Chapter Text
The heavy oak doors of the palace creaked open as Remelle entered the grand hall, her presence like a sharp blade cutting through the otherwise quiet evening. Her honeyed hair cascaded in perfect waves down her back, and the delicate Fae features on her face made her appear more like a painting than a living, breathing woman. Aelin, standing near the throne, watched her approach with a cold detachment, though beneath the surface, her blood simmered.
Rowan stood beside Aelin, his posture straight, his face unreadable. His silence had been unnerving ever since Remelle’s arrival earlier that day, and Aelin hated how his eyes lingered on the woman for just a moment too long.
Remelle. An old acquaintance from his past—Fae royalty, with the arrogance to match it.
She had arrived under the pretence of visiting Terrasen’s court to offer political counsel, but Aelin could sense there was more to it. There was always more when it came to Fae like her. She’d been around the courts long enough to recognize the thinly veiled motives beneath carefully crafted pleasantries. Remelle’s smile was too wide, too perfect. Her eyes flickered towards Rowan more often than necessary, lingering just a beat too long.
Aelin clenched her fists, the familiar flicker of heat dancing in her veins as her temper simmered. She forced her expression to remain neutral, but every word that left Remelle’s lips grated at her patience. The woman was too close to Rowan, speaking to him as though Aelin wasn’t standing right there, as if their shared history meant she could act with impunity.
The evening dragged on, filled with pleasantries and political chatter that only added to the tension building inside Aelin. Remelle was all smiles, all graceful gestures and flattering words, but Aelin wasn’t fooled. She could sense the shift in Rowan—subtle, but undeniable. His responses to Remelle were curt, professional even, but the history between them hung in the air, unspoken yet palpable.
And then it happened. Remelle reached out, lightly brushing Rowan’s arm as she made some offhand comment about their time in the northern courts, her laugh too soft, too familiar. Rowan didn’t pull away.
Aelin's chest tightened. That small, innocuous touch ignited a spark of jealousy she hadn't expected to feel so fiercely. She was Queen of Terrasen, mate to Rowan Whitethorn, and yet, at that moment, she felt utterly powerless. It wasn’t just Remelle’s touch, but the way Rowan had allowed it. The way he didn’t recoil, didn’t brush her hand off.
The fire in her veins roared, but Aelin kept her face impassive, waiting for the right moment, waiting for them to be alone. She had learned long ago to pick her battles, and this was one she intended to fight on her own terms.
The night deepened, the stars casting a soft glow through the palace windows as Aelin and Rowan finally retired to their chambers. The silence between them was suffocating, stretching out as thick as the tension that clung to the air. Rowan unbuttoned his shirt, his movements methodical, unaware of the storm brewing just behind him.
Aelin stood by the hearth, staring into the flames as they danced and flickered, reflecting the fire inside her. She couldn’t keep it in any longer. The words burned at her throat, begging to be released.
“Is there something going on between you and Remelle?”
Her voice was quiet but sharp, each word laced with the fire she was trying desperately to contain. Rowan froze mid-movement, his back still turned to her. Slowly, he turned around, his brows furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Aelin crossed her arms over her chest, feeling the heat radiating off her skin. “I saw the way she looked at you. The way you looked back.”
Rowan’s expression shifted from confusion to disbelief, his mouth pulling into a tight line. “You’re making things up.”
Aelin took a step forward, her voice rising with the flames of her frustration. “I’m not. You think I’m blind? The way she touched your arm, the way she smiled at you—” She shook her head, her heart pounding against her ribcage.
Rowan’s eyes hardened, and when he spoke, his voice was cold. “You’re being crazy, Aelin.”
The word crazy hit her like a slap to the face, and for a moment, the fire inside her flared dangerously. Her vision blurred, and the world narrowed to just Rowan and the unbearable weight of his dismissal. She had faced armies, killed kings, and yet here she stood, feeling as though she was unravelling from the inside out.
“I’m not crazy,” she bit out, her tone sharp. “You think I don’t see what’s going on? You think I’m making this up because I’m insecure?” The words spilled out before she could stop them, years of pain and vulnerability wrapped into every syllable. “I’ve seen how she looks at you, Rowan, and you let her.”
