Chapter 91

At that very moment, Noyer, astute to the duke’s strategic maneuvering, deftly manipulated the abacus in his head.

“Nevertheless, the Rezette harbors no inclination towards that child. He scorns not only the Light Dragon but the very essence of dragonkind, dismissing it as an unworthy progeny of his lineage,” Noyer remarked with a shrewd understanding.

In such a scenario, the plausible course of action would be to entrust the princess to Rezette and delegate the care of the child to Irrien, thus pacifying the duke’s ire. Whether the offspring inherits Kyrstan’s fortress or finds a place under Irrien’s tutelage is of marginal consequence to Noyer, who seeks a dragon under his sway, unbound by territorial confines.

Should the Kyrstan lineage prove disappointing, another can always be procured, he pondered, contemplating the prospect of not being confined to a solitary heir. Therefore, the prudent course of action at present would be to ascertain the well-being of the princess’s offspring and gain insights into her condition.

“Firstly, Duke, permit me to inquire about the princess’s well-being. Has Genovia conveyed any information regarding her condition?” Noyer diplomatically queried.

“There is no cause for concern; I assure His Majesty that all is well,” responded the Duke confidently, citing Genovia’s assurance that the princess’s desires would soon be fulfilled.

While relying on the patience of awaiting fruition, Noyer acknowledged the need for more substantial assurance. “I understand your expectations. I shall earnestly attempt to sway my brother. I implore you to refrain from disrespectful remarks and take your leave.”

Resolved to dispatch another envoy to Rotiara in the near future, Noyer concluded his deliberations.

***

Two months had slipped away since the Grand Duke and his wife returned from their joint inspection of the realm. Now, the latter half of the day belonged to the fading warmth of summer, while the initial whispers of autumn claimed the rest.

At a casual glance, life within the confines of Rotiara Castle appeared undisturbed. The princess, a fixture on the top floor, refused to grace the lower levels even once a week.

Conversely, the Grand Duke, once engrossed in his pursuits on the second floor amid studies and military drills, now directed the majority of his affairs from the uppermost floor. Naturally, curious eyes trailed the couple’s every move.

“It seems His Highness is still ensconced upstairs, doesn’t it?” remarked one observer.

“Yes, according to the maids, he spent the entirety of summer cloistered in the bedroom, much like Her Highness. Once within, there’s no inkling of him emerging. Perhaps Lady Petisson should take it upon herself to knock on the door?” speculated another.

“Sounds leak through sometimes. Just the muffled echoes are enough to turn one’s face crimson,” added a third voice.

“Even His Highness, no matter the princess’s beauty, should exercise caution. It’s been over six months since she ascended to the throne. What if complications arise with the princess or the child?” expressed concern from yet another.

“But, you know, there’s a rumor. I’ve heard…” The unspoken truths, despite the diligent supervision of the higher-ups over the servants’ tongues, had a way of finding liberation.

Lisa ascended to the uppermost floor to tend to her cleaning duties, catching sight of Her Highness, the princess. However, the regal aura one would expect from a reigning monarch seemed conspicuously absent.

“I heard she had a miscarriage already… That’s why His Highness is so on edge. The doctor is summoned to the top floor daily. Isn’t it inherently difficult for a human to bear the seed of a dragon?” queried one voice in the shadows.

“But, if she indeed lost the child, wouldn’t it be a significant event that everyone knew about? It doesn’t add up that none of us are aware. Something feels off,” pondered another.

“What are you insinuating?” asked a third, prompting a subtle hesitation in the air.

“No one in Rotiara has witnessed Her Highness in the role of a reigning queen. Perhaps…” The dubious notion stealthily spread among the servants, and the sound of someone swallowing nervously echoed unusually loud.

“Maybe the child never existed in the first place…?” 

“…Gods above. This is preposterous. If Alfred or Lady Petisson caught wind of such words, heads would undoubtedly roll…!” exclaimed another voice.

“Yes, our master brought Her Highness to Rotiara under the pretext of her pregnancy. The Emperor must have been informed. What you just proposed implies that our master deceived the Emperor.”

A heavy silence enveloped the surroundings. If the speculative assumption held any truth, those privy to the information couldn’t fathom the dire consequences.

‘Deception of the master with false pretenses, shielding the heir of the enemy’s throne.’ It was an act that resonated with rebellion, defiance, and even treason.

“…Let’s stop this topic. We haven’t discussed anything.”

“Y-Yes, let’s do that.”

The air thickened with tension, prompting the servants to disperse hastily, each retreating to their assigned duties.

Ivetsa, who had lingered in the shadows behind the stairs, finally released a protracted sigh. 

