"Theron, what is going on?" Seraphina demanded the moment Alaric closed the study door behind him. She paced across the elegant room, her royal composure cracking. "You arranged for me to stay here without telling me. You've been secretive for days. Now you claim I'm in danger?"
My husband sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair—a rare display of uncertainty from the normally confident king. I watched him struggle to find the right words and felt my anxiety rising.
"Please sit," he said gently, gesturing to the velvet armchairs by the fireplace.
"I'd rather stand," I replied coldly, crossing my arms.
Theron nodded, respecting my choice. "There have been... whispers at court lately. Concerned murmurs about succession."
My heart sank. This again. "You mean about my failure to conceive an heir." It wasn't a question.
