Chapter 6
Edward began staying the night in my chambers.
On the first night, he'd barely removed his outer robe when hurried footsteps echoed from outside.
"Your Majesty!" a servant's voice cried out in the corridor. "Lady Isabelle is in severe stomach pain. Please come quickly."
I lay in bed, listening to the frantic rustling of his clothes as he prepared to leave.
"Well, I—" Edward started.
"You should go," I said calmly, as if it were nothing unusual. "Isabelle's condition is more urgent."
He was silent for a moment. I could feel his eyes on me.
"Alright," he finally said.
He left, his footsteps fading into the night. Soon, the place was eerily still, so quiet that I could hear the crackle of the candles.
I didn't sleep. I lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of the night watch's footsteps outside, each passing beat growing more annoying.
Then, similar things happened in the following nights. Each time Edward had planned to stay, something always occurred with Isabelle.
Sometimes, it was a headache or a fever. Other times, it was a nightmare. On some nights, she cried so much that she could barely breathe.
Every time, Edward went. He dressed hurriedly and rushed out, never pausing long enough to offer an apology.
Once, he reached the door and turned back. "Charlotte, I—"
"There's no need to explain," I cut him off. "Isabelle needs you."
He stood outside the screen, silent for a long time.
"I'm sorry," he murmured in a low voice. "Isabelle... she doesn't want this. I don't want her to suffer."
"I understand," I replied.
He left again, his footsteps heavier than before.
Amy peered out from the next room, her eyes red from crying. "Your Majesty, how can His Majesty do this? He clearly promised you, yet every time—"
"Amy," I cut her off, "don't speak any further."
"But Your Majesty—"
"I said, do not say another word."
Amy fell silent, her tears falling one by one.
I turned away from her and faced the wall.
Edward was right. He didn't want to upset Isabelle.
But he never once considered how I felt. No, I wouldn't feel anything anymore.
I had sworn it before that my heart wouldn't ache again.
So why could I not sleep?
*****
A year and two months after I entered the palace, word arrived from the northern frontier—a great victory.
Grant's Legion had crushed the Niedia Kingdom, felling three thousand enemies and capturing over ten thousand.
The remnants of their forces had fled into the desert, and for now, the border was secure.
Edward was overjoyed. He distributed rewards across the army and hosted a grand banquet in the palace for the victorious soldiers.
As Queen, I was, of course, expected to attend.
The banquet was held in the Great Hall, brilliantly illuminated, the air filled with the harmonious strains of strings and flutes.
The generals were seated together in their armor on one side, while the civil officials gathered on the other.
Glasses clinked, laughter rang out, and the hall was alive with celebration.
I sat beside Edward, dressed in my formal robes, the crown resting atop my head.
The beads draped from it swayed before my eyes, irritatingly distracting.
My gaze swept over the line of generals.
William sat at the front. He had lost much weight, his skin bronzed, cheekbones sharper, jaw more defined.
A fresh scar ran from the edge of his left brow to his temple, faintly pink and not fully healed.
Still, he sat upright, as straight and unyielding as a drawn sword.
Even amidst the banquet, his posture carried the vigilance of the battlefield—alert, ready to rise and draw his blade at a moment's notice.
Edward raised his cup. "General Grant, you've worked tirelessly. This victory owes much to you."
William stood and returned the toast, his movements precise and commanding.
"I wouldn't dare claim the credit, Your Majesty," he said. "It was your strategy and the courage of the men that made this triumph possible."
He drained his cup in one go. His eyes brushed past me for a moment, as though nothing had occurred.
Yet in that instant, I saw it all: longing, heartache, guilt, and something I couldn't name—something like fire, yet like water.
I lowered my eyes, lifted my cup, and sipped the wine. It burned sharply down my throat, leaving a sting behind.
After the banquet, Edward was drawn into conversation with the officials.
I excused myself to change and left the Great Hall with Amy.
The night air was cool, the breeze brushing against my face with refreshing ease. I inhaled deeply, attempting to expel the weight pressing on my chest.
"Your Majesty, that way leads to the Royal Garden," Amy reminded me.
"I know. Let's walk."
The Royal Garden lay silent. Moonlight flowed over the stone paths like liquid silver, casting a soft, shimmering glow.
Crabapple trees were in full bloom, branches dense with pink and white blossoms. Not a leaf was in sight beneath the profusion of petals.
The wind stirred, and petals drifted down, settling lightly on my shoulders.
I stood beneath a crabapple tree, gazing up at the profusion of blossoms, and memories of my previous life came unbidden.
My courtyard had been similarly adorned with crabapple trees.
Every spring, I would stand beneath them alone, from dawn till dusk, no one ever appearing.
The blossoms would bloom and fall year after year, yet nothing ever changed.
A voice snapped me out of it. "Charlotte."
It was low, rough, and heavy with fatigue from the journey.
I didn't turn. I knew who it was.
"General Grant," I said, "you should address me as 'Your Majesty' now."
He said nothing. His steps drew closer, stopping only three paces behind me.
"Charlotte," he called again, quieter this time. "Will you turn and look at me?"
I took a deep breath and faced him.
Under the moonlight, he stood in the shadows beneath the crabapple blossoms.
His armor gleamed faintly silver, yet his eyes burned with the heat of the northern frontier.
The scar on his face was stark under the moon's glow, winding like a river across his features.
"You've lost weight," I said, almost immediately regretting it. I shouldn't speak so freely, not as Queen.
"There was little to eat up north," he answered.
"And your scar? Does it still trouble you?"
"It no longer pains me."
We fell silent, crabapple petals drifting down in the night, settling on his shoulders and in my hair.
"Did you receive my letters?" he asked suddenly.
"I did."
"Then why didn't you reply?"
I looked at him, uncertain how to answer for a second.
"I'm the queen. I can't privately correspond with someone outside the palace," I said.
His gaze faltered, like a lantern flickering in the wind, almost snuffed out.
"Someone outside?" he echoed, his voice carrying something I couldn't quite place.
"You're His Majesty's subject, and mine as well," I replied, my voice calm. "There are boundaries between ruler and subject. You should understand that."
He stepped closer, and I could smell the faint, clean scent of soap and leather on him, mingled with the crisp air from the northern marches.
"Charlotte, I know you remember," he whispered, his voice low enough for only the two of us to hear.
"I remember everything from our previous life," he said quietly.
My heart skipped a beat.
"What are you talking about?"
"You remember," he said, his gaze intense, like he was trying to see straight into my soul. "The autumn hunt, Lady Isabelle, and that night when the fire broke out. You remember everything."