Chapter 47

The entire hall erupted in disbelief.

Councilors stared, mouths agape.

The noble maidens froze in shock.

Even Lucien’s eyes widened in confusion.

“Her?” Lord Galen finally managed. “My king… she’s—she’s a servant!”

“She is,” Zerach said firmly. “But she has shown me more loyalty, compassion, and courage than anyone in this hall.”

Freda shook her head, tears flooding her eyes. “My king, please… you don’t have to—”

“I do,” Zerach said, his voice breaking. “For too long, I have lived in the shadows of the past. The gods have spoken through my queen. Daphne herself guided my heart tonight.”

He looked into Freda’s tearful eyes and whispered so only she could hear:

“I will not let you bear your pain alone. You deserve the crown you never sought.”

The hall remained in stunned silence.

Then Lord Galen bowed deeply, trembling. “The king has spoken. So let it be written.”

The council chamber was empty now. The echoes of gasps and murmurs had faded into the thick, golden silence of night.

King Zerach sat alone in his private chamber, still dressed in the royal robes of the selection day. The crown rested beside him, its jewels catching faint reflections from the flickering lamps.

He had done what none expected — what even he could not explain fully.

He had chosen love — or perhaps redemption.

When the door creaked softly open, he didn’t look up. He already knew who it was.

Freda entered quietly, her face veiled, her hands trembling as she closed the door behind her. The torches painted her in soft shades of amber and gold. Her voice was low, hesitant.

“My king… they’re saying things in the hall. Some of the council are not pleased. Some say I bewitched you.”

Zerach turned to her slowly, his eyes weary but gentle.

“Let them say what they wish,” he murmured. “I have faced darker storms than words.”

Freda’s breath shook as she stepped closer. “But… why me? Why before everyone? You could have chosen anyone — a princess, a noblewoman, someone worthy of you. Instead, you chose a servant.”

He rose from his seat, his height and presence filling the room with quiet power. Yet his voice, when he spoke, was soft — almost fragile.

“Because,” he said, “the night before the gathering, I prayed. I begged the gods for a sign. I asked Daphne — my beloved queen — to guide me, to speak to me one last time.”

He paused, swallowing hard as memories flooded back.

“And she came,” he whispered. “I saw her, Freda. I saw Daphne standing beside my bed — glowing with light, her eyes full of peace. She said to me, ‘Let go, Zerach. You cannot love my ghost forever. The boy needs a mother. The kingdom needs a queen. Do not deny the will of the gods.’”

Tears welled in Freda’s eyes. “She… spoke to you?”

He nodded slowly. “She smiled at me, and then she said, ‘I know what happened that night. I know your heart, and I do not hate you. It was meant to happen.’”

Freda gasped softly. Her fingers trembled around her veil. For a long moment, silence filled the air — thick with things unspoken. Then she stepped closer.

“My king,” she whispered, “there is something I must tell you.”

Zerach’s brow furrowed. “What is it?”

She took a deep breath. “I… I am with child.”

He froze — the words striking him like thunder.

“What?”

Freda’s voice cracked. “I found out not long after… that night. I wanted to tell you, but I feared what it might mean — for me, for the child, for your memory of the queen. I thought you would hate me, that you would think I trapped you.”

Zerach’s hands trembled slightly before he reached out and took hers gently. “You should have told me, Freda.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I know. But I didn’t want to destroy what little peace you had left. You were grieving, drinking, lost in pain. I thought it best to hide.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then his expression softened into something neither she nor he could define — part relief, part wonder, part sorrow.

He reached out and placed his hand gently over her stomach.

Beneath his palm, he felt the faint rhythm of life — small, fragile, but real.

“So I will be a father again,” he murmured. His eyes shimmered. “Daphne was right… the gods had already chosen.”

Freda looked up at him, tears sparkling. “Do you… forgive me?”

He smiled faintly. “Forgive you? Freda, you’ve given me hope again. You’ve brought back what I thought was lost.”

And for the first time in years, he leaned forward and kissed her — gently, reverently, like a man kissing away his sins.

The night fell silent around them.

The wind outside whispered against the windows.

When they pulled apart, their foreheads rested together.

“I will protect you,” Zerach whispered. “You and the child. No one will ever harm you.”

Freda smiled faintly. “Then let me protect you too, my king.”

The following week, the palace became a storm of gold and crimson.

The royal wedding — the first in over a decade — was to be held in seven days.

The city buzzed with disbelief and anticipation.

Some whispered that Freda had enchanted the king.

Others said it was fate — the late queen’s will.

Freda’s chambermaids whispered when she passed. The noblewomen watched her with veiled contempt. But through it all, Freda remained calm — serene even. She no longer feared the world’s judgment.

Every night, the king visited her privately, and they spoke in low voices about the future.

“You will not walk this path alone,” he said one night, taking her hand. “When I stand beside you before the gods, the world will know you are my queen, chosen not by blood, but by spirit.”

She smiled softly. “And what of Lucien? Does he know?”

“He will,” Zerach said. “He must. And when the time comes, he will understand.”

But deep down, he wondered. Lucien had grown distant, restless, strange — as if something unseen stirred within him.

The morning sun rose bright and unclouded, casting golden light over Songhaii

The air smelled of jasmine and cedarwood. Bells rang across the city.

Freda stood before her mirror in a gown of ivory silk, her veil flowing like mist around her. Her hands trembled as the maids pinned the royal crest upon her chest.

She looked at her reflection — the servant who once poured wine now about to be queen.

Outside, the courtyard overflowed with nobles, priests, and villagers. The grand altar shone with golden light.

When King Zerach appeared, clad in robes of white and crimson, the crowd fell silent in awe.

He reached out his hand to Freda, and she took it — their fingers intertwining like two fated paths finally meeting.

The High Priest raised his staff and proclaimed,

“Before gods and men, before the living and the departed, I bind these two in heart and in destiny.”

The vows were spoken.

The crowd cheered.

Petals rained from the balconies above, white and crimson mingling in the air.

When the ceremony ended, and the drums began to beat, the king turned to his people and declared,

“This is not a marriage born of power, but of mercy — for even kings must learn to love again.”

Freda’s heart swelled. For the first time, she felt seen — not as a servant, not as a shadow, but as a woman chosen by fate itself.

The Wedding Night

The celebration lasted until the moon climbed high into the sky. Music faded into the night breeze. The palace halls shimmered in candlelight.

When Freda entered the royal chamber, her heart pounded. The room was perfumed with roses and sandalwood. The bed was draped in white silk, the firelight dancing softly across the walls.

Zerach stood by the window, his crown set aside, his face half hidden in shadow.

“You look beautiful,” he said quietly.

Freda smiled shyly. “You look… worried.”

He turned to her, eyes filled with emotion. “I am not worried. Just… grateful. And a little afraid of how much the gods have changed my life.”

She walked closer until she stood before him, her hands resting against his chest. “Then let the gods rest tonight. Let it just be us.”

He smiled, a tired but genuine smile, and brushed his thumb along her cheek.

Her veil slipped softly to the floor.

They stood there for a moment — two broken hearts learning to beat as one again. Then his lips met hers, slow and warm.

The night deepened around them.

Outside, the city slept beneath the moon’s pale glow. Inside, the king and his new queen shared their first quiet hours — bound not by royal decree, but by forgiveness, and by the fragile hope that love could be reborn even after tragedy.

And as Freda drifted into sleep beside him, his hand still resting protectively over her stomach, he whispered,

“May Daphne bless us both… and may this child bring light to what was once lost.”

But in the forest beyond the city, the wind carried another whisper — darker, older, waiting.

The twins’ fates were stirring again.