The healer's dwelling was tucked behind the palace's eastern wing, a shadowed nook away from watchful eyes. Vines clung to its stone walls, and the scent of dried herbs lingered like whispers. Asher entered without a sound, the door creaking softly as he stepped inside.
The old healer glanced up from a steaming bowl of crushed roots, her eyes sharp beneath her silvered lashes. She didn't rise.
"Your Highness," she said, voice flat. "I assume this isn't a social visit."
"No," Asher said, closing the door behind him. "It's about Lilian."
The woman's hand paused mid-stir.
"I was told she is with child."
"You were told correctly," she replied, turning back to her work.
"But that's not all you sensed," he said quietly.
The pestle stilled. She looked up at him then—really looked—and something passed between them. An unspoken weight. She exhaled through her nose and set the bowl aside.
"There is something... odd," she admitted, reluctantly. "Something I cannot explain. Not yet."
Asher stepped closer. "Odd how?"
Her eyes drifted to the glowing coals in the brazier. "The child's presence feels like a ripple where the water should be still. An echo where there should be silence. She is barely a few weeks in, but something ancient stirs beneath her womb."
She shook her head, as though scolding herself. "It may be coincidence. A passing chill in the wind. I'm old. I see things that aren't there."
"But you felt it."
She nodded, slowly. "Just for a moment. Like the flick of a candle about to go out."
Silence thickened between them. Then she added, more to herself than him, "I've never touched a pregnancy that made the air shiver."
Asher's jaw tightened, but he gave no visible reaction. "Keep this to yourself."
"I already have," she said. "But, Prince Asher… if what I felt was real—then this isn't just a child. It's a question. One we may not want the answer to."
Asher turned to leave, but paused at the door.
"If you sense more… call for me. And only me."
She nodded, watching him go with a troubled gaze.
The door shut behind him with a soft click, and the healer whispered to the silence:
"Some questions… ask themselves."
-----
Later that night, Asher stood on the castle battlements, watching torchlights flicker below. A cloaked figure emerged beside him—a whisperer. Asher handed over a pouch heavy with coin.
"Spread it," he said.
The whisperer nodded once, disappearing like mist.
-----
The next morning...
The heavy oak doors of the royal council room slammed open.
The Queen sat poised in her high-backed chair, dressed in mourning blue, a goblet of wine untouched before her. The King's fingers tapped absently against the armrest, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
The royal advisor entered with his cloak askew, breath ragged as though he'd run the entire length of the castle.
"Your Majesties," he panted, clutching a scroll, "we have a problem. A grave one."
The Queen raised an eyebrow. "Unless you're here to tell me the girl gave birth to a dragon, speak clearly."
"It's not about her," he said, eyes flicking to the guards. "It's about Prince Henry."
Silence.
"What about him?" the King asked sharply.
The advisor stepped closer, lowered his voice just enough to make everyone lean in. "Rumors are spreading through the lower town. They claim Prince Henry was seen in bed with both Councillor Edward and Countess Rebecca. On the night of the wedding."
The room tensed like a bow pulled tight.
"They say it wasn't a one-time offense," he continued, his voice shaking now. "They say it's been happening for months. That he never wanted the marriage. That he despised the match and found comfort elsewhere."
The King's face darkened. The Queen stood, slow and deliberate, her fingers coiling around the base of her goblet.
"This will not sit well with Zareth," she said coldly. "They will not accept that their princess was tossed aside for a palace orgy."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the smaller council.
The advisor pressed, "Your Grace, if Zareth considers this a humiliation, we risk the alliance. They could accuse us of making mockery of their royal blood. This is no longer scandal. It's politics."
The Queen's eyes narrowed at nothing in particular—calculating, simmering.
Then, from the far end of the chamber, Asher spoke.
"Make it official."
All eyes turned.
"What?" the King asked.
"Announce my marriage to Lilian," Asher said calmly. "Say it was swift. A rebound. A scandal made right. Let the people believe I stepped in to protect her honor and this kingdom's name."
The Queen studied him.
"You mean to fix one scandal with another?" she said slowly.
"No," he said. "I mean to control the story before it controls us."
A hush.
Then the King nodded once, weary. "Do it."
The Queen turned to the advisor. "Bury the original tale. Let the people believe this was always the plan."
And yet, as the room emptied with orders flung and fates sealed, the Queen remained still, her gaze lingering on Asher.
"Clever boy," she murmured. "But even clever boys forget that fire, once spread, doesn't always burn what you choose."