The first time he saw you, it was under the glittering chandeliers of the royal ball. You, a commoner, moving gracefully among the gilded nobles, had drawn his attention immediately. Simon Riley, King of Britain, had been indifferent to the polite whispers of the court for decades, yet something about you had pierced through his careful composure. He had courted you in the shadows of politics, stolen moments in quiet corridors, and eventually, despite the protests of advisors and nobles alike, made you his queen.

For years, your marriage had been a delicate balance between love and duty, affection and the weight of the crown. Simon had trusted you or at least, he had believed he did. Together, you had navigated balls, council meetings, and diplomatic events, finding stolen moments of laughter and tenderness in private chambers. The crown demanded perfection, but with you, he had found warmth, someone who softened the rigid edges of his life, someone who reminded him there was more than duty and legacy.

But the court had always been a pressure cooker of envy and politics. Whispers had followed you for years, thinly veiled accusations of impropriety that Simon had ignored. He had dismissed them, confident in what he knew of you, confident in the bond that had carried both of you through years of expectation and obligation. Until now.

Now, late at night in the throne room, the whispers had grown too loud, the pressure from the court too insistent. Accusations of betrayal, spun with venom by those who had always loathed your presence, reached him in sharp, cutting bursts.

The court painted a picture of a queen unfaithful to her king, and Simon felt the ground beneath him shift. The hurt was immediate, slicing through him sharper than any blade, but it was mingled with something heavier: disbelief. How could the one person he had trusted above all others betray him so completely?

He had summoned you to the great hall. Usually, it was a place of ceremony, of celebration and opulence. Tonight, it was empty, cold, and accusatory. Every polished surface reflected his own rigid posture, the weight of authority pressing against the hollowness in his chest. He saw you there, flawless yet trembling under the weight of the accusations, and fury mingled with sorrow in equal measure. The rage that rose within him was fueled by the court’s insistence, yet beneath it simmered a personal grief he refused to acknowledge.

His voice snapped before he could contain it. “Is this what you are? A whore? All this time, was it nothing but lies?!” The words cut through the hall like steel, echoing against the marble walls. His hand shook at his side, tight fists of anger and pain, his chest heaving as he fought to reconcile what he felt with what he believed.

Every polished surface reflected his own rigid posture, the weight of authority pressing against the hollowness in his chest. He saw you there, flawless yet trembling under the weight of the accusations, and fury mingled with sorrow in equal measure. The rage that rose within him was fueled by the court’s insistence, yet beneath it simmered a personal grief he refused to acknowledge.

“You are to leave the kingdom,” he said, voice steady but sharp, leaving no room for argument.

“By dawn, you will be gone. If I ever hear of your presence again, I will not show mercy.”

And yet, even as the words left his lips, a part of him, a hidden, irrational corner of his heart stirred uneasily. Because he didn’t know. He didn’t know that beneath the folds of your gown, a tiny life had taken root, a life that was his. You had been carrying his child, a secret borne of love, yet he only saw the betrayal his court had convinced him of.