Thunder rolled over the roofs of Veyron Palace like a warning the sky could no longer hold back.
The storm wasn't gentle. It was the kind that made servants cross themselves in the hallways, the kind that rattled stained glass and turned candles into trembling ghosts.
Inside the royal maternity chamber, Queen Selene screamed again—raw, exhausted, and defiant.
"Your Majesty—breathe!" the midwife pleaded, hands slick with sweat and urgency. "One more push!"
Selene's fingers clenched the bedsheets so hard her knuckles went white.
"Do not… tell me… to breathe," she hissed through her pain. "Just… get them… out."
Them.
The word was a secret in itself.
Only three people in the room truly knew the truth: the Queen… the midwife… and the King.
And the King was missing.
Not dead.
Not yet.
Just… missing, swallowed by war and treachery and rumor. A crown could survive without its king for weeks.
But a queen giving birth in secret?
That could start a civil war in a single night.
The midwife exchanged a quick glance with the only guard stationed by the door. His armor looked ceremonial—too clean. Too polished.
Too new.
Selene noticed.
"Who is he?" she rasped.
The guard didn't look at her. His eyes stayed forward like stone.
The midwife swallowed. "A replacement, Your Majesty. Just for tonight."
Selene laughed once, humorless.
"Tonight," she repeated, voice breaking. "Everything changes tonight."
Outside the chamber, palace corridors were unusually quiet.
Not the quiet of respect.
The quiet of listening.
Men moved through the shadows. Not servants. Not guards.
Men who wore no colors. Men who belonged to no banner except the one that ruled the palace when the King was absent.
The one person who had risen like a knife into the empty throne's space.
Regent Malrec.
He stood in a dark antechamber, his hands folded behind his back as if he were praying.
But Malrec didn't pray.
He calculated.
A thin man approached him, hooded and breathless.
"It's happening, my lord," the man whispered. "The Queen is delivering."
Malrec didn't flinch.
"Does she know the King won't return?" he asked.
The hooded man hesitated. "Not for certain."
Malrec smiled slightly.
"Good. Hope makes women careless."
"And if it's a prince?" the man asked.
"Then we make sure the palace never sees him," Malrec replied calmly. "If it's a princess…"
He paused, as if considering.
"Then we choose what kind of princess the world will accept."
The hooded man swallowed. "And if it's twins?"
Malrec's smile sharpened.
"Then the gods have given us leverage."
Back in the maternity chamber, Selene's body arched with another wave of pain.
She bit down on a cloth to keep from screaming too loudly.
Because even pain had to be guarded here.
"Push!" the midwife ordered.
Selene pushed.
The air felt like it split open.
Then—
A sound.
A baby's cry, sharp and alive, cutting through thunder.
The midwife lifted the child into the candlelight, eyes wide with relief and shock.
"A girl," she breathed. "A healthy girl—"
Selene trembled, tears in her eyes.
"A daughter," she whispered, voice cracking. "I have… I have a daughter."
But the midwife's face didn't settle.
She looked down.
Then back between Selene's legs.
Then—
Her eyes widened again.
Selene's breath hitched. "What is it?"
The midwife's hands trembled.
"Your Majesty…"
Selene grabbed her wrist with sudden strength. "Tell me."
The midwife swallowed hard.
"There's another."
Selene froze.
Thunder boomed, as if the sky itself had reacted.
Another contraction ripped through her.
Selene screamed.
This time she didn't care who heard.
Because somewhere deep inside her, something fierce woke up.
They will not take my children.
Not after everything.
Not after the King vanished.
Not after the whispers that she'd been cursed, barren, weak, unworthy.
Not after the regent's polite smiles that never reached his eyes.
She pushed again.
Harder.
Like she was pushing against fate itself.
And then—
Another cry.
Another infant, just as loud, just as strong, just as alive.
The midwife lifted the second baby.
"A girl," she said again, stunned. "Two girls…"
Selene stared in disbelief as the midwife placed both infants on her chest.
Two tiny faces.
Two identical mouths.
Two sets of eyes squeezed shut, pink fists flailing like they were already fighting the world.
Selene gasped.
"Oh… gods," she whispered. "Twins."
The midwife nodded, voice shaking. "Identical, Your Majesty."
Selene's chest rose and fell rapidly.
She had delivered twins in a palace full of predators.
And suddenly she understood why the storm felt like war.
She looked down at them—her daughters—and her heart shattered and reformed at once.
"So small," she whispered. "So perfect."
One baby quieted first, blinking slowly, eyes dark like midnight.
The other continued crying, furious at the world for daring to exist without her permission.
Selene managed a weak smile through tears.
"This one is calm," she murmured. "And this one…"
The angry baby screamed again.
