept openly, their sorrow uncontained. Even Kaelen, standing at the edge of the crowd, his hands clasped behind his back, seemed to hold a somber expression. But behind his eyes, there was a flicker of something else—something darker. His lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk, hidden behind the pretense of mourning.
As the fire raged on, Margret's sobs became more frantic, her breath catching in her throat. The scene before her, the burning of her beloved Gareth, was unbearable. She clung to Evelyn, her fingers gripping the fabric of her gown like a lifeline.
"Why? Why did this happen?" she cried, her voice raw with agony.
Evelyn said nothing, only holding her tighter as the flames continued their merciless dance. She couldn't say anything to ease the pain. Not when she knew she was partly to blame.
The funeral procession finally ended, and the townspeople slowly began to disperse, their mourning fading into whispers of disbelief and sorrow. Margret, though, seemed lost in a haze, her eyes vacant and distant. Evelyn helped her back to the palace, both of them moving through the now-empty streets. But as they reached the gates, something shifted in the air—a sudden, sharp pain that gripped Margret's belly.
Margret gasped, her hand instinctively flying to her abdomen. "Evelyn…" she cried, her voice trembling with the weight of the pain. "It hurts. It hurts so much."
Evelyn's eyes widened with alarm. "Margret, what's happening? Is it time?"
Margret, her face contorted in agony, shook her head. "No... no, it can't be. I'm only seven months pregnant. It's too early..." Her words were strained, as if each one took every ounce of strength she had left.
Before Evelyn could respond, Margret's cries grew louder, her body trembling with the intensity of the pain. Blood began to seep from her, staining her gown as it poured down her legs. Evelyn's heart skipped a beat, panic rising within her. "We need to get you to the delivery room," she said urgently, her voice barely above a whisper.