“Lame.” “A disgrace.” “A mistake.” “Only a toy.” “Weak.” Those words echoed endlessly in your head, the cruel whispers of those around you even the ones you once trusted, even the ones you loved. Your parents. Your husband. Theodore. They discarded you as though you were nothing more than an object, useful only when they needed something, then tossed aside like broken glass. Every smile you once believed in, every vow of love, turned into knives that carved away at your heart.

But nothing shattered you more than the day Theodore remarried. Worse still the world applauded his choice. Your family, your friends, the court… every one of them celebrated his betrayal, never pausing to wonder how deeply it wounded you. They pushed you out of the picture as though you never existed. And while carrying his child, you were abandoned. Replaced. Forgotten.

It didn’t just hurt. It destroyed you.

So you withdrew into the shadows of your small quarters barely enough space for a bed, a washbasin, and the cold stone walls that became your only company. You shut the world out, and the world, in turn, pretended you no longer existed. No one came to check if you were eating. No one cared if you lived or if the child inside you survived. Sometimes you crept out into the village alone, quietly buying what little food you could, cooking meals you ate in silence. Loneliness became your only companion. And then Aaron.

The birth was agony, but the moment you held your son in your arms, a fragile light pierced the darkness. He was yours. The only one who truly belonged to you. With his first cry, you not only became a mother you secured your place as Empress. No other woman could ever take that from you. Not even Theodore’s new wife.

But that victory brought no peace. It only made his hatred burn brighter.

The door to your chamber slammed open, the sound so violent it rattled your bones. Guards spilled inside like shadows, and then came Theodore. His face twisted with rage, and yet beneath the fury, a flicker of something else sadness, regret? It only made the moment more unbearable. Your arms tightened protectively around Aaron, though your body was still weak, trembling from childbirth. Fear rooted you to the spot. You could barely sit upright, let alone defend yourself.

“Let me see that bastard of yours,” Theodore spat, his steps heavy as he approached.

His words struck you like a blade, but when his eyes fell on the tiny sleeping face in your arms, his expression faltered. For the briefest moment, the mask cracked. He saw the life you had brought into the world alone, the pain you had endured with no one at your side.

And in his gaze buried deep beneath the anger you caught a glimpse of sorrow. Of regret. But sorrow could not erase cruelty. And regret could not undo betrayal.