10. Chapter 10 - Betrayal Revealed
Gabriella
The palace was unnervingly quiet in the days following Roman's infiltration of the Shadow Court.
Security had been tripled, corridors that once felt like home now felt like sterile corridors under constant surveillance.
Every staff member watched me with a mixture of fear and pity, their eyes darting away when I caught them staring.
I was in the nursery, folding the tiny clothes I had washed with special soap, my hands moving through the familiar motions while my mind raced with the information Roman had brought back from the Blackwood estate.
The Shadow Court. The plan to kill us after Sophia's birth. Sebastian's claim to the throne.
It was a perfect, monstrous plan. And it hinged on one thing: information. Medical information. Timing. Vulnerabilities.
"Your Majesty," Clara said from the doorway, her voice hesitant. "Dr. Cross is here for your thirty-two-week checkup. She said it was important not to miss it."
I looked up from the tiny pink sweater I was folding, my expression carefully neutral. "Of course. Send her in."
Dr. Cross entered with her usual warm smile, her medical bag in hand, her demeanor the perfect blend of professional and caring. "Your Majesty. You're looking well. Rested."
"Appearances can be deceiving," I replied, my voice cool. "Shall we get this over with?"
She froze, her smile faltering for just a moment before she recovered. "Of course. If you'll just lie back on the examination table..."
I moved to the table, my movements deliberate, my mind racing through what I needed to do, what I needed to say, how I needed to play this.
Roman had argued for a direct confrontation, for immediate arrest, for using the evidence we had to dismantle Sebastian's network.
But I had another plan. A plan that required me to play the part of the unsuspecting queen just a little longer.
"The baby is moving a lot," Dr. Cross said as she applied the gel to my stomach, her voice professional, her hands steady. "That's a good sign. Strong. Healthy."
"Is she still positioned for birth?" I asked, watching her face carefully.
"Head down, perfect position," she confirmed, moving the ultrasound wand across my stomach. "No complications. No concerns. You should be able to deliver naturally, assuming everything continues as expected."
As expected. The phrase hung in the air between us, a confirmation of what I already suspected. She was feeding them information. Specific, detailed medical information that would allow them to time their attack with precision.
"And the due date?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm. "Still eight weeks from now?"
"Approximately," she said, her eyes focused on the screen. "Thirty-two weeks today. Full term is thirty-seven to forty-two weeks, so we're looking at early to mid-September. Of course, first pregnancies can be unpredictable. Sometimes they come early. Sometimes they go late."
Unpredictable. The word was a test, a way to gauge my reaction, to see if I understood the implications of what she was saying.
"Unpredictable how?" I asked, my voice soft. "What could cause her to come early?"
"Stress," Dr. Cross said, her eyes still on the screen. "Trauma. Illness. Any number of factors could trigger early labor. It's something we should monitor carefully."
I nodded, my mind racing. They were planning to induce early labor. To use the stress and trauma of an attack to trigger the birth, to create chaos, to make their move while I was weak, vulnerable, unable to effectively command.
"The heartbeat is strong," she said, pointing to the screen. "One hundred forty-five beats per minute. Perfect."
I watched the flickering image of my daughter, my heart aching with a mixture of love and rage. This woman, this trusted physician, this person who had touched me, who had monitored my daughter's heartbeat, who had pretended to care about our wellbeing was betraying us. Selling us to the enemy.
"Dr. Cross," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "Do you have a daughter?"
She froze, the ultrasound wand stilling against my stomach. "Your Majesty?"
"I asked if you have a daughter," I repeated, turning my head to look at her directly. "A daughter named Lily. Seventeen years old. A student at the International School of Zurich. Specializing in languages. Fluent in French, German, and English."
The color drained from Dr. Cross's face, her hand beginning to tremble. "I... I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" I countered, sitting up, the gel smearing across my stomach.
"Don't you know about your own daughter?
About the monthly deposits to her school account?
