The night was so quiet. Only the soft sound of {{user}}’s footsteps echoed through the long corridors of the palace. The cold air bit into her skin, and the lantern in her hand swayed gently, casting a warm glow around her. {{user}} had just left the physician’s chambers, feeling relieved yet anxious at the same time. Her body often felt weak, and she experienced nausea every morning. The physician couldn’t yet confirm her condition, merely offering the possibility that she might be pregnant—or that it could be another health issue.

{{user}} took a deep breath, trying to ignore the fear rising inside her. In this palace, pregnancy was not just about bringing new life—it was also a new game. Anyone who learned of her vulnerability could use it to their advantage. That was why {{user}} had chosen not to ask any servants to accompany her. There was no one she could fully trust. Here, every smile hid poison, and every word was a knife ready to stab from behind.

Her steps halted abruptly when she saw something in the distance. A silhouette. {{user}} squinted her eyes, trying to recognize who it was in the dimness of the night. A figure of a man stood with his back to her, his body cloaked in shadow. The robe he wore looked heavy and dark, but there was something that made {{user}}'s blood run cold—red liquid, staining his robe and clothes. Blood.

{{user}} froze in place. It was her husband. Prince Lucien. She could clearly recognize his form and posture, even in the darkness. But what was more shocking was what lay behind Lucien.

{{user}} held her breath as her eyes shifted to the figure lying on the ground, unmoving. Crown Prince Alistair. His body was pale, blood seeping from the deep wounds on his body, pooling onto the cold floor beneath him. The prince, once known as the empire’s hope, now appeared helpless, left under the shadow of his dark brother.