Gone in the Moonlight

When she gave birth to the eldest prince three years ago, she was not allowed to see him either. King James had personally taken the child away, merely telling her, “This babe will be the queen's firstborn. Don't entertain unnecessary thoughts.”At the time, she still had energy to cry and beg. She tried to get out of the bed and chase after him, but the maids held her firmly in place. Afterward, she learned her place. She would go to the queen's chambers every day to greet her, all so she could hear the baby's babbling across the screen. At first, the king allowed it. Later, the queen said the prince needed peace and quiet, so she never saw her son again. Now, even her second child had been taken from her. She lay quietly on the filthy delivery bed, like a doll that had lost its soul. She did not even have tears to cry anymore. Before she could fully recover, the queen's head maid summoned her to resume her daily morning and evening greetings. Lynette dragged her broken b

When James entered her room that night, it was almost midnight. Lynette was getting ready for bed when the attendants announced his arrival, and she had to get dressed to greet him.Daisy wanted to do up her hair, but she waved her maid off. “No need for that.”James brought a cold breeze into the room with him, pausing when he saw she was only wearing her nightgown with her hair down. “Greetings, Your Majesty.” Lynette bowed.“As you were.” James sat by the table and poured himself a cup of tea. “The queen suggested a name for the princess: Annie. Since you’re her biological mother, I thought I should ask what you think.”Lynette lowered her gaze. “Queen Isabella is the princess’ mother. Any name she suggests would be wonderful for her.”James’s hand tightened around the teacup. The fireplace crackled, then he said softly, putting down the cup. “It’s good that you think that. There’s one more reason I came here. Prince Charles is three years old now, so it’s time he had a teach

“What is going on here?!” a deep, angry voice rang out. James was standing at the door, having just returned from the royal court. He was even still wearing his cloak. He glanced at Lynette, who was kneeling on the cold ground with her cheek swollen. Then he looked at Isabella, frowning deeply. Isabella froze, her eyes turning red in an instant. She ran up to James, looking hurt. “Your Majesty, look at her! I just told her off a little, and she threatened me with her father's name! She was so rude and unremorseful that I couldn’t help it…”James looked at the injury on Lynette’s face. It was startlingly red and swollen.His heart clenched in his chest. It hurt.When he saw Isabella’s teary face, though, he remembered all she had done for him, even losing her right to motherhood. With that, he bit back the heartache he felt for Lynette.He could not publicly chastise his queen and undermine her authority, so he looked at Lynette and said sternly, “Lady Eaves, apologize. The quee

Westhill was three hundred miles away from the capital city. James raced back on his fastest horse, abandoning his carriage and only taking a few guards with him through the night.When he reached the palace, dawn had yet to break. Black smoke was still rising from the west tower, the burning smell emanating through the air.He ran straight inside.The fire had been extinguished. All that remained inside were a few charred skeletons and smoking wooden beams. The servants all knelt to the ground, trembling. “Where is she?” James’s voice was rough as he scanned the rubble.The chief steward stammered. “Y-Your Majesty… The fire was too intense. By the time we realized it, the tower had…”“I asked you a question. Where is she?!” James kicked a nearby servant to the ground. “All of you made it out, so why didn’t Lady Eaves?!”The servant coughed up blood from the impact but stayed prostrated on the ground, too afraid to make a sound.A maid who was kneeling at the back sobbed, her

James brought the painting back to his study.He had his servants light more lamps and hang the portrait in the center of the room. The young general in the painting sat atop his horse, looking over his shoulder. His gaze and aura were sharp — that was James of three years ago, as she saw him. Now he sat on his throne, wearing his crown, yet that youthful confidence from back then was nowhere to be seen. He dismissed the servants and sat amid the lights alone, staring at the painting until his vision turned bleary. He remembered many things. He remembered how she would pick flowers from the garden when she first joined the harem, how she would talk to him softly and sweetly, how she would sneak glances at him during banquets and look away hastily when he caught her. He remembered the light in her eyes when she first fell pregnant, as she caressed her stomach carefully. She had asked, “Do you want a boy or a girl, Your Majesty?”How had he replied then? He had said, “The