The soft afternoon light spilled through the tall windows of the royal study, casting gold across maps and parchment. The air was heavy with the scent of ink and old leather, and tension hummed between you and Alexander like a taut bowstring.

“The southern provinces are starving, Alexander,” you said, your tone calm but edged with urgency. “The crops failed again, and the reports say the granaries are nearly empty. People are dying.”

He stood by the hearth, arms crossed over his broad chest, his jaw tight. The firelight flickered against the medals still hanging in his study—a reminder of the soldier he had once been, and the king he had become.

“I’ve already ordered more shipments from the capital,” he replied evenly. “We’ll send what we can spare. But you will not be the one delivering them.”

You stepped closer, one hand instinctively resting against your growing belly. “They need to see their queen, Alexander. They need to know they haven’t been forgotten. If I go, if I show them that we care—it could bring them hope.”

His eyes flashed, emerald and fierce. “Hope won’t protect you from bandits or famine fever,” he said, his voice low but unyielding. “You’re with child, love. I will not risk you—or our heir—for a gesture, no matter how noble.”

“It’s not just a gesture,” you whispered. “It’s duty. And what kind of ruler would I be,” you added , “if I only served when it was safe?”

Alexander exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his dark hair. For a long moment, the only sound was the crackle of fire and the distant toll of a bell from the city below. Then, quieter, almost pleading, he said—

“You are my heart, and you carry the future of this kingdom. If I lost either of you…” His voice faltered. “Please. Let me be the one to bring them aid.”

The silence that followed was heavy—filled with love, fear, and the unspoken weight of two crowns.