CROWN OF FORBIDDEN HEARTS
Chapter 52: SHE LOSES HER MIND

Chapter 52: 52: SHE LOSES HER MIND

The royal physician’s chambers smelled of burning sage and aged parchment, the air was thick with the scent of medicinal herbs that clung to the walls like a lingering whisper of secrets.

Zara sat on the cushioned bench, her back rigid, her hands folded tightly in her lap to keep them from trembling. She forced herself to breathe evenly, to maintain the facade of calm, but the tension coiled inside her like a viper ready to strike.

The physician, a man with thinning white hair and a face lined with decades of experience, hummed thoughtfully as he took her wrist in his weathered hands. His fingers pressed against her pulse, his gaze sharp with silent calculation. Each moment he spent studying her felt like a lifetime, his scrutiny weighing down on her already fraying nerves.

The silence stretched, thick and unbearable.

And then, at last, he stepped back, setting down his notes.

"You are progressing well, Your Majesty," he said, his voice calm, as though he had not just unraveled her entire existence. "From what I can tell, you are nearly four months along."

The world screeched to a halt.

Four months.

Zara barely breathed as the words slammed into her like a hammer, stealing the air from her lungs, squeezing her ribs until she thought they would crack.

Four months.?

Her fingers curled into the silk of her gown, her grip so tight her knuckles turned white. Her stomach twisted violently. A strange ringing filled her ears, drowning out the crackle of the torches, the rustling of the physician’s parchment. The walls of the chamber seemed to close in, the weight of realization pressing down on her like an unforgiving tide.

Four months? Zara had done the calculation in her head immediately and made a shocking realisation, the child...it is Not Alaric’s; exactly four months ago was when she and Erythian shared in each other`s intoxicating scent.

Erythian’s child.

The horror of it struck her so suddenly, so viciously, that she had to fight the urge to recoil, to clutch her stomach in some desperate, futile attempt to will the truth away.

No. No, this wasn’t possible.

Maybe he had miscalculated. Maybe—

But deep down, she knew.

The timeline was undeniable. The nights she had spent in Erythian’s arms, the feverish way they had clung to each other, the whispered confessions and stolen moments, they all aligned too perfectly.

This was his child.

A slow, shuddering breath escaped her lips, but it did nothing to steady her.

"Your Majesty?" the physician’s voice broke through the suffocating silence.

Zara blinked rapidly, forcing herself to meet his gaze. She schooled her expression into careful neutrality, even as her insides twisted into a storm of fear.

"Are you certain?" she asked, though her voice was barely more than a whisper.

The physician nodded, oblivious to the chaos raging inside her. "Yes, My Queen. Based on your symptoms and the child’s growth, you conceived nearly four months ago. That would place it—"

"That will be all," she cut in sharply, her tone betraying nothing.

The physician hesitated, clearly taken aback by her abruptness. He glanced at her, his brows knitting together in quiet curiosity, but he did not question her.

Still, he did not leave.

"I would like to prepare a new tonic to ease any nausea or discomfort in the coming months," he continued, his voice gentle, careful. "The King will also wish to be informed—"

"No."

The single word rang through the chamber like the unsheathing of a blade, sharp and final.

The physician faltered. His lips parted as if to protest, but then he hesitated, studying her with renewed scrutiny.

Zara swallowed hard, forcing down the bile rising in her throat. "There is no need to trouble the King with such details." Her voice was smooth, controlled, every syllable crafted with precision. "I will tell him myself... when the time is right."

A pause.

The physician did not move, his shrewd eyes flickering over her face as though searching for something unspoken. There was something in his gaze, concern, suspicion...but he did not press.

Finally, he inclined his head in deference. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

Zara rose to her feet, careful to keep her movements fluid, unshaken. But her legs felt like lead, every step a battle against the suffocating weight in her chest.

She nodded once, just enough to dismiss him, then turned on her heel, sweeping toward the door with all the grace of a queen who had not just had her world shattered.

The moment she stepped into the corridor and the heavy wooden door shut behind her, she felt the walls of the palace closing in.

Her breath hitched, her pulse pounding so violently she thought she might faint.

He can never know.

Her hands clenched into fists as she forced her feet forward, each step quicker than the last. The torchlight blurred in her vision, her surroundings melting into a haze of gold and shadow. She barely noticed the startled looks of the passing servants, the way their heads dipped into quick bows as she swept past.

