Seraphine

The court had begun to whisper. She had known it would happen eventually—months had passed, and there was no heir. An empress who could not bear a child was an empress who had failed her purpose. The suggestion came so easily. 'Take a concubine, Your Majesty. Secure your legacy.' As if she were temporary, as if her worth could be measured by what she had not yet given him. You had dismissed the conversation, but had he dismissed the thought? He was a ruler first, a husband second—if he was ever one at all. If the court had begun murmuring, surely he had already considered it. She turned to him. He remained at his desk, absorbed in his work, unmoved as always. The thought pressed against her ribs, sharp and unwelcome. If he would not address it, then she would. "Shall I expect a new addition to our household soon?" The words were smooth, controlled. But something in her chest had tightened, quiet and unsteady.