Selene's smile faded into something deeper.
"…this one has fire."
The midwife began cleaning them quickly, hands trembling with urgency.
"We must register them," she whispered, leaning close. "Or hide them. Your Majesty—twins will be seen as—"
"A threat," Selene finished, eyes hardening.
"Yes."
Selene's gaze flicked toward the guard at the door.
He stood too still.
Too perfect.
Like a statue placed there to watch.
Selene pulled the babies closer, instinctive, protective.
"Lock the door," she ordered.
The midwife blinked. "Your Majesty?"
"Lock. The door."
The midwife hurried to obey—then stopped.
Because the door handle turned from the outside.
A soft knock came.
Three taps.
Polite.
Deadly.
The guard finally moved.
He opened the door without waiting.
Selene's blood ran cold.
A group of men entered.
Not loud. Not threatening.
Just… inevitable.
They wore palace colors, but not the Queen's.
Their leader bowed slightly.
"Your Majesty," he said smoothly. "The Regent sends his blessings."
Selene's voice turned to ice. "He has no blessings to send."
The man smiled like he didn't hear her.
"We heard there were… complications."
"There were none," Selene snapped. "Leave."
The man stepped closer, eyes drifting to the babies.
The midwife tightened her grip on the cloth in her hands.
Selene felt her chest tighten.
She clutched both infants tighter, pulling them to her like a shield.
"No," she said, voice low and lethal. "Do not look at them."
The man's smile thinned.
"Your Majesty," he said softly, "the palace requires confirmation of the heir."
Selene's laugh came out sharp.
"Heir?" she repeated. "My husband is the heir. My children are mine."
The man's gaze flicked to the midwife.
"Two?" he asked quietly.
The midwife didn't answer.
Her silence was the answer.
The man's expression shifted—just slightly.
Then he nodded once, almost pleased.
Selene's heart hammered.
No.
Not pleased.
Not that.
Anything but that.
"Congratulations," the man said, stepping closer. "Twins are… rare."
Selene's fingers tightened around her daughters until they whimpered.
"They are not yours," she warned.
The man lowered his voice.
"They are the kingdom's."
And behind him, the guard at the door—the replacement—closed it.
The click of the latch sounded like a coffin.
Selene's mind moved fast, like an animal trapped in fire.
"How many know?" she demanded.
The man tilted his head. "Know what?"
"That I had twins," Selene hissed.
He smiled. "Enough."
Selene's throat tightened.
A queen could order guards.
But which guards were hers?
The midwife's hands shook.
Selene realized, in one terrible heartbeat, that the palace had already decided the ending.
She tried anyway.
"Bring me Lady Mirelle," Selene commanded. "Bring me my personal guards. Bring—"
The man interrupted smoothly.
"Your Majesty," he said, "the Regent has prepared a solution to prevent… instability."
Selene stared at him.
The word solution was the cruelest thing she'd heard all night.
"What solution?" she whispered.
The man stepped nearer, voice gentle like poison.
"Only one child can be publicly acknowledged."
Selene's vision blurred.
"Only one?" she repeated, as if she'd misheard.
"Yes," he said. "Two daughters invite questions. Questions invite factions. Factions invite war."
Selene's body trembled.
"You think you're protecting the kingdom," she whispered.
"I know we are," he replied.
Selene's fingers tightened again.
The babies stirred against her chest. One sighed softly. The other gave a tiny angry cry.
Selene's tears fell without permission.
"You will not choose between my children," she said, voice shaking with rage. "You will not—"
The man raised a hand.
Two soldiers stepped forward.
Selene's heartbeat turned into panic.
The midwife moved, blocking them instinctively.
"Please," the midwife begged. "My lords, don't—"
The soldier shoved her aside.
She hit the floor with a gasp.
Selene screamed.
"Do not touch them!" she roared.
Her voice was the voice of a queen now—commanding, dangerous.
For a moment, the room froze.
Even the men hesitated.
Then the leader spoke softly.
"Your Majesty," he said, "you have already lost the King."
Selene flinched.
It was a deliberate strike.
"And you will lose more," he added, "if you force us to be cruel."
Selene's breath shook.
She looked around the room.
No help.
No rescue.
Only men who had already decided.
The calm baby blinked slowly.
The fiery baby squirmed.
Selene realized something horrifying.
They were about to take one.
And if she fought, they might take both.
Or kill them both.
Selene's mind raced.
If one child had to disappear…
Then that child needed a chance.
Not a grave.
Not a prison.
A chance.
She lifted her head, eyes burning.
"If I cooperate," she said, voice low, "does the other live?"
The man's expression softened as if he admired her surrender.
"The acknowledged child will be safe," he said. "Raised as royalty. Protected."
"And the other?"
