THIRD POV:
Kaldric marched through the camp with the stride of a man going to war, but his mind was in a state of total disarray.
He reached the royal pavilion, his silver eyes wild as he demanded an audience.
King Alaric was draped in a fur-lined robe, nursing a cup of spiced wine. He looked up, surprised to see his most stoic commander looking as though he had seen a ghost.
"Commander? Is the perimeter breached? Is the treachery finally revealed?"
"Your Majesty," Kaldric rasped, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "I suspect Ardelle... I suspect her of witchcraft."
The King paused, his cup halfway to his lips. He leaned back, a slow, amused grin spreading across his face.
"Witchcraft? That is a heavy charge, even for you, Kaldric. Go on with your absurd accusation. What dark sorcery has she performed?"
"I always knew her beauty was a mask," Kaldric hissed, pacing the length of the rug, panicking at what he saw, explaining everything to his King before it's too late.
"Tonight, it finally revealed its true nature. She is bleeding, My Liege. Bleeding heavily without a single wound on her body. She claims it is a cycle of the moon, but I know sorcery when I see it."
"Kaldric–" The King's personal knight called, hoping to stop him before he made a fool of himself.
"Not only that, My Liege, her strength had increased too. Ardelle, who never dared to raise her voice, yelled at me. Her powers must be at their peak right now." He continued, determined that his theory was the only logical explanation and everything else was a made-up scenario.
When Kaldric was done, a silence settled before bursting into a peal of laughter.
The King erupted into a fit of booming, deep-chested laughter that echoed through the pavilion. He hadn't laughed this much in quite a while.
"Oh, Kaldric, Kaldric, my boy…" the King gasped, wiping a tear from his eye, barely able to control himself.
"You are one of the greatest swords in the Emberspear, but you are a fool of the highest order."
Kaldric froze, his posture stiffening. "I do not find the situation humorous, Sire."
"Of course you don't," King Alaric chuckled, settling back into his chair.
"Listen to me, you iron-headed boy. She is not a witch. She is a woman. What she told you is the truth."
"Her Majesty, the Queen herself, is a beautiful nightmare on her days, as well. Ah... I miss her. I cannot wait to return to the capital and see her again."
Kaldric remained silent, his brain audibly clicking as he registered the information. The Queen? The most powerful woman in the kingdom suffered this... curse?
"Is there any way to stop the blood?" Kaldric asked, his voice dead serious.
"There are only two ways," the King said, his smirk turning into something more suggestive.
"A woman stops bleeding only if she is barren, or if she is bearing a child."
The King leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with a sudden, mischievous sharpness.
"Though, as passionate as you described yourself to me, claiming you could not 'resist' her angelic beauty, I must say, I did not expect her to bleed this month."
Kaldric blinked, "Why not, My Liege?"
"Because," the King whispered, a triumphant smirk on his lips, "If you had truly been as 'active' as you claimed, she might be carrying your kin by now."
"The fact that she is bleeding tells me your passion was perhaps a bit of an exaggeration, Commander. Are you sure you are as wild as you claim?"
Kaldric glitched. He could feel a deep embarrassment settling in his bones along with the sudden realization. Each month of her bleeding will mean she was not carrying his kin.
The blood drained from his face, and for a moment, he was pale, consuming a long time to process the information.
The lie he had told to cover his violence had just been dismantled by a biological reality he hadn't understood yet. He had cornered himself with his own deception.
"I... I see," Kaldric muttered, his jaw tightening, his eyes everywhere but the smirking man.
King Alaric reached into a small wooden chest beside his bed, pulling out a pouch of dried, fragrant herbs.
"Here. Take these. Have the servant brew them into a tea. It helps with the cramps. She will experience severe pain."
Kaldric took the pouch hastily, a rare distress coming to his face, "Severe?"
"Yes. Go back to your tent, Kaldric," the King advised, his voice softening with a touch of pity.
"And Kaldric? try to be a man, not just a soldier. She isn't a witch. She's just a woman who has the misfortune of being married to a man made of obsidian."
Kaldric bowed, turned, and walked out into the cold night. He clutched the herbs to his chest, the King's words ringing in his ears. Your kin.
