One Shot Collection #2

40 - The King's Heart

Estella's eyes fluttered open slowly, her mind still clouded with confusion. The sterile smell of the hospital room, the metallic scent that had lingered in her final days, was gone. Instead, she was enveloped in the delicate scent of fresh roses. Her eyes darted around, taking in the soft light of a lavish room with velvet curtains hanging over large windows. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, and ornate furniture filled the space. It was beautiful, but not familiar.

A soft voice broke her disoriented thoughts. "Mama?" The word was small, hesitant, yet filled with warmth.

Estella turned her gaze toward the source of the voice and froze. A young boy, no older than five, was sitting by her bedside, staring at her with wide, curious eyes. His face was a perfect mix of innocence and wisdom, his eyes impossibly bright as they locked with hers.

A rush of emotions flooded her chest. She didn't understand it, but she could feel it—the bond between them. She knew this child. This was her son.

Her hand shook as it reached out to grasp his tiny hand, and she squeezed it gently, unable to contain the overwhelming surge of love. "Yes, darling. It's me," she whispered, though her voice sounded strange, foreign even, to her ears.

She looked around the room once more, her eyes flicking over the intricately designed walls, the luxurious furniture, the fine details that screamed nobility. This wasn't her world. This wasn't the life she had known.

Her gaze fell on a book placed carefully on the nightstand—The King's Heart. The title was etched in gold, and the royal blue cover glowed softly in the light. The moment her eyes locked onto it, a shiver ran down her spine. She knew that title. It was a novel, one she had read before, a tale filled with intrigue, passion, and royal drama. But this was no longer just fiction. This was her reality.

Her mind raced as memories of her previous life—the life she had left behind—flooded her consciousness. She had died of cancer. She had been fighting it for months, her body weakened by treatments, the constant battle... She remembered the coldness of the doctor's words: It's too late.

But here, in this room, in this strange, luxurious world, she was alive. She had transmigrated into the body of a noblewoman. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. She was now a single mother in a royal family, the mother of a genius child.

Before she could process further, the door to the room creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. The man who entered was tall and regal, dressed in clothing that screamed nobility. His presence was commanding, his sharp features cutting through the soft atmosphere of the room. But it was his eyes—icy blue, piercing—that held her attention.

"Estella," his deep voice resonated, the single word filled with both authority and something softer, something she hadn't expected. His gaze softened as it landed on her. "How are you feeling today?"

Estella's heart skipped a beat. This man... the King. He was the last person she had expected to see. In the novel, he was distant, cold, an aloof ruler who had little love for his wife. Yet, standing before her now, there was a tenderness in his gaze that made her heart ache.

"I—I'm alright," Estella stammered, unsure how to respond. She stole a glance at her son, still clutching her hand. His eyes flickered between her and the King, his small brow furrowing as if he were trying to make sense of the situation.

"Papa, don't worry about Mama," the boy spoke up, his voice far more mature than one would expect from a child of his age. "She's strong. She's going to get better."

The King's lips twitched upwards, the faintest of smiles breaking through his usually stoic demeanor. He looked down at the boy with something akin to pride before turning back to Estella. "You've raised him well," he murmured. "He's quite the genius."