She rounded a corner too fast, nearly colliding with a young handmaiden carrying a tray of folded linens. The girl gasped, eyes wide as she fumbled to keep her balance.

"My Queen! Forgive me, I did not see—"

Zara barely heard her. She waved a hand dismissively, not stopping, not acknowledging the look of concern in the girl’s gaze.

She could not stop.

Not now.

Her fingers dug into the fabric of her gown, gripping it so tightly she thought she might tear it. The secret burned inside her, searing her from the inside out.

She needed air.

She needed to breathe.

By the time she reached the terrace, her body was trembling with the force of her restraint. The moment the night air hit her, she inhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her chest as if to steady her racing heart.

The sky stretched wide above her, endless and dark, littered with stars that seemed to watch her, whispering things she could not bear to hear.

She braced herself against the stone railing, her other hand still hovering protectively over her stomach.

What am I supposed to do?

Her mind whirled with possibilities, with the grim realities she could not ignore.

What would Alaric do if he found out?

Would he rage? Would he strike her? Would he take the child from her? would he kill it?

A violent shudder tore through her at the thought, bile rising in her throat.

She knew what Alaric was capable of. She had seen the warlord beneath the crown, the ruthless man who bent kingdoms to his will, who killed without hesitation.

And this? This was the ultimate betrayal.

The heir in her womb did not belong to him.

It belonged to the man he had destroyed.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She forced her shoulders back, her hands smoothing over the silk of her gown.

No one can ever know.

Not now. Not ever.

The moment the door shut behind her, Zara felt the walls of the palace closing in, the corridors narrowing, pressing in on her like a cage. Her breath came in short, ragged bursts, her chest rising and falling too quickly as if she couldn’t take in enough air. The weight of the secret threatened to crush her, to suffocate her where she stood.

Her fingers trembled as they pressed against the soft swell of her belly. The child growing inside her was not Alaric’s.

Her mind screamed at her to stay calm, to think rationally, but all she could hear was the deafening pound of her pulse in her ears. The memory of the physician’s words echoed in her mind, his certainty, his ease—he had no idea that with one simple calculation, he had unraveled her entire world.

Four months.

Erythian’s.

She felt the blood drain from her face, her knees threatening to give out beneath her.

*If Alaric finds out—*

No.

She gritted her teeth, forcing the thought away before it could take full form. She would not allow herself to imagine it.

She turned sharply, nearly stumbling as she forced herself to move. Her steps quickened, her heartbeat hammering inside her skull as she rushed through the halls, the golden torchlight blurring in her vision.

She needed air.

She needed to think.

Her gown swirled around her legs as she rounded a corner too fast. A startled gasp met her ears, followed by a clatter as a servant carrying a tray stumbled backward, barely managing to steady herself before she dropped everything.

"My Queen—!" The young woman’s eyes were wide with alarm as she dropped into a deep bow, her voice shaking. "Forgive me—I did not see you—"

Zara barely registered the girl’s words. She nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak.

The servant hesitated, her gaze flicking over Zara’s pale face, the way she clutched her stomach. "Are you—"

Zara walked away before she could finish the question.

If anyone saw the terror on her face, the palace walls would devour her whole.

She barely remembered how she reached the terrace, only that the cool night air hit her like a wave, the crisp scent of the gardens rushing into her lungs. The vastness of the sky stretched before her, endless and dark, littered with stars that winked down as though they knew. As though they mocked her.

She gripped the stone railing, her fingers digging into the cold surface.

What was she supposed to do?

What would Alaric do if he ever discovered the truth?

Would he rage? Would he strike her down in fury?

Would he take the child from her—worse, would he *kill* it?

A violent shudder wracked through her at the thought.

She knew what Alaric was capable of. She had seen the ruthless man beneath the mask, the warlord who took what he wanted and crushed what he could not control.

And this—this would be a betrayal beyond forgiveness.

The child inside her, the heir growing in her womb, was not his.

It was Erythian’s.

A sob clawed at her throat, but she swallowed it down, her nails scraping against the stone as she fought to hold herself together.

This had to stay buried.

Even if it meant lying to Alaric.

Even if it meant carrying the weight of this deception for the rest of her life.

Even if it meant watching her child grow under his rule, knowing the truth would destroy them both.

She sucked in a deep, trembling breath, forcing her hands to smooth over her gown, willing her expression into something cold, something unshakable.

No one could ever know.

Not now. Not ever.

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