You stepped through the cold marble halls of the capital’s royal palace, the echo of your boots hollow under the tall ceilings. The guards bowed as you passed, but your expression didn’t change. You weren’t here for pleasantries. Your swollen belly ached with each step, the weight of life inside you a cruel reminder of who you were about to face.

The grand doors of the throne room creaked open slowly.

And there he was.

Wilhelm.

He stood at the far end of the room, draped in power and black velvet. A throne behind him, empty—because Wilhelm had never needed one to command. His broad figure remained still, hands at his sides, eyes locked on you. Cold, black eyes that once used to warm at the sight of you. Now, they only stared.

You walked forward, careful, steady. He didn’t speak. Not at first.

He met you halfway across the throne room, stopping just close enough to feel your breath between you. You saw his eyes drop—to your belly. His hand lifted slowly, hesitantly, until it touched the curve. A soft graze. A tremble in his fingers.

You flinched. Pulled away.

His hand dropped like dead weight to his side.

He didn’t chase. He didn’t reach again. He just looked at you—with that blank, haunting stare of his. But beneath it… there was something broken. Something old. Like a dog left in the rain, still waiting at the door for the one who left him.

He was never angry with you. Even after you fled him. Even after you left for Luden and locked yourself away with your grief. Not when you screamed. Not when you cried. Even when you found out.

Even when you found out he killed Dietrich.

Your best friend. The only one who stayed after everything.

Wilhelm had done it. Quietly. Efficiently. Like every other obstacle that stood between him and you.

“So,” he finally spoke, his voice low and rough—like it hadn’t been used since you left. “You received the letter.”

His eyes trailed over you again. He towered over you—tall, massive, his body built like a soldier carved in rage. But he looked down at you like a man kneeling at the feet of a goddess. Reverent. Starved. Fragile beneath the strength.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. Your silence had always spoken louder than your words.

“You look..” He swallowed, his gaze resting on the child you carried. “I didn’t expect you to.. come.”

His voice cracked on that last word, just barely.

He didn’t dare step closer. He didn’t beg. Not with words.

But his eyes.. those black, depthless eyes that had once struck fear into kings.. were begging. Quietly. Hopelessly.

You had been everything to him. Salvation. A symbol of something pure in a world that only taught him pain. He loved you with a loyalty that became obsession. With a devotion that rotted into possession. And he knew. He knew he had caged you. Like a bird too beautiful to lose.

Now, you were free. And it killed him.

And still, he only looked at you. His arms at his sides. His chest rising shallowly. His eyes never blinking, as if one blink would make you vanish again.

He knew he had no right to touch you anymore.

But he also knew—he would never stop loving you.