The man shrugged lightly.
"The other will not exist."
Selene's body went cold.
Not exist.
Not dead.
Worse.
Erased.
Her hands trembled around her daughters.
The midwife, bleeding slightly from her lip, crawled closer and whispered urgently.
"Your Majesty… if they erase one, you must ensure she lives somewhere else."
Selene's eyes locked onto the midwife.
A silent conversation passed between them.
A plan formed out of desperation.
Selene looked back at the leader.
"You may take one," she said, voice cracking. "But not from my arms."
The man narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"I will hand her over," Selene said, breath shaking, "to ensure you do not harm her."
The man considered. Then nodded.
"Very well."
Selene looked down at her babies again.
Two identical faces.
Two fates.
One calm.
One fire.
Her throat tightened until she could barely breathe.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears dropping onto their tiny cheeks. "I'm so sorry."
The calm baby blinked slowly, as if understanding.
The fiery baby's mouth opened in a furious cry.
Selene's heart cracked.
She kissed the calm baby's forehead.
Then the fiery baby's.
"Forgive me," she whispered again.
Then she turned to the midwife.
Her eyes were wide with desperation.
She whispered so softly only the midwife could hear:
"Save the fire."
The midwife froze.
Selene swallowed.
"The calm one will survive in the palace," Selene whispered. "But the fire… the fire will never survive here."
The midwife's eyes filled with tears.
Selene looked at the leader and lifted the calm baby slightly.
"This one," she said, voice steady though her soul was collapsing.
The leader stepped forward, reaching.
Selene held the baby one heartbeat longer.
"One condition," she said quickly.
The leader paused. "Speak."
"No harm to the other," Selene said.
The man's smile returned, thin and cold.
"We will ensure the other is handled."
Selene's stomach twisted at the word handled.
But she nodded, as if agreeing, because she couldn't let them see the truth in her eyes.
She handed the calm baby over.
The moment the baby left her chest, Selene felt as if someone had ripped out an organ.
The child gave a soft, confused whimper.
Selene nearly reached for her.
Then the leader turned away.
And Selene clutched the fiery baby tighter.
The men moved quickly.
One soldier wrapped the calm baby in a cloth embroidered with the royal crest.
Another pulled a scroll from his coat.
"By order of the Regent," the leader declared, "the Queen has delivered one healthy daughter, to be named and presented at dawn."
Selene's lips curled with hatred.
"A lie," she whispered.
"A necessary one," the leader replied.
Then he nodded to the guard by the door—the replacement.
The guard stepped forward, gaze shifting to the fiery baby still pressed against Selene's chest.
"Now," the leader said, voice smooth. "The other."
Selene's arms tightened automatically.
The midwife stumbled upright, hands shaking.
"Wait," Selene said sharply.
The room paused again.
Selene lifted her chin.
"This child," she said, voice steady with forced calm, "is weak."
The leader's eyes narrowed. "Weak?"
Selene nodded, swallowing her grief. "She may not survive the night."
A lie.
A dangerous lie.
But Selene delivered it like truth.
The leader studied the baby. The fiery baby screamed again, loud and furious.
Not weak.
Not dying.
The leader's expression hardened.
"She sounds strong," he said.
Selene's eyes flashed. "Strength is noise. Not life."
The leader hesitated.
A second man leaned toward him, whispering something.
The leader's eyes shifted briefly.
Then he nodded once.
"We will remove her," he said. "Quietly. To prevent… hysteria."
Selene felt the world tilt.
"No," she said too quickly.
The leader looked at her sharply.
Selene forced herself to slow her breath.
"I want…" She swallowed. "I want to hold her until she… passes."
The leader stared, weighing.
Finally, he gestured toward the midwife.
"The midwife will handle the body when the time comes," he said. "And she will swear silence."
Selene's eyes flicked to the midwife.
The midwife's face went pale.
But she nodded.
Because she understood.
The men left the room with the calm baby.
The door opened briefly, letting in a gust of cold rain air.
Then it shut again.
But Selene knew that door would open again soon.
For the fire.
For the erasure.
She had minutes.
Maybe less.
Selene turned to the midwife, voice urgent and trembling.
"Listen to me," Selene whispered. "They will return. When they do, you must give them something."
The midwife's breath hitched. "Your Majesty—"
"Silence," Selene hissed. "Do you have access to the servant tunnels?"
The midwife blinked. "Yes… but—"
"Good." Selene's eyes burned. "You will take this child out through them."
The midwife froze.
"That's treason," she whispered.
Selene's voice became ice.
"So is stealing a queen's child."
The midwife's eyes filled with tears.
"How?" she whispered.
Selene tore a piece of cloth from her own pillow—pure white linen, royal quality.
