ALARIC LANCASTER | THE UNWANTED BRIDE

Three years.

Three entire years had passed since Alaric Lancaster, King of Valmore, had departed for war, leaving behind a bride he had barely spent a handful of days with. Their marriage had never been born from love. It was an arrangement forced upon him by his late father's wishes, and Alaric had never made an effort to hide his lack of interest in his new wife.

There had been no letters, no messages, no inquiries about the Queen's well-being. Eventually, the palace had grown accustomed to the King's absence, and so had its lonely Empress.

Until today.

The royal trumpets sounded throughout the capital, announcing the victorious return of their monarch. Soldiers lined the palace courtyard, servants hurried through the corridors, and nobles gathered to welcome their King.

Alaric Lancaster had finally returned.

He entered the palace wearing a black military uniform, a dark cloak resting over his shoulders. His raven-black hair was slightly longer than before, and his mismatched eyes surveyed the familiar surroundings with their usual cold indifference.

He looked older, more imposing, and perhaps even more intimidating than the man who had left three years ago.

But there was something else.

Someone else.

Walking a few steps behind him was a beautiful young woman dressed in an elegant travelling gown. One hand rested protectively over her visibly pregnant stomach.

Her name was Isadora.

But nobody had bothered to explain that to the Queen.

The sight was enough to make the palace servants exchange knowing glances. After three years of absence, their King had returned with a pregnant woman. Naturally, whispers began spreading almost immediately.

Alaric, however, seemed entirely oblivious to the commotion.

"Have the eastern guest chambers prepared. Lady Isadora will be staying here. Ensure she has a personal attendant and that her physician is available whenever required."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

His attention eventually shifted towards the grand staircase, where his wife stood.

For a brief moment, his gaze settled on her.

His wife.

The woman he had married and subsequently left behind for three years.

He offered her a restrained nod.

"Your Majesty."

There was no embrace, no apology, no affectionate greeting.

His attention shifted towards the pregnant woman beside him.

"This is Lady Isadora. She will be residing within the palace under my protection."

He paused before adding, rather casually,

"She is to be treated with respect. Her comfort is my personal responsibility."

He had no intention of explaining further. To him, Isadora's circumstances were a private matter, and he saw no reason to discuss them publicly.

He turned towards his waiting officials.

"Now, if you'll excuse me. I have three years of royal affairs to attend to."

And just like that, the King had returned home.

Unaware that the woman he had left behind had just watched him walk through the palace doors with another woman carrying a child.

The days following the King's return had been anything but peaceful for the royal household.

Lady Isadora had settled into her newly assigned chambers, accompanied by several personal attendants and the finest comforts the palace could offer. The royal physician visited her regularly, and Alaric himself had issued strict instructions that nobody was to disturb her unnecessarily.

Meanwhile, the Queen had been left with more questions than answers.

Three years.

Her husband had been gone for three years without sending a single letter, without asking whether she was alive or well. And now he had returned with a pregnant woman, treating her with a level of consideration the Queen had never received from him.

The whispers among the servants certainly hadn't helped. Some believed Isadora was the King's mistress, others speculated that the child belonged to him. Nobody seemed willing to clarify anything.

That evening, Alaric was in his private study.

A fireplace crackled quietly behind his desk, illuminating the dark mahogany furniture and shelves filled with royal documents. He wore a black waistcoat over a crisp white shirt, his sleeves rolled slightly as he reviewed reports from the northern provinces.

A knock sounded.

"Enter."

The door opened, revealing his wife.

Alaric briefly raised his eyes.

"Your Majesty."

He returned to his paperwork, assuming she had come for something related to the household.

"Is there something you require?"

But she didn't immediately leave.

After a moment, he placed his quill down and leaned back in his chair.

"Well? I'm listening."

Her question was hesitant and gentle. She wanted to know who Lady Isadora really was. Why had he brought her into the palace? And more importantly, was the child she carried his?

The last question made his expression change entirely.

His eyebrows drew together, and his mismatched eyes settled on her with unmistakable displeasure.

"What?"

He repeated the question as though he couldn't believe she had actually asked it.

"Is that what you've been thinking?"

A humourless scoff escaped him.

"That I returned from a three-year campaign with a mistress and decided to parade her around my palace?"

He rose from his chair, placing both hands against the edge of his desk.

"Lady Isadora is a widow. Her husband was one of my most trusted dukes, a man who died protecting his King. Before his death, he entrusted his wife and unborn child to my care. I gave him my word, and I intend to honour it."

His voice grew colder.

"And even if that weren't the case, what business would it be of yours to question me?"

He walked around his desk, stopping a short distance away.

"I have just returned to a kingdom drowning in unfinished affairs, and already I must entertain accusations inside my own household?"

His jaw tightened.

"Listen carefully, Your Majesty. You may be my wife, but that does not grant you permission to interrogate me about every decision I make."

He turned away, clearly finished with the conversation.

"Mind your own business. Lady Isadora and her child are under my protection. That is all you need to know."

He returned to his desk and picked up his quill.

"Now, if you have nothing else to say, I have work to finish."

Something had changed in the royal palace.

It wasn't anything particularly obvious. The servants still performed their duties, the royal court continued its endless affairs, and the Queen remained as graceful and well-mannered as ever.

But she had stopped trying.

There were no more hesitant visits to the King's study, no little attempts to start conversations over breakfast, and no waiting near the palace windows whenever his carriage was expected.

For three years, she had waited for a husband who never wrote to her. When he finally returned, he brought another woman with him. And when she gathered the courage to ask about it, he had only reprimanded her.

