𝐈'𝐦 𝐚𝐧 𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥 (𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐃)

Chapter 69: Overthinking: My Favorite (and Worst) Hobby

The daytime joy didn't protect me from the creeping shadows of the night.

Hours later, the palace fell completely silent. The fire in our bedchamber had burned down to low, glowing embers, casting long, twisting shadows across the ceiling.

Arsen was asleep beside me, one of his large hands resting possessively and protectively over my still-flat stomach, even in his slumber.

I, however, was wide awake. My mind, fueled by its worst overthinking tendencies, had begun to spiral.

The quiet of the room became a breeding ground for my deepest anxieties. I stared at the dark ceiling, my breathing growing shallow.

A baby.

The word felt foreign, heavy, and terrifying.

I wondered though, if I would prefer a boy or a girl. A boy with my knack for politics, a girl with his morale. We could be decent parents, maybe.

I told myself I could teach my daughter how to play chess. I wouldn't hit my son even if he didn't get a perfect score in his lesson.

I could make him understand what was right and wrong without cruelty. I could be a lovely mother. I could take counsel from my aunt.

And Arsen could be a lovely father. I knew his capacity to care and his careless way of loving. All in, always.

He would want our kids to love the sword, and even though I still didn't understand the appeal, I felt a warmth spread over my heart as I imagined watching them train together.

But just like any other day, my opalescent daydream shattered as soon as I started thinking about the worst possibility possible.

A girl with my temper, a boy with his foolhardiness. I didn't know a thing about being a mother except that one should not ruin their child.

I knew how to be a ruler, I knew how to command armies, how to restructure corrupt nobility, and how to execute traitors, but how did one nurture a fragile, innocent life?

What if I failed again? What if my cold, prideful nature made me a terrible parent? What if I couldn't give this child the warmth they deserved?

And how about Arsen?

He would want his children to have all the love in the world. He could be overindulgent. He could make them obstinate, stubborn. Then he could resent them for it.

I would want to protect them from any evil in the world, something my parents couldn't give. I wouldn't let them believe in anything that compromised their state of mind. I could shield them, I would tell myself it was love. But my children would believe me to be suffocating. Overprotective. I could—

For fuck's sake, the voice in my head snapped me from my thoughts. It hasn't even happened yet.

It hadn't.

But I had always been an overthinker. And I never learnt how to take it easy. I played in my head a hundred versions of the conversation I would have with Arsen. All of them came out wrong.

We were going to sleep with the distaste of our argument. We were waking up on the wrong side of the bed. There was no bed.

A sharp, ragged breath escaped my lips.

Beside me, Arsen stirred. My sudden shift in breathing had broken through his sleep.

He shifted, his red eyes blinking open in the dim light. He immediately noted the tension in my shoulders, the way my fingers were tightly knotting the bedsheets. He sat up, his hand moving from my stomach to gently cup my face.