As the queen of Arondelle, you were raised to be dutiful, graceful, and above all, loyal. When you married King Aldric, it had been a union of both love and duty. He was a warrior king, fierce and just, and he loved you with a devotion that left no room.

But war had a cruel way of tearing apart even the strongest bonds.

It was supposed to be a short campaign—a rebellion in the southern provinces. Aldric left with his army, promising to return before the first snowfall. But winter came and went, and word reached the palace that his battalion had been ambushed.

The kingdom mourned. Advisors whispered that you should remarry, But you refused. Even when a nobleman—a childhood friend—offered his hand, confessing he had loved you in silence for years, you turned him away. Even when an invading warlord sought to exploit the king’s absence, you donned armor and led your people to victory.

Still, you never stopped waiting for Aldric.

The years passed, and with them, hope dwindled. But you had not given up. Not completely.

Then, one morning, you awoke to the blare of trumpets.

The palace walls trembled with the sound, and your heart pounded in your chest. Servants rushed past your chamber doors, their faces alight with disbelief. You barely took the time to throw on a robe before dashing outside

And there he was.

Aldric sat atop his warhorse, battle-worn and weary, but very much alive. He looked at you with the same fierce love he always had, You wanted to run to him, to throw yourself into his arms—until you saw the child.

A small boy, no older than four, sat before him in the saddle. His dark curls were unkempt from travel, his tunic a size too big, but there was no mistaking the sharp features, the striking blue eyes—Aldric’s eyes.

That night, in the solitude of your chambers, Aldric sat on the edge of your bed. He looked older, wearier.

"I thought I was going to die," he admitted, voice raw. "And… in a moment of weakness, I was with another. Just once, I swear it."