In the kingdom of Gravenmoor, the court glimmered with opulence, but rot swelled beneath the velvet.

Queen Elira sat on the dais beside King Vaelric, a cold crown on her head and colder weight in her womb. None yet knew she was with child - not even her husband. She believed it his, conceived in joyless duty on a rain-slicked night weeks ago. But the truth, locked deep in a wine-drenched corner of her mind, flickered with terror: the child was likely Prince Jaeric's.

The masquerade had blurred lines. Masks, laughter, intoxication? and Elira, swept in a carnal tide she hadn't resisted. She remembered hands, whispers, passion - but only in the days after had the sickening recognition hit. It was his eyes she'd seen beneath the mask. Her stepson. Her husband's blood. Her own guilt.

Jaeric had always stared too long. Touched too lingeringly. His obsession festered like mold under silk. And now, he plotted to kill Vaelric. Elira had intercepted the letter - a knife ordered; an alchemist's poison arranged. All for her. All for the throne.

She had to act. Before the child was born. Before the truth unraveled.

"Exile," she whispered to Vaelric one night, lying beside him. "The prince is sick. He dreams of your death. I fear for your life."

Vaelric's face remained a calm, unreadable canvas. "And what of your dreams, my queen?"

"I dream of peace," she lied.

He touched her belly, unaware. "Then we shall have it."

Two weeks later, the court gathered for judgment.

Prince Jaeric stood shackled, surrounded by guards, fury in his youthful face.

"This is madness," he growled. "She seduced me. She - "

"Silence," Vaelric barked, voice echoing through stone. "You are guilty of treason. Your exile is mercy."

Jaeric turned to Elira, eyes pleading, face breaking. But she gave him nothing. Her stomach twisted. Her child kicked.

The court watched as the prince was taken.

And then, silence.

That night, Elira found Vaelric in the solar, sipping wine alone. His eyes held something new - relief? Satisfaction?

"It's done," she said.

"It is," he agreed. "I'm sorry you had to lie, Elira. But your sacrifice has saved Gravenmoor."

She paused. "My lie?"

Vaelric turned, and in his eyes was steel.

"I know the child is his."

Her breath caught.

"I know what happened at the masquerade. I know of the poison. I arranged for Jaeric to have it. I whispered to him in shadowed ways. I made him believe you loved him."

Elira staggered. "Why?"

"Because you both betrayed me," he said simply. "You and my own son. I gave you both power, and you made me a fool."

"But the baby - "

"I'll say it's mine. I'll raise it as heir. And when the child is old enough, I'll tell him the truth. That he is the bastard of madness. Born of lust and treachery. And when that truth breaks him, so will he break you."

Elira's knees weakened. "You're damning your own house."

Vaelric smiled, cold and perfect. "I'm cleansing it."

And so, Queen Elira gave birth to a prince who would never know his true father, raised by a king who wore forgiveness like a mask and vengeance like a crown.

But in the silence of night, somewhere far beyond the king's reach, Jaeric sharpened his knives.

The court of Gravenmoor would never be whole again.

But it would be quiet. For now.