The Royal Academy

Chapter 16

The morning light filtered gently through the tall windows of my chambers, casting a soft glow on the rich tapestries that lined the walls. I sat in silence, staring down at the delicate teacup in my hand. The liquid inside had long gone cold, but I hadn’t the will to move, to even sip. My mind was elsewhere, replaying the events of last night, the hollow routine Conrad and I seemed locked in. The coldness between us had only grown, and as much as I tried to prepare myself emotionally for these encounters, they always left me feeling empty, more like a vessel than a wife.

Just as I set the cup down, a soft knock echoed from the door.

Anna, my ever-faithful attendant, slipped inside. Her expression was calm, but I could sense something beneath it—an unease that put me instantly on edge.

"Her Majesty, the Queen Mother, has requested your presence for tea," Anna announced, her voice measured but carrying the weight of the surprise.

I blinked, sitting up straighter. “The Queen Mother?”

She nodded, and though she said nothing more, I could feel the tension in the room thicken. Conrad’s mother had been a distant figure in my life so far, cold and detached from the moment I arrived. Her disinterest in me had been a silent blessing, but now… I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was not going to be a pleasant meeting.

“Very well,” I murmured, standing and smoothing the fabric of my gown. My hands felt unsteady, but I forced myself to walk steadily toward the sitting room where the Queen Mother awaited. I couldn’t afford to show any signs of weakness.

When I entered, she was already seated at the grand table, her back impossibly straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her silver hair was pulled into an elegant knot, and her eyes, though sharp and calculating, were as cold as the winter wind.

"Your Majesty," I greeted, giving a deep curtsy, trying to hide the nervous flutter in my chest.

She barely acknowledged my presence, her lips pressing into a thin line before gesturing to the seat across from her. “Sit.”

I obeyed, lowering myself into the chair. The air between us felt charged with tension, though no words had been exchanged. She poured herself a cup of tea, her movements precise and controlled, before finally casting her gaze in my direction.

“You look pale, child. Is something the matter?” Her tone held no genuine concern; it was as though she was already criticizing me before I could answer.

I offered a polite smile, though it felt tight. “I am well, Your Majesty. Just... adjusting to palace life.”

“Hmm.” She took a delicate sip from her cup, her eyes never leaving me. “Palace life, indeed. But that is not your primary concern, now is it?”

Her words hung in the air like a challenge, and I suddenly felt as though I had been caught in a trap. My heart quickened, but I forced myself to stay composed.

“No,” I replied softly. “It is not.”

“And yet,” she continued, her voice cool and biting, “there is still no child.” The statement came out as a flat accusation, not even a question.

I swallowed hard, my hands tightening in my lap. “No, Your Majesty. Not yet.”

The Queen Mother’s eyes narrowed. “Not yet,” she repeated, as though testing the words. “Do you know how important it is that you bear my son an heir, Rosalie?”

The way she said my name was as if it were something distasteful, a reminder of who I was—a reminder that I had not been born for this life, that I was merely playing a part.

“I do,” I answered, trying to maintain my calm. “We are doing our best.”

“Your best?” Her eyebrow arched, and she set her cup down with an audible clink. “If this is your best, then you are failing. And failure is not an option, not for someone in your position. Your sole purpose, girl, is to provide an heir for this kingdom. Do you understand what is at stake?”

The sharpness in her voice made me wince inwardly, though I kept my face as neutral as possible. My chest tightened, and I felt a wave of inadequacy wash over me.

“I do understand, Your Majesty,” I said quietly, hating how small I felt under her gaze.

She leaned forward slightly, her fingers tapping against the arm of her chair. “Do you? Because from where I stand, it seems you’ve done little more than waste time. Your marriage is not for your comfort or for the trivial pleasantries of a young girl. It is about duty, about ensuring the stability of this kingdom. You were chosen for this, Rosalie. Do not forget that.”

Her words cut through me like shards of ice, but I had no defense. She was right. I had been chosen for this purpose, and thus far, I had failed.

“You must try harder,” she continued, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Do whatever it takes to ensure that you give my son what he needs. You are dispensable, Rosalie. If you do not fulfill your duty, another can easily take your place.”

The cold, brutal truth of her statement hung in the air. Dispensable.

I looked down at the tea in front of me, feeling the sting of tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away before they could betray me.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I whispered.

She regarded me with a long, hard stare, as though assessing my worth, before finally sitting back in her chair, satisfied with my submission. “Good,” she said with finality. “See that you do. Your time is running out.”

With that, she rose gracefully from her seat, the cold atmosphere surrounding her like a shroud. She didn’t bother to say goodbye or offer me any form of kindness as she swept out of the room, leaving me sitting there, alone, with the weight of her words pressing down on me.

I didn’t know how long I sat there, staring blankly at the table, the silence of the room swallowing me whole. Every word she’d spoken replayed in my mind, each one sharper than the last.

I had failed. And there was no room for failure in this life.

The Queen Mother’s cold, unfeeling presence lingered long after she had left, a chilling reminder of the expectations that now ruled my every move. I had never felt so alone, so powerless.

I was dispensable. Just a means to an end. A vessel.

I slowly stood, my legs feeling unsteady as I made my way back to my chambers, each step heavy with the burden of my duty. I had no choice but to continue this path, no matter how isolating, no matter how painful.

But as I closed the door behind me, I couldn’t help but wonder... how much more of myself I would lose before I succeeded—or if I ever would.