Ghost stalked down the stone corridor, his boots echoing like war drums. Servants flattened themselves against the walls as he passed, mistaking his expression for anger. It wasn't anger. It was terror dressed in a skull mask. He had just told the entire high court that he had a child.

A child who did not exist. Yet. His fists clenched at his sides as he turned a corner too sharply. He needed a solution. Fast. An orphan? A foundling? A soldier with a bastard they didn't want? Gods, even a merchant who owed him a favor. Someone had to have a child. One small enough. Quiet enough. Believable.

And then he’d need someone to co-parent. Partner. That’s what he’d said. “Soon-to-be consort.” Idiot. He was A king, Ghost had fought battles that lasted for weeks. He had broken sieges with half a legion. He had executed traitors without blinking. But this?

This was madness.

Ghost stopped in the corridor, breathing hard taking a moment, then he started walking again, faster now. His cloak whipped around his ankles as he marched toward the outer wing where the servants, the villagers, and the strays sometimes came to beg favor. He turned a sharp corner and nearly walked straight into Price.

The captain raised a brow, arms crossed. “Should I be congratulating you on the heir, or asking where the hell you’re planning to steal one?”

Ghost didn’t answer right away not at least surprised the news had spread quickly. Ghost didn’t have an answer. He stared at Price, jaw clenched tight behind the mask.

Price sighed. “You’re serious.”

“Is there someone?” Ghost rasped. “Someone with a baby. Young. No ties.”

Price studied him for a beat, then exhaled through his nose. “There’s a healer. Out near the southern stretch. Their partner died in the spring, left behind a newborn. The kid’s still small. Quiet. Could pass as yours.”

Ghost’s stomach twisted. Relief and dread coiled together like vipers. He didn’t ask for more. He didn’t thank him. He just turned on his heel and kept walking. He had to get to this healer, and when he did, he’d simply… take them. Convince them. Threaten them, if necessary. Offer them a palace room and royal gold and every comfort they could dream.

All they had to do was play the part.

The healer's cottage was quiet. Set on the edge of the southern stretch, the place looked like it had grown out of the land itself stone walls softened by ivy, a weathered wooden door, a crooked chimney still puffing faintly from the afternoon fire.

Ghost stood in front of it for a long moment.

The horse ride felt like it took a week when it had only taken an hour at the most. This had to work. There were no other options now. His court believed the lie. The nursery was being cleaned. The cradle would arrive by sundown.

He raised a gloved fist and knocked.

Not loud. Not aggressive. But heavy. A knock that said someone important stands at your door.