Chapter 1

Dagmar

-The child must die, and the Queen told that he was born dead – Gwyneth will be heartbroken. But I can’t allow that child to live. Not even for her.

-If the Queen ever finds it, it will be your head that will roll – She can never find the truth.

She will never forgive me.

I recall her joy when she found she was pregnant. Her smile. Her pride.

7 months passed since that day.

7 months pretending to share her joy. Helping her choosing names. Watching her making tiny clothes every night. Seeing a new life filling her body.

The life that will kill me unless I kill it first.

Traitor, traitor, traitor.

-Leave – I order to the man kneeling in front of me.

After the wedding, I prayed to God. I asked him to not bless me and Gwyneth with children, even if it meant the end of my dynasty.

But God did not listen to my prayers.

While I watch the man standing and leaving, I use all my strength of will to not reach my sword. To not cut his head off before he has time to follow his orders. My orders.

My hands shake but they don’t move.

She will never forgive you, chants the voice on my head.

Plant my seed into a stranger’s womb and rip it at birth. Easy.

Falling in love by the owner of that womb was never part of the plan.

I shouldn’t have laid with Gwyneth until I got another woman pregnant first. With a harem full of concubines, it would have been easy.

But after I met her, all the other women become nothing. Since then, I haven’t laid with any other.

The fierce princess of Ashpyre brought with her power, gold and an alliance with one of the strongest Kingdoms of the continent.

Gwyneth was a hurricane of fire and passion. The body of a goddess made for sin with the heart of an angel. One look into her eyes, those two wells of pure sapphire fire, and she had my heart on her hands. For all eternity.

I walk in the direction of my office, looking for the guts that only alcohol can give me before I return to our bed, where I left her sleeping after using my hands to make her moan my name over and over.

Liar, liar, liar.

The One Fated by the Firstborn Blood. That was the name given to me by the Royal Oracle at my birth. I grew up knowing I would have to kill my first child.

Unless I wanted to die. Which I don’t.

Not that I wouldn’t die for Gwyneth. For her, I would welcome the sweet embrace of death with a smile on my lips. But this child would take me away from her.

My steps resonate on the empty hall.

The royal prophecies are known by everyone, since the highest nobles of the court to the lowest of the peasants in the distant corners of the realm. My Queen knows it too. But she was born and raised in another Kingdom, where such prophecies and traditions don’t exist. I know that she had never thought I believed in them. I will never let her know that she is wrong.

For 7 months, the royal academics studied Synkaid history and prophecies. In more than 2000 years there is none that was never fulfilled. Not even one.

If the child survives, I will die.

I can’t wait any longer.

I will spend the rest of my life compensating her for this pain. I will give her other children to love and raise, to fill her arms and her heart with love and joy until this one is only a memory long gone.

One day, I will believe in my own lies.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t notice the small figure hidden under the darkness.

I don’t see her tears. I don’t hear her heart-breaking sob.