The Royal Academy

Chapter 14

The soft clink of silverware against porcelain was the only sound that filled the grand dining room as I sat across from Conrad, the morning sunlight streaming through the tall windows. It was strange how accustomed I had become to these silent meals. Day after day, we shared a table, yet it felt as though we were worlds apart. I barely touched the food in front of me, my appetite dulled by the hollow ache that had taken up residence in my chest since last night.

Conrad, as usual, was composed, his expression unreadable as he buttered a slice of bread. I glanced at him, hoping for some hint of the man I had married, but there was nothing. Just the cool, distant mask he wore so effortlessly. He looked tired, the faintest of shadows under his eyes hinting at long, sleepless nights, but otherwise, he remained unflinchingly composed.

I kept my gaze down, pushing a piece of fruit around my plate, trying to focus on anything but the empty space between us. The quiet had become familiar, but that didn’t make it any less suffocating.

Finally, Conrad cleared his throat, breaking the silence with a sound that startled me more than it should have. I glanced up, meeting his eyes for the briefest of moments before he looked away, his focus on the glass in front of him.

“We need to increase the frequency of our… attempts,” he said, his voice as flat and clinical as ever. “It’s important to maximize the chances of conception.”

There was no warmth in his tone, no softness in his words. He spoke as if he were giving orders to one of his advisors rather than his wife, and yet I wasn’t surprised. I’d long since stopped expecting any tenderness from him.

I swallowed hard, nodding silently in agreement. I didn’t trust myself to speak. What would I even say? That I dreaded every night? That each encounter felt like it chipped away at my very soul? No. I couldn’t voice that. This was my duty. This was what I had been raised for, what I had been trained to endure.

“Very well,” I finally murmured, my voice small, almost lost in the cavernous room. Conrad didn’t look at me, didn’t acknowledge the heaviness in my tone. He simply nodded, as if my compliance was a given.

We ate in silence after that, the tension thick between us. I glanced out the window, watching the world outside move on as if nothing had changed, as if my life hadn’t shifted into something I barely recognized. The castle grounds were bustling with activity—gardens being tended, horses being led across the courtyard, the day-to-day life of the kingdom carrying on as usual. It felt surreal that while everything around me appeared so normal, my own existence had become a monotonous cycle of duty and isolation.

That night, the routine unfolded just as it had before. Conrad came to my chambers without much ceremony, his steps measured and deliberate as he entered the room. I stood by the window, watching the last of the sunlight fade into dusk, my heart heavy with the familiar dread that accompanied his presence now.

He didn’t speak as he approached, didn’t ask how I was, didn’t offer any small talk to ease the growing distance between us. Instead, he moved with that same detached efficiency, his movements practiced, precise. I turned to face him, my stomach churning with the weight of what was about to happen. It felt different now. Not just a duty, but a task—something that had to be done, checked off a list.

Conrad barely spared me a glance as he began to undress, his focus elsewhere. I wished I could feel nothing, that I could detach myself from the moment as easily as he seemed to. But the ache in my chest remained, that dull, throbbing reminder of how far we had drifted from the promises made on our wedding day.

He joined me on the bed without a word, his hands cool and methodical, moving as if guided by routine rather than desire. I lay still beneath him, my body tense, bracing myself for the cold touch that no longer held any tenderness. His movements were mechanical, devoid of any emotion, and I closed my eyes, trying to block out the hollowness of it all.

When it was over, Conrad didn’t linger. He rose from the bed, pulling on his clothes with the same detached air he had worn all night. There was no exchange of words, no acknowledgment of what had just happened between us. He simply finished dressing, his back to me the entire time, before turning to leave.

“Good night,” he said, his voice flat, almost absent as he headed toward the door. I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. The words lodged in my throat, suffocated by the emptiness that seemed to fill the room the moment he walked out of it.

I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, my body still, my mind racing. The familiar feeling of loneliness crept back in, curling around my heart like a vine, squeezing tighter with every breath I took. The routine had been established now. I knew what to expect, and somehow that made it worse. Knowing that each night would be the same, that there was no hope for anything more.

I thought back to the conversations we never had, the words he never said, and I realized how little I knew of him. How little he knew of me. We were strangers sharing a bed, bound by duty but nothing else. I had married a man who was more of a shadow than a husband, and that truth settled over me like a weight I could never shake.

The night stretched on, long and quiet, and I wondered if this was what the rest of my life would look like. The thought was unbearable, but there was no escape. This was my role. My duty. And Conrad had made it clear that duty was all that mattered.

As the hours dragged by, I tried to find solace in that. To remind myself that I was fulfilling my purpose, that I was doing what was expected of me. But no matter how hard I tried, the ache inside me wouldn’t fade.

I turned onto my side, pulling the blanket up around my shoulders, and stared at the empty space beside me where Conrad had been just moments before. That space, it seemed, was a reflection of our marriage—cold, distant, and devoid of anything resembling love.

And yet, I knew I would continue. I had no choice.