The scent of warm cinnamon and sugar filled the royal kitchen, making the air feel sweeter than it had in days. My fingers were covered in flour, and for once, I almost smiled. Mrs. Kerlin was humming softly beside me, kneading the dough like it was second nature, graceful even in something as simple as baking.
"You're doing well," she said without looking up, her tone light and motherly.
I nodded, brushing flour off my cheek with the back of my hand. "I never expected to be here, in a palace kitchen, baking with the Queen."
She laughed softly. "And I never expected to have a daughter-in-law as bold as you. Life's strange like that."
I wasn't sure what to say. So I just focused on the dough.
That was when the heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway, growing louder. My heart twisted before I even saw him.
Darius.
He stepped into the kitchen like he owned not just the palace but the entire earth beneath it. His black button-down was half undone, sleeves rolled up, and his eyes scanned the space casually—until they landed on his mother.
"Hey, mum," he said, voice low and smooth. Then… silence.
No acknowledgment. No glance. Not even a flicker of awareness in my direction.
As if I didn't exist.
It stung. More than I cared to admit.
But I swallowed it down, straightened my back, and pressed my lips into a thin line. If he wanted to act like I was invisible, then fine. Let him.
I would not let him see how deeply that silence cut me.
Mrs. Kerlin greeted him with a smile and a peck on the cheek. "Ivanna and I were baking. You should try a cookie later."
He raised an eyebrow, then tilted his head slightly toward the door. "I'm heading upstairs. I need to change."
"Perfect." Kerlin turned to me, her voice dropping to a low whisper only I could hear. "Go with him. Play your role, Ivanna. You don't have to love him… but don't give up on your power here."
I hesitated.
"I don't—"
"I'm not asking you to beg," she said, her voice firmer now. "Just... don't shrink. Remember who you are."
And with that, she gently nudged me toward the door.
I wiped my hands on a cloth, trying to calm my racing heart. My feet felt like they were moving without me as I followed him up the stairs. One step at a time. One breath at a time.
When I reached the bedroom, the door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open.
And there he was.
His back was to me, muscles shifting beneath his skin as he peeled off his shirt and tossed it lazily on the bed. My breath hitched—just a little.
God, he was frustrating. But he was also beautiful in that cruel, effortless way. Everything about him screamed danger, control, power. He didn't even have to try.
He turned halfway, glancing over his shoulder at me with the most unreadable expression. "Something you need?"
I blinked, quickly schooling my face into neutrality. "Your mother told me to come."
He raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. Instead, he reached for a clean shirt.
I stood there awkwardly, unsure what I was supposed to do. Was I meant to ask him how his day went? Pretend this was a real marriage?
"I'm not here to beg for your attention," I said, crossing my arms.
"Good," he muttered, pulling the new shirt over his head. "I'm not offering any."
His words stung, but I clenched my fists and refused to let my face falter.
He turned to face me completely now, eyes cold. "If you're going to hover, at least make yourself useful."
I opened my mouth, ready to lash back—but something stopped me.
Mrs. Kerlin's voice echoed in my head. Don't shrink.
So instead of yelling, I smiled. "Sure. Maybe I'll clean the room. I'm already so good at cleaning up your messes."
And with that, I turned my back on him, grabbed a pillow off the floor, and started fixing the bed like I didn't care that my insides were boiling.
He didn't say another word. And neither did I.
But I knew one thing—this silent war? It was just getting started.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands clutched tightly together on my lap. My chest was heavy, every breath a struggle to keep down the storm swirling inside me. I hadn't slept a wink, and I doubted I ever would. Not after today. Not after what I'd found out.
Pregnant.
I was pregnant.
The word kept spinning around my mind, crashing into every corner, refusing to be still.
I hadn't told him.
Not yet.
Not because I was scared—well, maybe a little—but because I genuinely didn't know how he'd react. Darius wasn't the kind of man you could predict. One minute, he was cold and distant. The next, he was cruel. I'd never met a more infuriating man in my entire life.
But whether I liked it or not, he was the father of this child. And he deserved to know… didn't he?
I stood slowly, willing my legs to move even though they felt like they were made of lead. Every step toward the living room was a step into the unknown, and I hated that.
He was sitting there, lounging on the couch like he owned the air around him. His shirt hung open at the top, chest slightly exposed, hair messier than usual. I hated that he looked good even now. Hated it because it reminded me of things I didn't want to remember.
I cleared my throat. "Darius."
Nothing. Not even a glance.
"Darius," I said again, sharper this time.
He sighed and flipped a page in the book he was clearly not reading. "I thought you weren't the type to beg for my attention."
"I'm not."
"Could've fooled me."
God. I wanted to slap him.
"I need to talk to you. This is serious."
That got his attention. His eyes flicked up to meet mine, filled with that same bored irritation he always wore around me. "Let me guess. You don't like how I ignore you? How I breathe? You don't like the palace, the bed, the maids? Just add it to the list."
"Darius," I warned, voice tight. "This isn't about that."
"Oh really?" He closed the book, clearly gearing up for another sarcastic jab. "Then go on. What now?"
"You treat me like I don't matter," I snapped. "Like I'm a piece of dirt beneath your boots. You think I wanted this marriage? You think I wanted you?"
"Then leave."
"I can't!"
He raised a brow, the corner of his lip twitching. "Why? Are you finally getting used to the luxury?"
"No," I hissed, stepping closer. My voice cracked. "Because I'm pregnant."
Silence.
I watched his entire body go still. The book dropped from his hand, thudding softly against the floor. His gaze lowered instinctively to my stomach, then lifted back up to my face.
He didn't speak.
He didn't breathe.
He just looked—and for once, he didn't seem like Darius, the cold-hearted prince. He looked… shaken.
"Say something," I whisper
ed, my hands trembling by my sides.
Nothing.
Stillness.
Shock.
And in that moment, I realized something terrifying—I wasn't ready either.