With every step the princess took along the corridor, a collective gaze clung to her flat abdomen. The weight of those curious, intrigued, perplexed, and suspicious eyes must have been both humiliating and daunting.

Despite the concerted efforts of Lady Petisson, Alfredo, and other castle stewards, the princess keenly sensed the undercurrent of suspicion coursing through the entire stronghold. The fear of exposure, vulnerability laid bare for all to see, struck at the core of her primal fears.

In response, she chose deliberate seclusion within the confines of her chambers, seeking solace in the Grand Duke’s embrace to momentarily escape the overwhelming anxiety that unexpectedly surged. Even if he implored her to resist, the princess staunchly shook her head.

Poor lady. Yet, it wasn’t as if Elizabeth remained passive in the face of adversity.

Ivetsa slipped away from the castle, making her way towards the outdoor laundry area with a quiet resolve. Lately, her keen attention had been drawn to a dove, its gentle cooing echoing by the stream—a creature with pristine white feathers.

“You’ve made it safely again today. Come closer.” Ivetsa gently placed the dove in a basket, carefully concealing it beneath a cloth. Once her duties were complete, she rose from her task and retraced her steps back to the castle, her gait betraying an air of nonchalance.

It was now early September, the threshold of the harvest festival season drawing nearer with each passing day.

***

In the quiet confines of the examination room, the elderly physician, Freya, presented the results with a deliberate and caring demeanor. “There are no significant health issues, and your nutritional status is satisfactory,” she assured. Her gaze, however, held a weight as she continued, “Nevertheless, the irregularities in your menstrual cycle and persistent faintness, coupled with apparent physical weakness, suggest that the foundation for the baby’s presence is not yet robust.”

Every other day, Freya ascended to the uppermost floor to scrutinize the princess. With meticulous precision, she gathered blood samples at regular intervals, dedicating most of her week to the detailed analysis of the results. Yet, each visit to the royal chamber brought forth disheartening news, a trend that persisted.

In delivering the unwelcome report of another absence of pregnancy signs, Freya sought to provide some solace by offering an explanation. “The condition of the baby’s dwelling… In the case of Her Highness the princess, it appears to stem from her inherently delicate constitution. Even with medication, achieving significant improvements may prove challenging. Our focus must remain on management and prevention to avert any potential deterioration.”

The concerned inquiry from the couple prompted Freya to address broader concerns about the princess’s well-being. “As long as other ailments don’t intersect, there shouldn’t be any major worries about her life being in immediate jeopardy.” Yet, an unspoken reality lingered in the air – a different fate awaited if the princess were to ascend the throne.

According to Freya’s discerning diagnosis, the princess’s constitution inherently resisted the prospects of pregnancy, regardless of the location or method of examination. Despite notable improvements in her health from months past, she remained significantly below the normal range, casting shadows on the prospect of a thriving royal legacy.

Freya harbored a quiet concern for the princess, particularly in light of the Grand Duke’s relentless visits. A mere month ago, the princess had succumbed to a fierce fever and flu, confining herself to inactivity for an entire ten days. In this context, the slim chances of pregnancy held an unexpected silver lining, acting as a protective buffer for the princess’s fragile health. Were it otherwise, Freya might have found herself advocating for contraception right in the Duke’s imposing presence.

Yet, openly broaching such delicate subjects in his company was an uncharted territory.

“The likelihood remains low?” inquired Rezette.

“That appears to be the case, but…” Freya paused, grappling with her words. Since the onset of summer, the Duke’s interest in his wife’s potential pregnancy had intensified. Uncharacteristically persistent, he pressed the matter more fervently than ever before.

Carefully selecting her words, Freya aimed to offer solace that would appease the duke. “It’s only been a few months since you resumed your intimate relationship. There’s no need to worry so soon.”

“…I see.” However, the duke’s discontent lingered palpably, refusing to be dispelled by reassurances.

Rezette, releasing a gentle exhale, tenderly pressed his lips to his wife’s temple. Her fingers absentmindedly played with the delicate porcelain of her teacup as she grappled with the weight of her struggles.

“What more can I do to ensure your well-being, Elise?”

“I am doing my best, but it’s not going well. I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

“I didn’t ask for an apology.”

“Then?”

“I am concerned because you are worried.”

Elise offered a slight nod. A fleeting sense of relief passed through the depths of her beautiful golden eyes, shielded beneath quietly lowered eyelids. Across the table, only Freya caught sight of that momentary emotion.

“Above all, it is paramount for Her Highness the princess to find peace of mind. Excessive mental fatigue is nothing short of poison on Her Highness’s constitution.”

In Freya’s discerning gaze, it appeared that the princess had, during the passing summer, lost her fervor for the prospect of pregnancy.