She wrapped it around the fiery baby quickly.
Then she pulled off her own necklace—an elegant chain bearing a small pendant shaped like a crescent moon.
She pressed it into the baby's tiny fist.
"This," Selene whispered, "is proof."
The baby clenched it, furious, as if refusing to let go.
Selene's chest tightened again.
She looked at the midwife.
"You will find a family," Selene whispered. "Not nobles. Not anyone connected to the palace. Someone poor. Someone forgotten. Someone who will not be questioned."
The midwife trembled.
"And if they find her?" she whispered.
Selene's gaze hardened.
"Then you run," she said. "And you keep running until you die."
The midwife swallowed a sob.
Selene grabbed her arm.
"Promise me."
"I—" The midwife's voice shook. "I promise."
Selene exhaled, breath broken.
She kissed the fiery baby's forehead, pressing her lips there too long, like she could seal love into skin.
"My little storm," Selene whispered. "My little fire."
The baby screamed again.
Selene smiled through tears.
"Yes," she breathed. "Scream. Always scream. Never let them silence you."
Footsteps.
Outside the door.
The midwife's eyes widened.
Selene's heart slammed against her ribs.
"They're back," the midwife whispered.
Selene pressed the baby into the midwife's arms with shaking hands.
"Go," she mouthed.
The midwife clutched the baby to her chest.
But she hesitated, eyes filled with fear and grief.
Selene's voice turned sharp.
"GO."
The midwife flinched and ran.
She slipped behind a curtain and into a narrow hidden passage only palace servants knew existed.
The curtain fell back into place.
The door opened.
The replacement guard entered first, followed by the leader.
His eyes swept the room immediately.
He saw the Queen sitting upright, her face damp with tears.
And he saw her arms—empty.
The leader's expression turned to stone.
"Where is she?" he asked quietly.
Selene swallowed.
"She…" Her voice cracked. "She died."
The leader stared at her.
Selene forced her face into grief.
"She was weak," she whispered. "You were right. She didn't survive."
The leader's eyes narrowed, suspicious.
"I want to see the body," he said.
Selene's stomach twisted.
"She's… being cleaned," Selene lied. "For—"
"For disposal?" the leader finished.
Selene's nails dug into her palms.
"Yes," she whispered.
The leader's gaze flicked to the midwife's side of the room.
Then back to Selene.
"The midwife," he said. "Where is she?"
Selene's throat tightened.
"She went to get cloth," Selene said quickly.
The leader stepped forward.
The replacement guard moved with him, eyes scanning.
Selene's heartbeat roared in her ears.
If they found the passage—
If they followed—
If they—
A soft cry echoed faintly from somewhere behind the wall.
The fiery baby's cry.
Not loud.
But there.
The leader froze.
His eyes sharpened.
Selene's blood turned to ice.
The leader lifted his hand slowly.
"Did you hear that?" he asked the guard.
The guard nodded.
Selene's breath stopped.
The leader's gaze moved to the curtain.
And his lips curved into a cold smile.
"Your Majesty," he said softly, almost kindly, "you should have learned by now… lies don't survive in palaces."
He stepped toward the curtain.
Selene's voice exploded.
"STOP!"
The leader paused and looked back at her.
Selene's eyes were wild.
"She is dead," Selene hissed. "You cannot—"
The leader's smile widened.
"I can do anything," he whispered.
Then he yanked the curtain aside.
The passage behind it gaped open—dark, narrow, and breathless.
Empty.
The midwife was gone.
But fresh footprints in dust revealed direction.
And the faintest echo of a baby's angry cry drifted like a ghost through stone.
The leader's eyes gleamed.
"Find them," he commanded.
The replacement guard ran into the passage.
Another man followed.
Selene's heart shattered.
No.
No no no—
She tried to get out of bed, but her body was too weak, too broken.
She fell back, breathless.
"Please," she whispered, tears pouring. "Please…"
The leader looked at her one last time.
And in his eyes, Selene saw something worse than cruelty.
She saw satisfaction.
"Your Majesty," he said softly, "you gave birth to twins in a palace ruled by ambition."
He bowed slightly.
"You should have known one of them would belong to someone else."
Then he turned and left.
Selene lay there, trembling, weeping silently, listening as men chased her stolen daughter through the palace bones.
The storm outside raged harder.
As if the heavens were furious too.
Somewhere below, through tunnels and darkness, the midwife ran with a screaming baby in her arms, her feet slipping on wet stone.
And in another wing of the palace, the calm twin slept in royal cloth, unaware she had been chosen to live as a lie.
Selene pressed her face into her hands.
"Live," she whispered into the darkness. "Both of you live."
But the palace didn't care about prayers.
It cared about power.
And tonight, power had stolen a child.