She awaited each new visit with impatience. Every time the door opened, her heart leapt with joy—only for disappointment to follow, more often than not. Yet she clung to hope.

  Since the beginning of her recovery, she had regained some sense of time. Owen had been coming regularly for several weeks now, often enough for her to see just how quickly he was growing.

  One day, she heard sounds in the corridor. Footsteps, shouting, then crying. And finally, a silence so heavy it rang in her ears.

  After long minutes spent listening, not daring to move, the door at last opened.

  The Emperor entered, dragging his son by the arm—already as tall as a child of three. The girl, seated on her bed and watching him stride toward her with such determination, felt her heart pound with terror.

  “I see thou art well recovered. Hast thou given thy maidservant her due thanks? I fear it may already be too late for her.”

  With a gasp, the girl brought her hands to her face. Her heart tightened at the thought of what fate might have befallen her handmaiden, who had done nothing but show a spark of compassion by bringing her child to her.

  “Mine own servants know better than any the price of betraying me. Thou shouldst know this as well, henceforth.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He turned and made to leave, but a small hand held him back.

  “Father! Please, let me see her,” Owen cried in his high-pitched voice.

  Without granting the mother of his child so much as a glance, he replied:

  “Nay. Thou needst her no longer. It is time to grow, my son.”

  He seized the boy with both hands and left the room, despite the child’s cries of protest. The slam of the door shook the very walls.

  Shaken, the girl who had witnessed the scene trembled faintly. She realized, in acute pain, that she might once again lose all chance of seeing her beloved son. It felt as though she had been dragged back into the misery of months past.

  Her breathing grew unsteady—but this time, not a single tear fell.

  ???

  From that day on, no visit ever broke her solitude, save for the new handmaiden who came to tend to her. The woman did not utter a single word, nor did she ever meet her gaze. She sought no contact whatsoever, the fate of her predecessor weighing heavily on her mind.

  Time resumed its unforgiving course, the captive once more condemned to loneliness. But this time, she did not yield. She chose to lift her head and face whatever future awaited her.

  Deep within, she knew her son would return sooner or later. She had to remain strong—to protect him.

  Yet the months passed without the slightest word of him—nor of the Emperor.