The cell was cold.
Its stone walls were damp, and rot dripped from the ceiling like the breath of something long dead.
Nerine sat on the ground, her hands shackled in black iron, her eyes locked on every shifting shadow beyond the door.
They had taken her in silence…
No cries. No fight. No one to hear.
But it wasn't the captivity that broke her.
It was the whisper beneath her skin—
a soft pulse in her belly that returned… again… and again.
---
The nights passed.
And then came the signs:
Morning nausea.
Sudden dizziness.
An unbearable urge to weep for no reason at all.
On the fourth night, Nerine sat curled in the corner, her hands trembling as she laid them on her stomach.
She whispered:
> "No… it can't be.
But my body doesn't lie."
Between denial and fear, a memory bloomed—
those quiet nights before Vaan left for the southern front.
No promises. No declarations.
Just closeness. Breath. Fire without sound.
And now… something lived inside her.
A tear slid down her cheek.
> "I'm carrying Vaan's child…"
---
But she told no one.
Not because she feared Vaan.
But because of Laila.
The official queen.
Mother of the heir.
The heart of the Empire's golden throne.
This child… if known, could set fire to the crown from within.
It could turn queens into enemies. Sisters into assassins.
Nerine leaned back against the wall, whispering:
> "No one can know.
Not yet.
Vaan wouldn't survive it… and Laila… would destroy me."
---
At dawn, a soldier from Wei entered the cell.
He looked down on her, sneering.
> "You carry a piece of your Emperor… don't you?"
Her breath caught in her throat.
> "Who told you?!"
The soldier chuckled darkly.
> "We've been watching you for weeks—
your steps, your food, your sleepless nights…
Now we know."
He stepped closer, voice dripping venom:
> "And we'll use it.
Against you.
Against him.
Can you imagine?
Sending him your corpse… and his unborn child with it?"
---
Nerine screamed—her voice sharp and burning.
> "You'll never touch him!"
The soldier scoffed, then turned and left.
She was alone again.
But not empty.
She wrapped her arms around her stomach, trembling, whispering into the dark:
> "Hold on… for me. For him.
He's coming.
Vaan never leaves what's his."
And far beyond the cell walls…
The Emperor of the West was preparing the most brutal invasion the southern lands had ever known.
Not for conquest.
Not for empire.
But for a woman who carried both his heart—
and his heir.