The Queen

28. No power over god's will

Samira stormed into her father's chambers, her heart pounding, breath short, and eyes brimming with tears. She grasped his cold hand with her warm one and sat on the edge of his bed, facing him. Her gaze locked onto his hand, trying desperately to memorize every detail—she knew this would be the last time she held it, the last time she saw him alive.

Philip entered right after, his steps urgent. He came to stand behind her and gently placed his right hand on her shoulder.

"My sweet child," the old king finally found the strength to speak, his voice faint and brittle.

"I'm here, Father," Samira replied, her voice trembling. "Please don't force yourself to talk. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

"What difference does that make? We have no power over God's will. There's no use fighting the inevitable. On the contrary... these final breaths are our last chance for a proper goodbye." He paused, the effort of speaking evident. "My love, I want you to know how proud I am of you—always have been, always will be. Promise me one thing."

"Yes, Father... anything," she said, wiping the tears from her face, then gently placing her hand over his again.

"Promise me you will always watch over your people... and your kingdom." He turned his head slightly toward Philip. "And you, young man. Promise me you'll make my daughter happy. That you'll always put her first."

"I promise, sir," Philip said solemnly.

"I promise too, Father," Samira added, then kissed his hand. She hesitated a moment, then spoke again. "There's one more thing you should know... I'm with child."

King Odo's lips curved into a weak smile. If it were up to him, he would have jumped for joy—but his body was too frail.

"If I had my way, I'd be dancing across this room," he said softly. "But I no longer have the strength. Still... thank you. Thank you for giving me this last piece of happiness. I die a happy man. You don't know how much this means to me. This child... this child brings hope to our kingdoms. One day, we may truly become one united, powerful realm.

"I wish with all my heart to be part of their life. But if there's one thing life has taught me, it's that not even a king gets all his wishes. And that's all right. Because I will die knowing I'll still be watching over you... over him or her. If she's like her mother—strong, beautiful, and brave—I will be proud.

"My time is up, my child. Don't cry too much. I'm never truly leaving you. Even if you can't see me, I'll always be there. And you carry something of mine with you—something no one can ever take away. My love."

Those were King Odo's final words.

Samira sobbed, still holding his hand, until attendants came to prepare his body for the funeral rites. Philip never left her side. He ensured she ate, rested, and was never alone.

Five days passed.

Now, in a carriage bound for Esparcia, Samira barely recalled the events of those days. Everything felt surreal, like she'd watched it happen from outside her own body. Her father was gone. She would never hear his voice again, never laugh with him, never hear his stories.

Yet her unborn child was a glimmer of light in the darkness. She resolved to focus on her growing family, to rise again. One hand rested over her belly, the other gripped Philip's. Only he, and the life growing within her, could guide her back to joy.

As if he could read her thoughts, Philip placed his hand gently over her bump and gave her a reassuring smile.

"Everything will be just fine, I promise. Do you trust me?"

"I do trust you, Philip," she said, offering a small, grateful smile.

The carriage came to a halt.

"Looks like we've arrived home," he said. "Are you ready?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but a sudden chill swept through the carriage. Her smile vanished. Something wasn't right. She felt it deep in her bones. The moment her foot touched the ground, something would change—again.

"Are you alright, my love?" Philip asked.

"Yes... I just need some water," she replied quietly.

"Let's go, then." He stepped out of the carriage first, offering his hand to help her down.

The entire Esparcian court was assembled outside, awaiting their king and queen. Philip scanned the crowd and noticed worried expressions—especially on his mother's face. His stomach dropped.

He searched for a clue—anything to explain the tension—and then he saw it.

He turned to Samira and saw that she had seen it too. Her face drained of color. Her lips parted slightly, and her body went limp.

Philip caught her before she could hit the ground, lifting her into his arms.

"Fetch a physician—NOW!" he shouted, already rushing toward their chambers.

He laid her gently on the bed. She felt weightless, like a feather, and his heart thudded in dread.

The physician arrived swiftly. Philip paced the room while Samira lay unconscious. His mother stood silently, her expression a mix of shame and worry.

"I need to examine the queen," the physician said. "If Your Highnesses would kindly wait outside. I must open the room to allow fresh air. Esma, the queen's maid, will assist me."

Philip turned to his mother. "We need to talk. Come with me to the study."

"Indeed," the queen mother replied, following him out. She tried to mask the tension in her face, but it was no use. Something else was wrong—something far worse than just Samira's collapse.