Fangless: The Alpha's Vampire Mate
Chapter 189: A Forbidden Path

Chapter 189: A Forbidden Path

The only way a woman could lose her life because of a child was through childbirth—a risk every mother understood. But it was cruel and unjust to blame the child for it, let alone call him a demon.

Lady Maris steadied herself and stood up, smoothing her skirt and clearing her throat. "Does the child belong to Her Majesty, the Queen?" she asked.

Emmanuelle hesitated but finally nodded. "Yes, My Lady."

A wave of disbelief washed over Lady Maris. The Queen had conceived a child? It made no sense—there had been no public announcement of consummation between the King and Queen, no ceremony to mark such a significant event, as was tradition.

King Valentin had made a solemn vow to Lady Maris: he would never touch his wife. His heart had never belonged to her, and his loyalty would remain with the one he truly loved.

Lady Maris felt conflicted as she weighed the consequences. On the one hand, she was pleased that her daughter, Lisbeth, stood as the heir to the throne. But on the other, she knew a king’s duty was to produce a legitimate heir to secure his reign.

The birth of the Queen’s child—especially if it were a son—would inevitably cast Lisbeth aside. Lady Maris would accept this if it meant the child was meant to rule, as long as King Valentin guaranteed Lisbeth’s protection once the new heir took the throne.

But how could this child exist, when the King had sworn never to lay a hand on the Queen?

She toyed with the notion of an accidental consummation. Perhaps, on a night when King Valentin was especially exhausted or too drunk to tell the table from the door, he had stumbled into the queen’s chambers and unknowingly shared her bed.

If that were the case, things began to make sense. Lady Maris could understand why Queen Isolde had been absent from the central garden for so long, and why she had stopped hosting her once-frequent tea parties.

The queen must have concealed her pregnancy, fearing that those who opposed King Valentin’s reign might try to harm her or the child she carried.

More troubling still, she would have needed to guard herself against those closest to her—people like the king himself, or Lady Maris. As the king’s mistress, Lady Maris knew the queen must have felt threatened by her presence.

In the case of an accidental consummation, it wasn’t far-fetched to think King Valentin might even consider disposing of the child to avoid complications with his beloved mistress.

Lady Maris exhaled deeply, her chest tightened with the thought of her lover sharing a bed with another woman. The idea gnawed at her.

It would have been easier—perhaps—if he had told her beforehand. But then again, maybe no amount of explanation would have softened the sting. Whether he confessed it or not, the thought of sharing him was unbearable.

But what was done could not be undone. Lady Maris had no power to change it now.

"Then I shall inform His Majesty about the child," she said.

Emmanuelle’s face tightened, and she shook her head vehemently. "You cannot, My Lady. This child must not live another day!"

Lady Maris sighed, her voice weary. "Even if the conception was accidental, His Majesty must take responsibility. That child is the rightful heir to the throne. I cannot turn a blind eye to that."

"No, My Lady, you’re mistaken. That child is not King Valentin’s," Emmanuelle replied firmly.

"What?" Lady Maris blinked, stunned.

Then, another possibility struck her. Could it be that in her loneliness, Queen Isolde had sought comfort in another man’s arms? Perhaps, in her despair, she had invited someone else to her bed.

If that were true, it explained everything—the secrecy, the Queen’s retreat from public life. She had hidden her pregnancy, fearing that if King Valentin discovered it, he would know at once that she had been unfaithful.

While the King himself couldn’t punish her for infidelity—given his own affair with Lady Maris—the situation would still bring complications.

A child born to the Queen would carry royal blood, but without the King’s lineage, his claim to the throne would be fragile. There could be power struggles in the future, a dangerous rivalry between him and Lisbeth. Perhaps the Queen had kept the pregnancy secret to prevent such a conflict from erupting.

What Emmanuelle said next was utterly shocking. "She used dark magic to conceive that child. As a consequence, she died during childbirth."

The revelation was too bizarre to believe outright, yet it seemed to be the only explanation for the Queen’s pregnancy, her isolation, and the strange talisman around the baby’s neck. Lady Maris, still reeling, struggled to make sense of it all.

Seeing her daze, Emmanuelle continued. "Her Majesty had always longed for a child. Even before her marriage, she spoke of wanting to be a mother. She used to share her dreams with me—about having a perfect family, with two or three children that she would love and care for."

But those dreams had crumbled when she learned that her husband was in love with another woman. Friends and confidants had tried to console her, offering hollow reassurances.

"It doesn’t matter who he loves," they’d told her. "As long as you fulfill your duties as a wife and bear his children, your position will be secure."

"He’s just having his fun before he’s tied down," others had said. "Men are like that. Let him enjoy his freedom—it will ensure his loyalty once you’re wed."

"Men having mistresses is nothing new. You needn’t concern yourself with it. You’ll give birth to his heirs; crown prince and princesses even, and become the mother of this nation. That’s all that matters."

But none of it came true. Not a single promise.

Emmanuelle lowered her gaze, her jaw clenched as she tried to mask the bitterness in her voice. Despite her efforts, a trace of it slipped through.

"Her Majesty was miserable. She never received the love she deserved from her husband. It was as though she lived in a gilded cage—luxurious, but a cage all the same."

The queen’s loneliness grew more unbearable over time. The palace gardens, once her sanctuary, were no longer enough to comfort her. Things only worsened after Lady Maris gave birth to Lisbeth. Seeing the joy of motherhood in others deepened Queen Isolde’s despair.

In her quest to fill the emptiness in her heart, she sought solace in many things—tea parties, the company of noble friends, visiting beautiful places, and picking up new hobbies. But none of it satisfied her.

Desperation led her down darker paths. She had even taken lovers, young men as her noble friends suggested, in the hope of conceiving a child. But despite all her efforts, her arms remained empty.

Queen Isolde consulted countless physicians and healers, but none could find any reason why she couldn’t conceive. It wasn’t until she summoned a shaman that she received the answer she’d been searching for, though it wasn’t what she’d been hoping for.

"She couldn’t bear a child," Emmanuelle said, her tone heavy with sadness.

That was when the shaman spoke of a forbidden way—a dangerous, desperate method to achieve her dream.

"And that was through dark magic?" Lady Maris asked quietly.

Emmanuelle nodded. "Yes."

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