About the apartment near the university where she lives with a 'host family'?
About the two men who visit her every Tuesday to check on her wellbeing'? "
Dr. Cross stumbled back from the examination table, her medical bag falling to the floor, its contents spilling across the marble. "How... how do you know about Lily?"
"I know everything about you, Dr. Cross," I said, my voice cold with certainty.
"I know about your ex-husband who has custody of your daughter.
I know about the gambling debts that forced you to give her up.
I know about the anonymous benefactor who paid those debts, who arranged for her to attend the best schools, who provides for her every need. "
I stood, approaching her slowly, deliberately, my expression unreadable. "I know about the coded calls you make every Tuesday and Thursday. I know about the information you provide. I know about the man you work for. I know about Sebastian Blackwood."
Dr. Cross collapsed, her body folding in on itself, sobs wracking her frame. "I didn't have a choice. I didn't. He has her. He has my daughter. He said he would kill her if I didn't cooperate. He said..."
"He said a lot of things," I interrupted, my voice softening slightly. "He's very convincing. Very charming. Very good at manipulating people who love their children."
She looked up, her face streaked with tears, her eyes pleading. "You have to understand. I would never... I never wanted to. But Lily... she's all I have. All I've ever had. And he promised she would be safe. He promised she would have everything she needed if I just provided some information."
"Medical information," I clarified. "Due dates. Vulnerabilities. Complications."
"Nothing that would hurt you," she insisted, crawling toward me, her hands clasped in supplication. "Nothing that would harm the baby. Just timing. Just planning. He said he needed to know when the baby would be born. He said he needed to prepare for the transition. He said..."
"He said he would kill your daughter if you refused," I finished, my voice dangerously quiet. "He said he would kill her if you told anyone. He said he would kill her if you tried to escape."
She nodded, her body shaking with sobs. "Every Tuesday. I call and report. Every Thursday, I receive confirmation that she's still alive. That she's still safe. That she still has a future."
I knelt in front of her, taking her hands in mine, my touch gentle but firm. "And you believed him? You believed the man who plans to kill me, to kill Roman, to use our daughter as a puppet to legitimize his claim to the throne?"
"I believed he would kill Lily," she whispered, her voice broken. "I believed he would do what he said. He's not... he's not like other men. There's something cold inside him. Something that doesn't care about anyone or anything except what he wants."
"Where is she?" I asked, my voice soft but commanding. "Where is your daughter?"
"In Zurich," she said, her voice trembling. "In an apartment near the university. Under guard. Two men. Always two men. They watch her. They follow her. They make sure she doesn't talk to anyone. Doesn't leave the city. Doesn't..."
"Doesn't escape," I finished, my mind racing. "And the phone calls? The coded messages?"
"Every Tuesday and Thursday," she confirmed. "A prepaid phone. Untraceable. He calls me, I report. I call him, he confirms Lily is safe."
I stood, pulling her to her feet, my decision made. "We're going to get your daughter back, Dr. Cross. But you're going to help us. You're going to give us everything. Names. Locations. Plans. Everything."
"Anything," she promised, her eyes desperate with hope. "I'll do anything. Just please... Please save my daughter."
I nodded, turning to the door where Marcus stood, his expression grim, his hand on his weapon. "Take her to the secure room. Get her everything she needs. Food. Water. A place to rest. And get me Roman. Now."
As Marcus led Dr. Cross from the room, I looked at myself in the mirror, at the queen who had confronted her betrayer, who had turned the tables, who had found a weakness in the enemy's armor.
But beneath the composed exterior, my heart was pounding, my hands were shaking, the reality of what we were facing crashing down on me.
Sebastian Blackwood isn’t just an ideologue with a legitimate claim to the throne. He is a monster who held children hostage to get what he wanted. He is a manipulator who uses love as a weapon. He is a threat that had to be eliminated before he could destroy everything we had built.
And I will do whatever it takes to stop him.