Fate | Baldwin IV

the crown

I slipped out of my bed before dawn. My eyes stung from crying all night, my body aching from exhaustion. I had barely gotten a wink of sleep. Moving in silence, I dressed myself with unsteady hands, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the morning light. I looked awful—eyes and nose red, hair a tangled mess. I tugged a cloak over my shoulders, pulling the hood low to shield my face, as if hiding my shame.

I left my chamber in silence. The corridors were still under the hush of early morning. I walked past the guards on watch without drawing attention to myself, keeping my chin lifted as if I was on my way to oversee my usual business. Servants on their duties paid me little mind, bowing their heads as I passed as they always did, slowing their pace but quickly returning to their normal steps once I was out of sight.

No one suspected anything. I walked as if I were merely heading outside to the courtyard for a casual morning stroll. But as I passed the infirmary, I stole a glance inside, my heart racing in my chest. I searched for Suleyman, but only the nurses were there, sitting by the windows, whispering among themselves. I walked a bit more until I reached the end of the corridor, then turned sharply.

I then made my way deeper into the palace, where the halls grew emptier, where the voices faded and all that remained was the soft echo of my own steps. It was even quieter here, but inside my head, it was loud as ever. My stomach churned with a sickness beyond nausea—a deep, gnawing guilt. I couldn't believe what I was doing, I hated myself for it. My hands were shaking, palms sweating the more I thought about it. The voices in my head screamed I would burn in hell for this, and the wrath of God would be the harshest of all. My eyes watered again, the tip of my nose burning from the tears I fought back—a glimpse of the night I had gone through. My throat tightened as though wrapped in thorns, but I swallowed past it, forcing myself forward. And just around the shadowy corner, my destination loomed ahead: the library.

I strode toward the door with firm steps, but I barely had time to gather myself when the door suddenly creaked open from the inside. I nearly froze, my breath caught in my throat.

Behind the old oak appeared Salim, stepping out of the library. With a sigh of relief, I hurried after him and reached for the door before he could, pushing it shut with a thud. Startled, he turned to me. He quickly drew his hand back and retreated to put a distance between us, his eyes wide upon seeing me. "Your grace—" he began in surprise—he must have thought I had gone mad, appearing here like this, pale and desperate—but I cut him off.

"I need your help, Salim," I said urgently.

His brows furrowed. "With what?"

"Is anyone in?" I asked, gesturing to the library with my chin, my voice hushed.

"No—"

I opened the door. "Come," I said, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him inside before he could protest.

"Your grace—" he started again, clearly bewildered.

I turned and shut the door behind us, removing my hood. "I need this baby gone."

The words left my lips in a quiet confession, but in the silence of the library, they rang out like a death sentence.

Salim went rigid. The expression on his face shifted, confusion melting into shock. "You... what?"

Tears welled in my eyes, and I gritted my teeth, struggling to hold them back. "I cannot be pregnant."

He stared at me, searching my face as though trying to understand what could have driven me to this. "...Why?"

A tear slipped down my cheek, my chin trembling. "The king doesn't want the child."

Salim's frown deepened. "He does not?"