Whispers in the Halls

Lyraeth moved quietly through the palace halls, her senses on high alert. As she watched over Princess Elara and Prince Darius, the days had grown more dangerous. Twice now, she’d intercepted small but telling threats—a vial of poison cleverly disguised, a concealed dagger. Each discovery only heightened her vigilance.

The royal garden had become her sanctuary, a place where she could watch the children play while keeping an eye on anyone who came near. On this day, Elara and Darius were exploring the garden, each in their own way. Elara crouched low near a bush, studying a small bird as it fluttered between branches. Her movements were deliberate and quiet, a reflection of the sneaking techniques Lyraeth had taught her. Darius, only three years old, toddled around with a wooden sword, his laughter echoing as he tried to mimic the knights he idolized. His tiny hands could barely grip the hilt, but his determination was unmistakable.

“Princess Elara,” Lyraeth called softly, her voice carrying an edge of caution. “Keep an eye on your brother.”

The twelve-year-old nodded, her sharp eyes scanning the area. She had taken to her lessons in self-defense and observation with impressive dedication. “I will, Lyraeth,” she replied, her tone serious despite her young age.

As Lyraeth continued her watch, Elara approached her, whispering, “There’s a man near the hedge. He’s not a gardener. He keeps looking at us.”

Lyraeth’s pulse quickened, though her expression remained calm. “Stay with Darius,” she instructed. “Take him to the gazebo and keep low.”

Elara didn’t argue. She scooped up her little brother, shushing his protests as she guided him toward the gazebo. Lyraeth watched them retreat before turning her full attention to the intruder.

The figure emerged from the shadows, his movements deliberate and predatory. Without hesitation, Lyraeth drew one of her daggers, the blade shimmering faintly with enchantment. The assassin lunged toward her, but Lyraeth vanished in a swirl of shadows, reappearing behind him. Her dagger flew from her hand, striking his arm and forcing him to drop his weapon. The blade returned to her grip with a whispered command.

The man whirled, disoriented, but Lyraeth was already moving. She dodged his next attack with fluid grace, her dagger slicing through the air to sever his belt, disarming him further. A pulse of her magic caused her to vanish again, reappearing in front of him to deliver a precise kick that sent him sprawling.

Before he could recover, Lyraeth pinned him to the ground, her blade at his throat. “Who sent you?” she demanded, her voice cold and unyielding. The man glared at her, but fear flickered in his eyes.

The sound of hurried footsteps signaled the arrival of the guards. Lyraeth handed the assassin over to them, her gaze lingering on him as they dragged him away. She turned back to the gazebo, where Elara was peeking out, her arm protectively around Darius.

“It’s safe now,” Lyraeth called, her voice softening. Elara emerged her expression a mix of awe and determination. “You fought like a ghost,” she said, her admiration clear. “Teach me how to do that.”

Lyraeth smiled faintly, placing a hand on Elara’s shoulder. “Maybe one day. For now, keep practicing what I’ve taught you.” She glanced at Darius, who was clutching Elara’s hand tightly, his wide eyes full of trust.

That evening, she found herself summoned to King Thorne’s study. He stood by the window, looking over the palace grounds, his shoulders tense. “Lady Lyraeth,” he began, his tone softer than she’d expected. “You’ve done more than I could have asked to protect my children. I heard of today’s attack—yet again, you were there to stop it.”

Lyraeth inclined her head, acknowledging the king’s gratitude. “They are my charge. I will do everything to protect them.”

He nodded, a hint of admiration in his gaze. “I know that Edric would be proud.” His words hung in the air, and she felt a pang at the mention of her husband. The king noticed her reaction and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “If you need anything—supplies, reinforcements—say the word.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She dipped her head, grateful for his support. He gave her a reassuring nod, then dismissed her, his gaze lingering a moment longer as she left.

The days in the capital had grown more challenging, though not for the reasons anyone outside the royal palace might have guessed. Few knew Lyraeth had stayed behind to protect Princess Elara and Prince Darius while her husband, General Edric Bearhold, fought on the distant border. Fewer understood why King Thorne held her in such high regard or why his children adored her.

Baron Lucius Merrick’s machinations had begun to twist public perception. Rumors spread like wildfire: Why had the Lady of Bearhold remained in the capital? What power did she wield to gain such favor with the king and the royal family? Whispers grew into dark tales, painting her as an evil spirit who had enchanted her way into Edric’s heart to get close to the throne. Others whispered even wilder accusations—that she sought to become queen, even that she had an affair with the king.

Lyraeth tried to ignore the murmurs, focusing instead on her duty. Yet, the hushed conversations and sideways glances in the palace corridors left her feeling exposed.

One morning, as Lyraeth supervised Elara and Darius at breakfast, a wave of nausea struck. She gripped the table's edge, her vision swimming as cold sweat dotted her brow.

“Lyraeth?” Darius asked, his small voice trembling. “Are you alright?”

Her stomach churned again, and a terrible thought seized her mind. Poison. Her chest tightened as her eyes darted around the room, searching for the source. Her breath came in short, panicked bursts.

The princess ran from the room, calling for the palace healer as Lyraeth stumbled toward her room. Collapsing onto her bed, she pressed a trembling hand to her abdomen. Was this the baron’s plan? Had I become his target?

When the healer arrived, Lyraeth barely registered his soothing words as he examined her. After a moment, his expression shifted, his lips curling into a soft smile.

“My lady, you are not poisoned.”

Her breath caught. “Then… what is it?”

The healer chuckled. “Congratulations, Lady Lyraeth. You are with child.”

Lyraeth blinked, the words hitting her like a thunderclap. Her hand drifted to her stomach, where a warmth began to bloom. “With… child?”

“Yes,” the healer confirmed.

Her shock melted into a complicated mix of relief, wonder, and doubt. A child? Now? she thought. Her heart swelled as she imagined telling Edric, but worry gnawed at her. How could she shield this secret when the palace was rife with gossip?

Only the healer and King Thorne knew the truth; to everyone else, Lyraeth was “ill.” Yet, the whispers about her only grew louder. The accusations of enchantment, ambition, and treachery took on a sharper edge as the ladies and maids began to avoid her, their whispers trailing after her in the halls.

Even King Thorne, upon hearing of the absurd rumors, erupted in anger. “The audacity!” he thundered during one private conversation. “To suggest such things!”

Lyraeth, though touched by his defense, felt a deeper unease. The stares, the whispers, and now her secret—they all made her feel increasingly insecure. In the quiet moments, she found herself withdrawing, loneliness creeping in alongside her quiet joy.

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