Rowan’s jaw clenched, and his voice was firm, almost cutting. “This is ridiculous, Aelin. There’s nothing going on between me and Remelle, and you're accusing me of something like this—” He shook his head, turning away from her. “You’re letting your jealousy control you.”
Her heart twisted at his words. The dismissal in his tone, the way he brushed her off, made her feel small, like her emotions were unworthy of his attention. “Rowan, please. Just listen to me.”
“I’m done with this.” His voice was final, hard as stone. “I’m sleeping in another room tonight.”
Before she could respond, he was gone, the door shutting behind him with a cold finality. Aelin stood there, staring at the space he had vacated, her chest heaving with the weight of the argument. The fire in her veins sputtered, leaving only ash in its wake, and the room around her suddenly felt colder. Emptier.
Her knees threatened to give way, but she forced herself to remain standing, her mind racing in circles. How had things escalated so quickly? How had they gone from whispers and looks to accusations and slammed doors?
She sank into the nearest chair, burying her face in her hands. Guilt gnawed at her insides, twisting her stomach into painful knots. She shouldn’t have accused him. She should have trusted him. He was her mate, her love, her everything. But something inside her couldn’t let go of the nagging feeling that had been gnawing at her ever since Remelle arrived.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She was Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen. She had faced far worse than this. And yet, the weight of this fight, the doubt and the distance between them, crushed her in ways no battlefield ever could.
Hours passed, the silence in the room growing heavier with each passing moment. Aelin paced back and forth, unable to shake the gnawing sense of unease that settled in her chest. She had replayed the argument a hundred times in her mind, the words they had exchanged, the coldness in Rowan’s voice.
And then, out of nowhere, a wave of nausea hit her, sharp and unexpected. She stumbled, her hand instinctively flying to her stomach as she doubled over, gasping for air. The room spun, and she sank to her knees, her heart racing.
This wasn’t the first time she’d felt this way in recent days, but she had attributed it to stress, the weight of ruling a kingdom and the constant pressures that came with it. But this… this was different.
Her hand pressed against her stomach again, and a strange sensation settled over her—an instinct, primal and undeniable.
Could it be?
Aelin’s breath hitched as she scrambled to her feet, rushing to the small cupboard in the corner of the room. Hidden beneath layers of old gowns and trinkets was a small vial, one she had kept for months. An ancient Fae concoction, meant to confirm pregnancy. Her hands shook as she uncorked it, her heart pounding so loudly in her ears she could barely hear her own thoughts.
With trembling fingers, she followed the instructions, her breath catching in her throat as she waited for the liquid to change colour. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours, her entire world suspended in that moment.
And then… it happened.
The liquid turned a vibrant gold.
Aelin’s legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the floor, her hands flying to her mouth as a sob escaped her. Pregnant. She was pregnant.
For a long time, she simply sat there, her mind reeling from the revelation. A child. Rowan’s child. Their child. Tears welled in her eyes, this time from joy, from the overwhelming flood of emotions that coursed through her.
Suddenly, everything felt so clear. The argument, the jealousy—it all seemed so insignificant now. She was going to be a mother, and Rowan… Rowan needed to know. The thought of fixing things between them filled her with renewed purpose.
Aelin raced through the palace halls, her feet barely touching the ground as she made her way toward Rowan’s room. Her heart thundered in her chest, but this time, it wasn’t from fear or doubt. It was from hope, from the overwhelming joy of life growing inside her. The thought of Rowan’s face when she told him brought a small smile to her lips. She couldn’t wait to see the light in his eyes, the way his entire demeanour would soften when he found out.
She reached his door, breathless but determined. She didn’t knock.
She threw the door open.
And the world stopped.
There, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, was Rowan. And Remelle.
In bed.
Together.
Aelin’s heart shattered into a million jagged pieces, each one cutting deeper than the last. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. Her body went numb, her mind struggling to process the scene before her.
Rowan stirred, sensing her presence. He turned, his eyes widening as they locked onto hers.
“Aelin…”