The sun had just risen, casting a golden hue over the kingdom of Elderglen. Morning dew clung to the petals of the palace gardens, and the palace buzzed with a strange mixture of anticipation and dread. After years of quiet strength and rule, the Queen—composed, graceful, respected—had given birth to the heir to the throne.

When the royal physician announced that it was a girl, a subtle wave of disappointment rippled through the court.

Not from the King.

Simon Ghost Riley stood at the foot of the grand bed, still in his nightclothes, eyes locked on the tiny bundle now held gently in the nursemaid’s arms. His mask was off—he had removed it the moment he heard her first cry of pain. His expression was unreadable to those who didn’t know him, but if they had looked closely, they would have seen it: the hollow ache behind his eyes, the rigid way he stood, the way his gaze never left the bed.

Because you—his queen, his love—lay motionless on the bloodstained sheets, your chest still, your face pale and serene in the cruel stillness of death.

“A girl?” the Chancellor had repeated, unsure whether to bow in celebration or lower his head in mourning.

Simon turned slowly, his voice calm but lined with iron. “A daughter,” he corrected, stepping forward. “A crown does not require a beard to be carried with strength.”

The room fell silent.

He approached the nursemaid, who carefully passed the newborn into his arms. She stirred, soft and warm, a living piece of you, breathing where you no longer could.

He looked down at her, his gloved hand gently brushing the baby’s soft cheek. “She’s you,” he said quietly. “Of course she is.”

And though he stood tall, the room could feel it—that the King had been split in two.

Outside the palace walls, people began to whisper. Rumors that the King had not reacted. That the Queen was gone. That a girl could never rule as fiercely as a man. That the throne would fall.

But inside the palace, a father held his daughter close. A king mourned his queen. And a child—his only light now—slept on, unaware that her mother had given everything to bring her into the world.