The Royal Academy

Chapter 15

Weeks passed, blending into one another in a haze of cold routine. The days held little variation—filled with trivial tasks that neither engaged nor distracted me from the ever-growing emptiness. It seemed as though I floated through the palace, a shadow in its hollow halls, bound by the same duties that tethered me to Conrad, yet unmoored by any sense of connection.

I knew this feeling well now. The waiting. The agonizing stretch between nights, when I would brace myself for the lifeless routine we had established, where Conrad came to my chambers and performed his duty with mechanical precision. It was something I had come to accept, though acceptance didn’t ease the loneliness that followed his touch.

This month was no different, and as I stood by the window, my hand resting lightly on my abdomen, I felt the familiar sense of defeat creep over me. My second cycle had arrived, right on schedule, as if to mock the quiet hope that had flickered somewhere deep inside me.

Another fruitless attempt.

I should have known better than to expect any different. Conrad’s words from our last dinner echoed in my mind: When is your next cycle due? His focus had shifted entirely to this one thing—the production of an heir. And it consumed him, leaving no room for anything else, least of all me.

Anna was waiting for me just outside my chambers when I stepped into the hall, her face carefully neutral as always. She had grown accustomed to the tension in the palace. Without a word, she nodded, understanding the meaning behind my quiet expression. I didn’t need to say anything, and for that, I was grateful.

“You’ll want to inform His Majesty,” Anna said, her voice soft but detached. “He’ll want to know.”

I nodded, though the thought of seeking out Conrad filled me with an odd sense of dread. The distance between us had grown wider with every passing day, with every failed attempt. He no longer visited me outside the necessary evenings, no longer shared even the smallest of pleasantries. His presence was a fleeting shadow, and I had learned not to expect anything beyond that.

But duty was duty.

I made my way to his quarters, each step feeling heavier than the last. When I arrived, the door was open just a crack, and I could hear muffled voices coming from inside—his and a few of his advisors. They were already engaged in the day’s meetings. Of course. He was always busy, always preoccupied with matters that seemed more pressing than our marriage, than me.

His footman, standing attentively by the door, bowed slightly when he saw me. “Shall I give His Majesty your message?” he asked quietly, his eyes averted as though he already knew what I had come to say.

“Yes, please,” I replied, relieved that I didn’t have to face Conrad directly. It was easier this way. Less painful. “Tell him... Tell him my cycle has begun.”

The footman gave a brief nod of acknowledgment, but his face betrayed nothing. It was just another message, another piece of information to be delivered. To them, I was just the vessel, my purpose clear and uncomplicated.

I turned and walked away, feeling the weight of my failure pressing down on my shoulders. There was no solace in knowing that I had done what was expected of me. The silence between Conrad and me had become deafening, and I wondered if I would ever see past the walls he had built around himself.

The rest of the day passed slowly, a blur of meaningless tasks and empty hours. I tried to distract myself, throwing myself into whatever frivolous activities the palace could offer, but nothing eased the gnawing ache inside me.

As the afternoon stretched on, a note finally arrived. Anna handed it to me as I sat in the drawing room, her expression unreadable as I took the folded parchment from her hands. I already knew what it would say.

Opening the note, I was met with Conrad’s familiar, careful handwriting:

We will try again in a week when your cycle has ended. I have spoken with the physician, and he has advised a few methods that may increase our chances next month. Until then, take care.

I stared at the words, numb to their coldness. There was no mention of how I was feeling, no attempt to offer comfort or understanding. Just another set of instructions, another step in this endless process. I had become just as much a part of his plans as the kingdom itself. A project to be managed, a problem to be solved.

Folding the note, I set it aside, feeling a strange sense of detachment wash over me. I should have been hurt, or angry, or even disappointed. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t afford to be. There was no room for those emotions when every part of me had been consumed by this new reality.

The week passed in the same quiet, oppressive way. The days stretched on, and I found myself wishing yet again, that my cycle wouldn’t end—that it would prolong itself, give me more time before I was pulled back into that cold routine. But nature didn’t bend to my desires, and soon enough, the sixth day came.

I stood in front of the mirror that night, dressed in the same silk nightgown I wore on the nights Conrad visited. My reflection stared back at me, pale and drawn, my eyes empty of any real feeling. It was a strange thing, to look at myself and feel like a stranger. The girl who had arrived at the palace so many weeks ago was gone, replaced by someone I barely recognized.

When Conrad knocked softly at my door, I didn’t flinch. I was already prepared, already numb to what was coming. He entered the room quietly, his face a mask of tiredness and impatience. He didn’t offer any pleasantries, didn’t even greet me with the cool formalities we usually exchanged.

Without a word, he approached the bed, his movements practiced and mechanical. There was no tenderness in his touch this time, no careful whispers or soft reassurances. His hands moved with an almost robotic efficiency, and I could feel the distance between us growing wider with every passing second.

When it was over, he stood up, adjusting his clothes without so much as a glance in my direction. “Good night,” he muttered, his voice flat, before leaving the room without another word.

I lay there in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on me. The silence that followed his departure was suffocating, but I didn’t cry. There was no point in tears, no relief to be found in them.

This was my life now. This was my duty. And it seemed that Conrad and I were destined to live in this cold, unfeeling cycle until the task was finally complete.

I closed my eyes, letting the emptiness settle over me like a blanket, and braced myself for whatever came next.