CROWN OF FORBIDDEN HEARTS
Chapter 50: SHATTERING REVELATION

Chapter 50: 50: SHATTERING REVELATION

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At first, Zara thought little of it, it was just exhaustion, a mere consequence of the long days spent overseeing Calithea’s affairs, the weight of a kingdom pressing down on her shoulders.

She dismissed the nausea as nothing more than a moment of weakness, the headaches as stress. But as the days dragged on, the symptoms only worsened.

She would wake in the dead of night, her body trembling with fever.

A bitter taste lingered on her tongue, her throat raw from the relentless coughing. Mornings became unbearable, her stomach rejecting even the simplest of meals, her body betraying her in ways she did not understand. She told herself it would pass. It had to.

But it didn’t.

By the fifth day, Scarlet grew visibly alarmed. The woman hovered near her at all times, her sharp eyes filled with a quiet concern she refused to voice.

But Zara could see it, she could feel it in the way Scarlet insisted she rest, the way she brought cool cloths to her forehead, the way she watched her too carefully, too intensely, as if searching for something Zara herself could not yet see.

"Enough of this," Scarlet said one afternoon, standing at the edge of Zara’s chambers with her arms crossed. "You’re not just exhausted. This is something else entirely."

"I just need to rest," Zara insisted, though even she no longer believed the words.

Scarlet scoffed. "Rest? You’ve done nothing but lie in bed for days, and yet you’re getting worse. This is not exhaustion, my queen."

Zara didn’t respond. She couldn’t. She was too tired, too drained to argue.

Scarlet exhaled sharply and turned toward the door. "I’m calling the royal physician."

Zara wanted to protest, but she didn’t have the strength. And a part of her, a small, trembling part of her was afraid Scarlet was right.

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The physician arrived swiftly, an older man with wise, knowing eyes and a demeanor that betrayed no emotion. He examined her carefully, his fingers gentle yet firm as he checked her pulse, her breathing, the warmth of her skin. He asked her questions when the nausea started, how severe the exhaustion was, whether she had felt any strange pains in her body.

Zara answered as best she could, but the more she spoke, the more unease settled into her bones. The physician was too quiet, too focused, as if he already knew something she didn’t.

Then, just as he finished his examination, he took a slow step back. His eyes flickered to Scarlet, then to Zara. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

"My queen..." He cleared his throat. "You are with child."

The room fell into a suffocating silence.

Zara stared at him, unmoving.

For a moment, the words did not register. They felt distant, as if spoken in another language, something she could not possibly understand.

"With..." she started, her voice barely above a whisper.

The physician nodded. "My Queen, You are pregnant."

"congratulations" he added.

The world tilted.

She could hear Scarlet inhale sharply, could feel the weight of the revelation pressing down on the room, but all Zara could do was sit there, frozen, her mind struggling to comprehend the truth that had just been laid before her.

Pregnant.

The realization hit her like a thunderclap.

A child. Growing inside her.

And it was surely Alaric’s child.

Her breath came out unevenly, her fingers gripping the sheets beneath her. She felt... unsteady. Overwhelmed. This was impossible. This was shocking.

A tremor ran through her. She had thought herself incapable of feeling anything but resentment toward him. Yet, now, there was something else. Something deeper.

For the first time, she felt connected to him in a way she had never before.

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Zara did not tell Alaric immediately. She wasn’t ready, not yet. The knowledge of her pregnancy settled heavily in her chest, a secret she was unsure how to carry.

But he remained by her side every night.

It was unlike him, this gentle, unwavering presence. She had expected distance, expected him to leave her to recover on her own. But instead, he was there. Always.

The first night, she stirred to the scent of warm broth. When she forced her eyes open, she found him sitting at her bedside, his armor removed, dressed in a simple tunic. In his hands, he held a bowl of steaming liquid, the scent mild but comforting.

"Drink," he said softly.

She swallowed, her throat dry. "I’m not hungry."

He didn’t argue. Instead, he shifted closer, dipping a spoon into the broth and lifting it toward her lips. "Just a little," he insisted. "You haven’t eaten all day."

