Todos os capítulos de Royal Trouble: A Naughty Prince Meets His Match : Capítulo 121 - Capítulo 130

Carl sat in his office, staring blankly at the papers on his desk. His hands trembled as he held the phone to his ear. “Doctor,” he asked in a shaky voice, “is it possible for my wife to have an abortion… without her knowing?” On the other end, the doctor’s tone was sharp. “No, Prince Carl. If we forced her into an abortion without her consent, not only would our medical license be revoked, but it would be against every code of ethics. We cannot do that.” Carl pressed a hand to his forehead, despair washing over him. “I’ll take the fall for everything, I don’t care. Just… save her.” The doctor sighed heavily. “It’s too late for such decisions. The pregnancy has advanced too far. Abortion is not even an option anymore. All we can do is prepare and hope for the best.” The line went dead. Carl slumped into his chair, his face buried in his hands. He tried to stay strong, but the tears came anyway, hot and uncontrollable. “What am I supposed to do if I lose her?”

Isha had barely finished her morning prayer when the whisper reached her ears. One of the neighbors rushed in, voice trembling: “My lady… they say Princess Ariel may not survive childbirth.” The words hit Isha like a knife. Her body trembled, and she clutched her chest as if someone had torn her heart apart. “How… how can someone be so forgiving?” she muttered, sinking to the floor. Tears ran uncontrollably down her cheeks. “She is carrying death in her womb, and yet she smiles at everyone… she even set free the one who placed her in this deadly position.” Her sobs shook the walls of the little chamber. She wept like a mother mourning her own child, pounding her chest as if she could beat the sorrow away. Just then, Dacy entered quietly. She had overheard the whispers too, and for the first time her proud shoulders slumped. Her eyes were already red, swollen with unshed tears. “Mom…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Is it true? Is it true Ariel might… d

Adrian drew in a breath so deep his chest hurt. His voice came out steady but heavy, like a man walking toward his own execution. “I… I’m going to marry both of them.” The words crashed through the room like thunder. Ariel gasped so hard she nearly choked. Isabella’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes as round as saucers. Even King Zubrel, who had been lounging casually in his chair, sat upright, eyebrows raised. Shock danced across his features—but beneath it, a small, amused smile threatened to escape. “Bro… what are you saying?!” Ariel shrieked, leaping to her feet. Adrian forced a weak smile, sweat trickling down his temple. There. I said it. Now maybe everyone will be at peace. Maybe— He braced himself for the storm. He expected tears, shouting, maybe even a slap. But instead— Both Lilian and Charlotte squealed in unison, their eyes sparkling with delight. Before he could blink, they rushed him from opposite sides, squealing like

The palace that morning felt nothing like the proud walls of Eldoria. It felt heavy, like a churchyard after a funeral. Everywhere the maids went, they whispered. Their voices cracked, trembling as though saying Ariel’s name too loudly might break her fate for good. One maid carried linens toward the royal hall, but she paused midway, her lips quivering. “Did you hear? Princess Ariel… they say she might not live to see her child.” Another dropped the jug she was holding, water spilling across the marble. “No! Don’t say that! How can God be so cruel? She’s always smiling, always kind… and now…” Her words dissolved into tears. Within minutes, the halls buzzed with the heartbreaking rumor. Some wept openly, clutching aprons to their mouths. Others knelt in corners, murmuring prayers. Even the guards shifted uneasily, their stoic eyes damp. And yet, through all the whispering, one thing grew louder: respect. The maids spoke not only of her suffering, but

The hospital corridors of Eldoria had never been this crowded. From maids and guards to nobles and high officials, the halls overflowed with restless footsteps and whispered prayers. Some sat hunched on benches, others knelt with clasped hands, their voices quivering as they begged heaven for mercy. The sterile white walls seemed to mock their despair, amplifying the tension with every tick of the clock. At the far end of the hall, double doors sealed the birthing chamber from the world outside. But even with the doors shut tight, the faint sounds of struggle seeped through—the cries of a young woman, the frantic instructions of doctors, the beeping machines that told the truth no one wanted to hear. Inside that chamber, Ariel was fighting for her life. Her body shook violently with each contraction, her gown soaked in sweat, her face ghostly pale against the white sheets. The monitors beside her flickered and beeped like a countdown to disaster. Her lips were