Chapter 69: The Pregnant Queen

The Royal Palace of Montbert was buzzing with activity. The rightful rulers had returned.

But inside the Throne Room, the Grand Duchess was fighting a battle harder than any war.

She was fighting the urge to vomit.

Serenity sat on the Golden Throne, wearing her official regalia—a heavy silk sash, the diamond crown, and a corset that felt way too tight for her current condition.

Below her, the Minister of Agriculture, a boring man with a monotonous voice, had been talking about wheat harvest statistics for forty minutes.

"And therefore, Your Highness, the grain output decreased by 2.4%..." the Minister droned on.

Serenity clutched the armrests of the throne. Her face was pale. The smell of the Minister's strong cologne drifted up to her. It smelled like musk and old onions.

Don't throw up, she told herself. Queens don't throw up on national television. Hold it in.

Standing beside the throne, dressed in his black Prince Consort uniform, Jackson noticed.

He knew every expression on her face. He saw the slight sheen of sweat on her forehead. He saw her knuckles turning white.

Jackson didn't wait for the Minister to finish his sentence.

"That's enough," Jackson’s voice boomed through the hall, cutting the man off instantly.

The Minister looked offended. "Prince Jackson? I haven't finished the report on fertilizers..."

"Submit it in writing," Jackson walked down the steps and stood between the Minister and Serenity, acting as a human shield against the smell. "The Grand Duchess has heard enough about wheat."

"But—"

"Are you deaf?" Jackson glared. "Meeting adjourned. Everyone out. Now."

The ministers scrambled to pack their papers. When Jackson Sterling used that tone, you didn't argue; you ran.

As soon as the heavy doors closed, Serenity slumped in her throne.

"Oh god," she pulled off her heavy crown and placed it on her lap. "Thank you. Five more minutes and I would have decorated this rug with my breakfast."

Jackson produced a bottle of water and a mint from his pocket (his new essential carry-on items). "Drink this."

Serenity took a sip. "Jackson, I can't do this. How am I supposed to rule a country when I can't even sit still for an hour?"

"We adapt," Jackson helped her stand up, supporting her waist. "I'll handle the boring meetings. You handle the signing. And we install a bucket behind the throne. Just in case."

Serenity laughed weaky. "A royal bucket. Very dignified."

"I don't care about dignity," Jackson kissed her temple. "I care about you and the peanut."

"Peanut?"

"The baby. It's currently the size of a peanut," Jackson grinned. He had clearly memorized that book.

They walked out of the Throne Room towards their private wing.

On the way, they passed the Grand Hallway. It was now transformed into a high-tech fortress.

Alex was sitting on the floor, surrounded by three guards who were holding... network cables?

"Alex, what are you doing?" Serenity asked.

"Upgrading," Alex didn't look up from his laptop. "This castle is stuck in the 18th century. The firewall was made of cheese. I'm installing biometric sensors and motion detectors in the hidden tunnels."

"Hidden tunnels?" Jackson frowned. "You found more tunnels?"

"Yeah," Alex pointed at a digital 3D map on his screen. "This place is like Swiss cheese. But don't worry, Dad. I put electronic locks on all of them. Only we have the passcodes."

Jackson nodded approvingly. "Good work. Put Mia on the whitelist. Last time she got locked in the pantry for two hours."

"Roger that."

They reached the Royal Bedroom. Jackson closed the door and locked it.

Finally, silence.

Serenity collapsed onto the bed, kicking off her heels. "I need sleep. For a week."

"Sleep," Jackson sat next to her, unbuttoning his stiff uniform collar. "I'll wake you up for dinner. I told the chef: only bland food. Crackers, soup, and grilled chicken. No spices. No smells."

Serenity smiled, eyes already closing. "You are... the best Prince... ever."

She fell asleep instantly.

Jackson watched her for a while, his expression softening.

Then, his phone buzzed. A encrypted text message.

It was from the Head of the Secret Intelligence Service (MI6), a contact he had acquired through his billions.

[ Message: We found something on "The Order". They are not just in Europe. They have activated a sleeper agent in Montbert. Inside the palace. Trust no one. ]

Jackson’s face hardened. He deleted the message.

He looked at his sleeping pregnant wife and his genius son guarding the hall.

Sleeper agent? Jackson pulled a hidden knife from his boot and placed it under his pillow.

Let them wake up, he thought. I'll put them back to sleep. Permanently.