14. CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER NINE
SEBASTIAN
Mary’s crying.
No – wailing. She’s a mess, with tear-streaked cheeks that smudge the liner on her lids.
Snot leaks from her nostrils. It’s funny, not her crying, but the show of emotions that course through her.
Even on our wedding day, she showed little emotion, to the point I was sure she didn’t have any.
Not like I can judge; I barely have them anymore.
The tears don’t stop, nor does the incessant ringing in my ears, because what the fuck could be this earth shattering? I’ve done everything she’s wanted as of late. If anything, those tears should be ones of fucking joy.
Considering she’s cum so much on my cock. I know for a fact she isn’t used to it, because there is little to no effort on my part for her pleasure.
She should be fucking grateful. I’ve given her a taste of the attention she so desperately craves, and now I’ve given her space as I pace around the only place I could think of being.
It’s getting warmer out, and the flowers growing in the garden are finally starting to bloom.
Juliet roses and beautiful peony pastelegances cover the muted green of the mossed bushes, making them pop with color.
Inside the walls of the palace, the garden is a rare sight, and rightfully so.
Sometimes, I wonder what it’s like looking through someone else’s eyes.
Do they see the same thing I do? Do they notice the way the ivy wraps vertically around the poles of the gazebo, nestled in the middle of the open space? Would they count the hummingbirds that feed from the nectar inside the lavender columbines?
Unlikely.
No one takes the time to appreciate the small things, not where I come from. If it doesn’t have a high price tag or a form of power, it’s meaningless.
Out of everything inside the maze of flowers and vines, there is one place that has a hold over me: the gazebo.
Its large white pillars are laced with intricate golden designs branching from the base in the bushes up to where it holds the glass roof with a thick metal ring.
Strands of ivy cling to the pillars, giving it a fairytale elegance. Yet, what’s inside is the true prize.
Nothing. There is nothing under that glass roof.
Not a single bench or chair, just white marble with the tiniest speckles of gold. It’s smooth and hard and absolutely miserable to lie on. Though none of that matters, not when you lie on top of the slab and look up through the glass. It magnifies everything.
Fireflies and stars. So many stars.
It’s everything.
“This is now an issue we can no longer overlook,” my father says.
His voice is tight, with displeasure leaking through every syllable. It isn’t shocking, considering he isn’t pleased by anything - ever.
The man is a wall, one that reaches the moon, possibly further. He’s never smiled, never laughed. It’s unnerving, and unfortunately, why he makes such a good king. Since I can remember, I’ve been slowly following in those footsteps.
I doubt he even notices.
“Two years of trying, and there have been no results, not even a false positive. She’s bled consistently, showing no signs of even catching.” My attention turns from the window to my father. “Two years. I have been patient for two years. My patience has run out.”
Dr. Moore’s jaw ticks, visible disappointment written all over his face.
God forbid anyone disappoint His Majesty.
Honestly, I’m not sure how the man lasted more than two months with no pregnancy.
What did he expect to happen in two years?
Mary wasn’t going to produce what she was brought here for.
An alliance with her home kingdom forged through an heir had been the only reason she was chosen.
Their kingdom aligned with ours, no one would be able to touch us.
The Kingdom of Tria is known for their merciless army, their favorable wealth, and their power.
While Hawthorn is unmatched for its trading power in silk and mining, Tria has the firepower we need.
Becoming united was inevitable; I knew since I was sixteen I would be married to Mary Harold by the age of twenty, and that was exactly what happened.
This… complication… wasn’t part of the plan, and that goes right up my father’s ass.
“My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty. I have done all I can do,” Dr. Moore says with a solemn edge to his voice.
Poor guy has no idea he’s about to be fucking executed for something he can’t control.
“Apologies don’t get results, Killian.” Yeah, he’s fucked.
“Deacon…” my mother tries.
“No, this needs to be dealt with now.”
Dr. Moore swallows thickly, and I know if I pressed my fingers to his bobbing throat, his pulse is likely skyrocketing.
I shift until my back rests against the frame of the large glass balcony door, arms coming to cross over my chest as the tension in the room heightens.
Sobs persistently come from Mary, but they have quieted, her personal handmaid rubbing at the tension in her shoulders.
Not once has the word ‘infertile’ been said aloud, as if it’s a forbidden word. It’s grating on my last nerve. Best to get this out of the way, move this family meeting along.
“So my wife is broken,” I say casually, earning another wail from Mary and a gasp from my mother. Miss Prim shifts uncomfortably. “Let’s stop beating around the bush. She’s infertile and no longer worth anything in the eyes of Hawthorn.”
My words are cruel, but they aren’t false. If anyone in this room thinks I’m going to apologize for saying what they are already thinking, they are more delusional than I thought.
“Sebastian,” my mother hisses, her hand resting on Mary’s shoulder.
I physically strain against the urge to roll my eyes before stalking toward the circled chairs in front of my father's large wooden desk. My gaze flicks to Mary, and I can see the pain written across her face. I can’t tell if it’s because she is upset over the news, or if it’s due to the lack of perfection she tries desperately to emanate.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen genuine emotion in her eyes.
She wants children as much as she wants to be married to me. Even picturing her with a baby in her arms is enough to want to laugh. Any child conceived would no doubt be in Georgina’s care, just like I was. I don’t believe in a God, but I do thank the stars for that.
“He’s right.”
What?
His chair creaks against the marble floor as my father stands, his arm raising until he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, no doubt trying to hold back the anger he wishes to unleash.
I’m too stunned with having him agree with me for the first time in my life to notice anything happening around me.
He looks at my mother, her face plastered with clear upset, but she doesn’t argue.
No. There is no arguing with King Deacon. There is only agreement, action, and acknowledgement.
“My queen.” His voice is softer as he reaches a hand toward my mother who easily slips her own against his. “We spoke about this. There is always another plan, and you chose well.”
What the fuck was he talking about?
“Miss Prim, fetch Georgina and Miss Pierce for us.”