Fangless: The Alpha's Vampire Mate
Chapter 186: A Mother’s Love

Chapter 186: A Mother’s Love

"What are you doing?" Lady Maris’s voice was laced with suspicion, her eyes narrowing as she took in Emmanuelle’s frantic behavior.

It wasn’t the first time servants had fled the palace with stolen goods, and Lady Maris quickly assumed Emmanuelle was one of them—sneaking away with Queen Isolde’s belongings before sunrise, when the palace’s vampire residents were at rest.

Startled, Emmanuelle jerked away, fear flashing across her face. She gritted her teeth, her body tense with panic, and spun on her heel, ready to bolt for the gate. But Lady Maris wasn’t about to let her escape so easily.

"Guards! I need guards! There’s a thief!" Lady Maris called out, her voice echoing through the quiet palace grounds.

Before the sound could travel far, Emmanuelle lunged forward, slapping her palm over Lady Maris’s mouth. Her eyes were wide with terror, and despite the snow swirling around them, she was drenched in sweat. "Sshh! Please!"

In that close proximity, Lady Maris noticed something odd. Her gaze dropped, drawn to a strange bulge protruding from Emmanuelle’s midsection. Suspicion deepened—was that where she had hidden the stolen valuables?

Instinctively, Lady Maris reached out, her hand hovering near the bulge, ready to investigate further. But just as she was about to touch it, a soft, unexpected sound emerged from beneath Emmanuelle’s cloak.

"Huh?" Lady Maris froze, her hand hanging in the air, eyes widening in confusion.

Emmanuelle took a step back, shifting her weight nervously from side to side. It was a subtle movement, but Lady Maris recognized it instantly. She had done the same thing many times before, rocking her own daughter Lisbeth when she was a baby.

And in that moment, everything clicked. The strange sound she’d heard earlier wasn’t just any noise—it was the faint cry of a baby. The bulge beneath Emmanuelle’s cloak wasn’t stolen valuables, but something far more fragile.

"Is that... your baby?" Lady Maris asked, her voice softening with understanding.

Life in the palace was far from simple. With hundreds of servants and guards living under one roof, there were bound to be affairs and missteps.

Many of them were married, but it wasn’t uncommon for passions to flare in such close quarters.

Yet, the consequences were always difficult—most couldn’t afford to have children outside of their existing families.

The solution for many was grim. Some would abandon their newborns in orphanages, where children either survived through luck or were left to perish.

Others, in their desperation, left babies in the streets. It was a cruel reality, but one that played out all too often within the palace walls.

As Lady Maris looked at Emmanuelle, still cradling the child, it became clear what was happening. Emmanuelle was likely on her way to leave the baby at an orphanage or worse—discard it somewhere outside the palace.

But there was something else. Emmanuelle wasn’t married, as far as Lady Maris knew. If that was true, why not ask the father to take responsibility? Was he already married? Was that why she couldn’t demand anything more from him?

"Is the father a married man?" Lady Maris pressed, her voice firm but gentle. "Is that why you can’t ask him to take responsibility? But you don’t have to abandon the baby. You could still be his mistress. There are ways to work this out."

Her mind flashed to the horrors of the orphanages. Even the luckier children—those deemed beautiful or skilled—were paraded as causes for noble donations. The others, the ’useless’ ones, suffered from neglect.

The thought of abandoning a child, especially her own, sent a cold shiver down Lady Maris’s spine. She couldn’t imagine it. She loved Lisbeth too much. No amount of social pressure or disgrace would have ever made her abandon her daughter.

Lady Maris placed a hand gently on Emmanuelle’s shoulder, her tone softening even more. "If you’re afraid, let me help. We can talk to him together, whoever he is. I’m sure we can find a solution—something that would make him listen."

She couldn’t let Emmanuelle go through with this. The child deserved a chance, and perhaps, with a bit of courage and support, Emmanuelle could find a way to keep her baby safe.

But instead of finding comfort in Lady Maris’s words, Emmanuelle’s fear only deepened. Her eyes were wide with panic, her head shaking frantically as she slowly backed away.

"Please... just let me go. Please..." she begged, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lady Maris frowned, concerned. "Are you afraid of him?" she asked gently, then quickly added, "If so, we can find another way. What if I help you find a family for the baby? There are many couples who would cherish a child but can’t have one of their own. We’ll find them, talk to them. But for now, let’s make sure the baby is cared for."

Emmanuelle only shook her head harder, tears spilling down her cheeks as the baby began to wail in distress. Panic surged through her, and she swung her body from side to side, trying to hush the infant.

"Shut up!" she hissed desperately. "Don’t cry! Be quiet!"

Lady Maris’s heart ached at the sight. As a mother, she knew scolding a baby wouldn’t calm it down—it would only make things worse. Babies were sensitive to the emotions of those around them, especially fear and anger, and it frightened them.

As expected, the baby’s cries grew louder, its tiny voice piercing through the cold night air. Emmanuelle’s nerves frayed, and she became more frantic. She began shaking the baby, her movements jerky and agitated.

Lady Maris watched in horror as Emmanuelle turned so violently that, for a moment, it seemed as if she might lose control and drop the child.

Thankfully, the baby was still held securely under Emmanuelle’s cloak, but her patience was wearing thin—dangerously so.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Emmanuelle’s voice broke as she shook the child with increasing force.

Lady Maris stepped forward, her own pulse quickening. "Stop! You’re going to hurt the baby!" she pleaded, her voice firm yet soothing.

She could see that Emmanuelle was on the edge of a breakdown, and if she didn’t intervene, the baby’s life could be at risk.

Lady Maris reached out, attempting to grasp Emmanuelle by the arm, but her fingers only caught the edge of the cloak, pulling it aside and fully revealing Emmanuelle and the baby cradled in her arms.

The infant, a delicate and striking pale vampire, was wrapped in a brown cloth that was still stained with blood—evidence that someone had recently given birth.

Yet what captivated Lady Maris the most, amidst the shocking sight of the bloodied child, was the talisman hanging around the baby’s neck.

It was a large piece of bone, carved with the sigil of Baphomet—the unmistakable symbol of dark magic.