She wanted to refuse, but the earnestness in his voice made her pause. With a tired sigh, she parted her lips and allowed him to feed her. The warmth of the broth settled in her stomach, soothing, yet she could hardly taste it. Her mind was too clouded, too overwhelmed.

As he brought another spoonful to her lips, she whispered, "You don’t have to do this."

His jaw tensed, but he did not stop. "I want to."

There was no malice in his voice, no force, only quiet determination.

The next night, she woke in a feverish haze, her body drenched in sweat, her limbs aching. She shifted slightly, only to feel a damp cloth press against her forehead.

"You’re burning up," Alaric murmured, his voice heavy with concern. "I sent for cool water."

Zara forced her eyes open, finding him sitting beside her once more, his face cast in the dim glow of the chamber’s lanterns. His fingers, rough from war, ran over her forehead, tracing the damp strands of hair that clung to her skin. His touch was careful, so careful it made her chest ache.

"You should rest," she muttered, her voice hoarse. "You have a kingdom to run."

He scoffed. "The kingdom can survive a few nights without me." His hand lingered on her forehead before he exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "You, however, cannot keep pushing yourself like this."

She wanted to argue, but the exhaustion was too great. Instead, she let her heavy eyelids close once more, allowing herself to be lulled into sleep by the steady sound of his breathing.

And so, it continued.

Each night, she would wake to find him there, never demanding, never prying. He simply stayed.

One evening, long past midnight, she stirred from uneasy dreams to find his gaze fixed on her. He was seated in the chair beside her bed, elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely clasped together. His eyes, dark and stormy, carried something she could not quite name.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" she murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep.

His expression flickered—something between hesitation and longing. He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "You won’t tell me what’s wrong," he admitted. "But I can feel it. Something is wrong."

Her breath caught.

For a brief, fleeting moment, she considered telling him the truth. The words sat at the edge of her tongue, waiting to spill.

But she wasn’t ready.

Instead, she turned away, staring at the canopy of her bed. "I just need time," she whispered.

A tense silence stretched between them before she felt the mattress dip slightly. She turned back to find that he had moved closer, his gaze never leaving her face.

"Then take all the time you need," he murmured. "But know this, I will not leave your side."

Zara’s throat tightened, emotions crashing over her in waves too strong to suppress.

He was a man she had hated, a man she had resented for all that he had taken from her. And yet, in this moment, he was simply Alaric, the man who held her when she trembled, the man who sat awake just to make sure she was still breathing.

Her fingers twitched at her side, aching to reach for him. But she resisted.

She was not ready.

Not yet.

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One evening, as they sat in silence, she suddenly lurched forward, nausea twisting in her stomach. The feeling was overwhelming, unbearable. She barely made it to the washbasin before she was vomiting violently.

Alaric was on his feet in an instant. "Lysan—"

"I’m fine," she gasped, wiping at her mouth.

"You are not," he snapped, already turning toward the door. "I’m calling the physician—"

"No."

His steps halted. Slowly, he turned back to her.

She met his gaze, her hands trembling. She swallowed hard.

"There’s something I need to tell you."

A pause. A long, heavy silence.

Then, softly—

"I’m pregnant."

Alaric stilled.

She watched as the words sank in, as realization dawned on him in slow, agonizing waves. His face was unreadable at first, his expression caught between disbelief and something else. Something raw.

He took a step forward. "You..." His voice faltered. "You’re certain?"

She nodded, unable to speak.

And then, just like that, his composure shattered.

His breath hitched, his eyes widening. He exhaled a shaky laugh, one that held no malice, no arrogance, only pure, unfiltered joy.

Zara had never seen him like this before.

Alaric was a man of war, a man of control. He did not allow emotions to dictate him. Yet here he was, utterly undone by the mere knowledge that she carried his child.

He knelt before her, his hands trembling as they reached for her.

"You’re carrying my child," he murmured, as if he needed to say it out loud to believe it. "Our child."

His hands found her waist, his touch hesitant, reverent. He pressed his forehead to her stomach, his breaths uneven.

"I swear to you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "I will protect you both. Always."

Zara swallowed hard, her fingers brushing through his hair.

For the first time since she had fallen into this twisted fate, she felt something dangerous. Something she had sworn she would never allow herself to feel when it came to Alaric.

LOVE.

And it terrified her.