The Royal Academy

Chapter 11

The days that followed felt like an eternity. Each passing hour dragged on, stretching painfully as if the very air around me had thickened. My mind swirled in an endless cycle of worry, confusion, and, most of all, an overwhelming sense of emptiness. I tried to distract myself, throwing myself into whatever activities Anna or the other maids could find for me—gardening, sewing, reading—but nothing could dull the anticipation that gnawed at me.

Would I be pregnant?

The question loomed over every thought, as if my entire future hinged on the outcome. And in a way, it did. If I was carrying Conrad’s child, my role would become even more solidified. My existence would be tethered to this palace, this country, to a man who had made it abundantly clear that our marriage was nothing more than a matter of duty. If I wasn’t… well, I couldn’t even bring myself to consider what might happen then.

But if I was honest with myself, the thought of being pregnant didn’t fill me with the joy I had always imagined motherhood would bring. Instead, it filled me with a hollow ache, the realization that my life would be reduced even further to my role as a queen, as a vessel for the continuation of the royal line.

As the days stretched on, I barely saw Conrad. He was always busy with meetings, courtly affairs, and I suspected deliberately keeping his distance. It became easier for me to ignore his absence—easier to detach myself from the man I had foolishly hoped would care for me, or at least treat me with the same kindness he had shown on our wedding night.

But after that cold dinner, where his only words had been about my cycle, I knew better than to hope for warmth. If I wanted to survive in this marriage, I had to harden my heart. I had to stop caring.

In the beginning, I had wanted so much to please him, to do my duty with grace. But now, I realized that my duty was all I had. There was no room for hope, no place for affection. Those were luxuries I could not afford. Conrad had made it clear that I was nothing more than a means to an end, and so I resolved to play my part. I would focus on my responsibilities, on becoming the queen the people needed me to be. And as for Conrad… I would bury whatever remnants of affection I had left for him deep inside me.

I would stop caring about his approval, about his cold indifference, about whether or not he even looked at me.

But the waiting—the not knowing—it was still agonizing. Each morning, I woke up wondering if today would be the day. My thoughts were consumed with it, my body tense with anticipation. And each morning, I would steel myself against the possibilities, reminding myself that whatever happened, I would face it with dignity.

By the second day, the tension was unbearable. I had counted the days, charted every possibility, until my thoughts became a tangled mess of dread and uncertainty. And still, Conrad was nowhere to be found. There was no word from him, no message, no inquiry about how I was faring. It was as though I didn’t exist in his world, except for that one question he had asked so bluntly, a question that still echoed in my mind:

“Let me know of the outcome.”

His words felt so clinical, so devoid of any emotion. And yet, what should I have expected? This wasn’t about me. It was never about me.

That night, I barely slept. I tossed and turned in the bed, the sheets twisted around me, suffocated by the weight of what was to come. My body was tired, my mind exhausted from the strain of keeping up appearances, from pretending that I wasn’t waiting on something that would determine the next course of my life.

And then, on the third morning, I woke to find a familiar ache in my lower abdomen. It took a moment for me to fully register the sensation, my mind slow from sleep. But when I reached down, I felt the unmistakable dampness.

I had my period.

Relief and disappointment hit me simultaneously, a strange mixture of emotions that left me feeling empty. For a few long moments, I just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, letting the reality settle in.

I wasn’t pregnant.

The ache in my stomach grew more pronounced, not just from the physical pain but from the flood of emotions I had tried so hard to suppress. Was this a failure? Would Conrad see it that way? A part of me knew that this was just the beginning of what would likely be many attempts, but that did little to comfort me. It didn’t matter how many times I tried to tell myself that it was normal, that I still had time. All I could think about was Conrad’s cold, detached face, the way he had asked me about my cycle as if it were nothing more than a matter of logistics.

How would he react when I told him? Would he care? Would he even take the time to speak with me, or would he send one of the servants to deliver a message?

A lump formed in my throat as I slowly sat up, the realization that nothing had changed hitting me hard. My life was still the same. I was still alone in this palace, still living a life dictated by duty and expectations, and still bound to a man who didn’t seem to care about me beyond what I could provide for him.

The ache in my chest grew heavier as I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood. I needed to get dressed, to go through the motions of another day. I needed to tell Anna, to tell someone, but I couldn’t bring myself to move.

All I wanted to do was curl back into the bed and hide from the world. To pretend, just for a little while longer, that I didn’t have to face this reality.

But I couldn’t.

With a deep breath, I forced myself to move, to begin the ritual of preparing for the day. The weight of the news I had to deliver hung over me like a dark cloud, and no matter how much I tried to convince myself that it didn’t matter—that this was just the first attempt—the truth was that it did matter.

Because this was more than just about producing an heir. It was about the stark reality of my marriage, the harsh truth that I was nothing more than a piece in a game I had never agreed to play.

As I looked at my reflection in the mirror, my face pale and drawn, I realized just how much I had changed since coming to Eldoria. The girl I had been when I first arrived—full of hope, full of dreams—was gone. In her place stood a woman who had learned to numb herself to the pain of isolation and duty.

And now, as I prepared myself to face Conrad, I knew I would have to continue burying those feelings. Because this was my life now, and there was no escaping it.

With one last glance in the mirror, I straightened my posture and turned toward the door.

It was time to tell Conrad.