There were guards the kingdom knew, those who wore the king's colors, trained in the open, and marched through the palace.
And then there were the others. The Dark Guards.
Shadows trained for secrecy, loyalty, and silence. They answered only to queen Athalia and she had used them many times. No one knew how many existed, where they slept and no one dared ask.
That night, while the queen slept lightly, two cloaked figures knelt in the hidden passage behind her chamber.
Athalia did not turn to look at them. She spoke without opening her eyes.
"There are nobles and stewards whispering too boldly."
"Yes, Your Majesty," one of the shadows replied.
"They question my judgment," she continued softly. "They question my rest and my intentions toward the throne."
A long silence followed.
"Your Majesty," the second guard asked, "what would you have us do?"
Athalia opened her eyes slowly.
"Silence them."
The first figure bowed. "How many?"
"Start with the one who spoke today," she said. "And any who share their sentiments."
"No traces?"
"Yes, no traces."
The figures bowed deeply.
"As you command."
When they slipped away into the dark passage, Athalia lay back down, pressing a hand to her stomach. The child stirred again, stronger, but hungrier.
"You're learning," she whispered faintly.
Her eyelids closed but sleep did not come easily.
It began two days later.
Steward Calven failed to report for morning duties. His wife said he had not come home the night before.
The second time it happened, she was on the balcony outside her private study.
Athalia's eyes snapped open as she recognized the voice instantly this time. It was Telor.
But she was three floors above the courtyard. From that height, she should not be able to hear a single word. The garden fountains drowned out most sound, and yet she heard his voice clearly as if he stood beside her.
Another voice responded, faint but understandable.
"Careful. If someone hears you…"
"No one will," Telor muttered. "And even if they do, what then? The queen creates new regulations every day. Traders are upset, the villagers confused, and the court pretends everything is perfect. And the king does not even see it, probably blinded by love."
Athalia felt a pulse inside her stomach like a strange tightening. A cold sensation ran up her spine.
This new ability and this new intrusion of sound was not her own. She knew it instantly. It was the doing of the child growing within her. It was lending her the ability to hear far, perhaps hear thoughts, emotions, or intentions.
The following day, Telor and the woman steward who had dared speak of Athalia's health vanished as well. Their horses were found outside the city walls, with the reins dragging on the ground.
One by one, five nobles who had whispered about the queen's ambition disappeared with no bodies, no footprints and no letters.
It was as if the night swallowed them whole.
It didn't only do so, but their energy was taken from them, leaving them lifeless and without traces. But King Adrain was yet to find out.
At first the kingdom had ignored because they were small.
Then a village complained taxes had doubled unexpectedly a noble family lamented that their trade rights had been reassigned without explanation, and a soldier whispered that Athalia's advisors were growing too bold. All of this angered Athalia and they were the best punishments for those who spoke against the Royal household.
But the anger festered, leaving her with no option than to hurt those against her.
That was when the second strange disappearances occurred, raising concerns about anyone that spoke against the Queen and the throne.
"They said he had simply vanished after a meeting." One of the ministers said.
King Adrian was troubled. "This cannot be coincidence," he murmured as he paced the council chamber. "Six people do not vanish without cause."
The advisors exchanged uneasy looks as the air felt heavy while Queen Athalia sat beside him at the council table, serene as always.
"Perhaps," she said gently, "they simply traveled or fled because of guilt."
"Guilt?" Adrian looked at her.
"Yes," Athalia replied. "People who gossip about the throne often fear their own words."
A minister cleared his throat. "Your Majesty… it is unlikely they all left voluntarily."
Adrian turned toward Athalia. "Do you know anything about this?"
He held her stare for a moment, searching for something like doubt, fear, or truth but he found nothing.
Athalia lowered her eyes demurely. "Perhaps they simply wandered too close to trouble outside the city walls."
Lira, who stood near the door, felt a shiver run down her spine. She knew what the Dark Guards were capable of. She knew their queen.
But she kept her silence.
A week later, another steward disappeared.
Whispers spread:
"They probably spoke against the queen."
"No, they spoke against new taxation."
The rumors multiplied.
Adrain heard some of them but brushed them aside, believing them to be exaggerations or political fearmongering. He trusted Athalia, trusted her counsel, and trusted the progress they were making.
Since, the Kingdom was concerned, she instructed the Dark guards to thread carefully.
From the moment Queen Athalia's condition became known, I did not leave her side. I watched the child grow, not through joy, but through endurance. Pregnancy did not soften her but thinned her and each month took something from her including the color from her skin, steadiness from her hands, and light from her eyes.
And still, she ruled.
Lira helped as best she could as she brought meals, warmed cloths, fresh linens, and quiet words when the nights stretched too long. But it was I who listened to the child and understood what the others could not.
By the fifth month, Athalia no longer walked the palace halls freely. She moved carefully, slowly, and always supported by cushions and silence. The court was told she was resting for the sake of the child and some applauded her devotion.
If they had known the truth, they would have prayed instead.
"You are watching me again," Athalia said one afternoon, her voice thin but sharp.
I looked up from my notes. "I always watch."
She exhaled. "You look as though you are counting something."
"I am."
"What?"
"Time."
She frowned slightly but said nothing more because she had learned not to press me. Trust, once given, does not require explanation.
Lira entered with a tray. "Your tea, Your Majesty."
Athalia took it, but her hands trembled. I stepped forward at once.
"Let me help," I said.
She allowed me to guide the cup to her lips.
"It drains me faster now," she whispered when Lira stepped away. "At night especially."
I nodded. "I know. The child grows stronger every passing month."
Athalia's fingers tightened around the fabric of her gown. "Stronger than even me, i guess?"
"Yes," I answered honestly.
She closed her eyes.
The signs became clearer as the months passed.
Athalia began responding to things before they happened. She would stiffen moments before bad news arrived and she would fall quiet before arguments in court. Once, she asked a servant to leave the room seconds before he confessed a mistake.
Even King Adrain noticed.
"She has changed," he said to me one evening when Athalia slept. "She is… now distant."
"She is just being focused on the pregnancy," I replied calmly.
He studied me. "You always have a way with words."
"I am careful," I said.
He nodded, satisfied.
By the seventh month, Athalia's pain was no longer something herbs could fully calm.
She woke screaming one night, clutching her stomach.
"It hurts," she gasped. "It is pulling."
I placed the globe against her skin at once, whispering softly. The pressure eased, but did not vanish.
"This will not be enough soon," I said quietly.
She looked at me with fear she no longer hid. "What will happen then?"
I did not answer for i had none yet.
It was near the eighth month when I felt a shock of wave clearly. The air changed.
The child's presence pressed outward, no longer contained only within Athalia's body. I sensed it before dawn, as i stood alone in her chamber while she slept.
"It's time". I mumbled.