The thought of a child,a smaller, softer version of himself with Ardelle's eyes, hit him with more force than any claymore ever could.
And to think, each month she will bleed, everyone was going to get a hint of their lack of…the very intimacy he lied so passionately about.
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ARDELLE'S POV:
After sending him away, I cleaned the blood spots, settled myself, and finally laid down on the rug to fall onto the peaceful slumber only to get interrupted by Lord Kaldric's abrupt movement coming from outside.
"Move."
"What are you making, Commander?"
"I said move."
Intrigued, I got up and glanced only to find the Commander stood over a small cook-fire himself, surprising the squires too as he meticulously steeping some herbs in a tin cup.
He looked as though he were preparing a lethal poison, his brow furrowed in intense, tactical concentration.
Was he going to poison me? Does he still think I am a witch?
I thought, getting worried when the lines on his forehead were hardening.
He marched back into the tent, the cup steaming in his hand. He looked strange, victorious, yet utterly out of his element.
"Drink this," he commanded, thrusting the cup toward me.
I sat up on the edge of the cot, blinking back the remnants of sleep. "What is it?"
"A remedy," he said, his voice stiff. "His Majesty provided it. It is for your... condition. Drink."
I took the cup, the scent of lavender and dried raspberry leaves rising with the steam. It was an expensive, royal blend, the kind of luxury I had only smelled in passing at Sernic.
I took a sip, the warmth spreading through my chest. It was delicious, but the sight of the great Lord Kaldric waiting for my reaction as if I were a wounded soldier was even better.
"It is quite good, My Lord," I whispered, taking another sip.
"But... why did you brew it now?"
"For the pain," he stated, crossing his arms over his chest. "The King informed me that you would be suffering. I am ensuring that my ward remains functional."
I couldn't help it. A small, weary smile touched my lips.
"But, I am no longer in pain, My Lord. The cramps were sharp earlier, but they have faded for the time being."
Lord Kaldric's triumphant expression faltered.
"My Liege said you would be in pain," he repeated, sounding like a man whose map had suddenly led him into a swamp.
"Yes. But it is not a constant agony," I explained, leaning back against the pillows.
"It comes and goes in waves. Right now, I am merely tired. You... you wasted an expensive, royal herb for naught."
The Commander of the Obsidian Pillar froze. He looked at the cup, then at me, a slow, deep crimson creeping up his ears.
He had just performed a manual labor he deemed beneath him, used the King's personal stores, and acted like a savior—only to be told he was late.
I began to giggle. It started as a small bubbled sound in my throat, but soon it turned into a genuine laugh since the marriage.
"You look so disappointed, My Lord! Did you want me to be in pain just so you could fix it?"
"N-No, I… I…"
Lord Kaldric stared at me. He didn't roar. He didn't scold.
He stood mesmerized, his silver eyes softening as they traced the way my shoulders shook and how the light caught the genuine spark in my eyes.
The harlot and the witch were gone, there was only a girl laughing at a man who had tried too hard.
"Be silent, woman," he muttered, though his voice lacked any real bite. He turned away, clearing his throat loudly to hide his embarrassment.
"I simply do not like to waste the King's resources."
"Of course, My Lord," I said, struggling to stifle my last few giggles.
The atmosphere in the tent had shifted. The jagged glass of the previous nights had been swept away by a cup of tea.
"Sleep," he muttered, pointing toward the cot. "You need your strength."
"And you?" I asked, watching him as he began to spread a heavy fur rug across the dirt floor.
"I will sleep here," he said, not meeting my gaze.
"I am used to the hard earth. The cot is... too soft. It makes me slow."
I knew it was a lie. I knew he was giving me the bed because of the blood and the pain he finally understood.
I lay back down, pulling the furs to my chin, watching him settle onto the ground.
"Goodnight, My Lord Kaldric," I whispered.
I heard him huff, "Goodnight, Ardelle."
For the first time in a long time, the shadow of the King and the Earl didn't sit between us.
There was only the sound of the wind, the scent of herbs, and the steady breathing of a man who was learning, inch by inch, how to be a husband. And deep down, he hated it.