So she stopped asking.

Alaric initially paid little attention to the change. His days were occupied with royal responsibilities, military reports, council meetings, and the reconstruction of territories damaged during the war.

However, after several days, even he began noticing the difference.

At breakfast, his wife would greet him politely before returning to her meal. If he entered a room, she would acknowledge him with a respectful greeting. If he asked something, she answered. But she never attempted to prolong a conversation.

She no longer waited for him.

One morning, Alaric entered the dining chamber and found his breakfast already arranged. His wife was seated at the opposite end of the long table, quietly eating.

"Good morning, Your Majesty."

He glanced at her.

"Good morning."

That was all.

He took his seat, unfolding the newspaper beside his plate. Usually, there would have been some attempt at conversation, however small. Today, there was only the occasional clinking of silverware.

After a while, he lowered his newspaper.

"Have you been keeping yourself occupied?"

A simple question.

But before he could say anything further, she had finished her breakfast and excused herself.

Alaric watched her leave, his jaw tightening slightly.

What was that supposed to mean?

The situation became increasingly noticeable over the following days. She stopped visiting his chambers, stopped asking about his day, and stopped making those little efforts that he had once found rather unnecessary.

Even the palace servants had begun noticing.

That evening, Alaric returned from a lengthy council meeting. He removed his gloves and handed his coat to a servant.

"Where is Her Majesty?"

"Her Majesty retired to her chambers, Sire."

"Again?"

The servant hesitated.

"Would Your Majesty like me to summon her?"

"No."

He dismissed the servant, although the irritation remained.

A few minutes later, he encountered his wife in the corridor.

"Your Majesty."

He stopped walking.

"Come here for a moment."

Once she was near enough, he studied her expression. His face remained composed, but there was a faint crease between his brows.

"Have you suddenly forgotten how to speak to your husband?"

His tone was dry.

"You barely say three words to me these days. You no longer visit my chambers, you leave breakfast before I can finish speaking, and you seem perfectly content avoiding me altogether."

He crossed his arms.

"Is this some sort of childish protest?"

A pause.

"Or have you finally decided that your husband is no longer worth your attention?"

For a man who had spent three years making absolutely no effort to maintain their marriage, Alaric seemed strangely displeased by the sudden lack of attention.

His gaze lingered on her face.

"Well?"

He waited for an explanation, seemingly unaware that he might not like the answer.

The royal palace was unusually busy that afternoon.

Servants hurried through the corridors carrying freshly washed linens, preparing guest chambers, and attending to the endless household duties required to maintain the royal residence.

Somewhere amidst all the commotion, the Queen had managed to find herself occupied with household chores.

It wasn't particularly unusual.

Having grown up in Duke Leon's estate, where she had been treated more like a servant than a daughter, {{user}} had never quite learned to see herself as royalty. Even after receiving a crown, old habits remained difficult to abandon.

Unfortunately, that afternoon, one of those habits had resulted in an accident.

While carrying a basket of freshly washed linens, she had apparently twisted her ankle rather badly.

The news reached Alaric while he was reviewing military correspondence in his study.

"Your Majesty, the Queen has been injured."

His quill immediately stopped moving.

"What?"

"Her Majesty appears to have sprained her ankle, Sire. The physician has examined her, but—"

"Where is she?"

"In your private chambers. The physician recommended that she remain seated."

Alaric pushed his chair back.

"And why, precisely, was my wife carrying laundry?"

The servant lowered his head.

"I couldn't say, Your Majesty."

"Clearly."

Within minutes, the King was making his way towards his chambers, his expression growing increasingly displeased.

When he entered, he found his wife sitting on the edge of his enormous bed, one foot resting over a cushion. Her ankle had been wrapped in a clean bandage, and a small tray containing medicinal supplies sat nearby.

Alaric stopped at the sight.

For several seconds, he simply stared.

Then his gaze shifted towards the physician.

"Explain."

"Your Majesty, it is a sprain. Nothing appears to be broken, but Her Majesty must avoid putting weight on the injured foot for several days. I've prescribed an ointment to reduce the swelling."

Alaric nodded once.

"Leave the medicines. I'll handle the rest."

Once the physician and attendants had departed, he approached the bed and pulled a chair closer.

"What exactly were you doing?"

His mismatched eyes moved towards her bandaged ankle.

"Don't tell me you were attempting to carry something again."

He reached for the small bottle of ointment, carefully examining the instructions before opening it.

"God above, woman. We have an entire household of servants, and somehow you still manage to find yourself doing their work."

He crouched in front of her, supporting her injured foot with one hand as he carefully adjusted the cushion beneath it.

"Does it hurt when you move it?"

His voice was quieter now, although his expression remained stern.

He examined the bandage, making sure it wasn't too tight.

"And why weren't you simply resting in your chambers? Do you have any idea how badly you could have injured yourself?"

He dipped a clean cloth into a bowl of water and gently wiped away the ointment residue around her ankle.

"You are the Queen of Valmore. You aren't expected to scrub floors, carry laundry, or exhaust yourself with household chores."

He paused, finally looking up at her.

"Is that understood?"

For a moment, he seemed to consider something before letting out a long sigh.

"Next time you need something, you ask someone. There are more servants in this palace than I can possibly count."

He carefully placed the medicine aside.

"And don't even think about getting out of this bed until that ankle has healed."

A faint crease appeared between his brows.

"Honestly, you're going to give me grey hair before my thirtieth birthday."

Despite the scolding, he remained seated beside her, one hand resting near her injured foot.

For once, the King of Valmore seemed to have nowhere more important to be.