The news did not arrive in a single voice.
It moved in fragments.
Soft conversations. Passing remarks. A warmth that carried from one corner of Brambleford to another until it reached the council chamber, where Elaria stood with her notes still open before her.
She was not listening for it.
And yet—
It reached her.
“Bella is already four months along,” someone said with quiet delight.
“And now there is more good news. Isolde is expecting as well. Three months, they say.”
Another voice followed, softer, more thoughtful.
“I heard Julian left everything and rushed from his workshop the moment Elinor sent for him. He thought something was wrong with Isolde.”
“They did not even realize it themselves… that she had been carrying for three months.”
There was no judgment in the words.
Only concern.
“She has taken too much upon herself,” the voice continued. “The council, the estate, the medical center… everything at once.”
“And she has lost weight,” someone added quietly. “She looks weaker than before.”
A faint sigh followed.
“Julian has always been attentive,” the first voice said, “but now he will have to be more careful.”a
For a moment—
Elaria smiled.
For Isolde she was happy.
It came naturally.
Without effort.
Isolde deserved this.
She had carried everything without complaint. She had stepped into responsibilities that were not hers and made them her own. If there was joy meant for anyone, it was her.
The smile stayed—
For a moment.
Then something shifted.
Three months.
Her mind did not linger on the happiness.
It stopped at the number.
Three months.
Her fingers tightened slowly over the edge of the table.
Three months was not a vague measure.
It was exact.
It was undeniable.
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And in that exactness—
Something broke.
She stepped away from the chamber.
No one stopped her.
No one noticed.
The corridor inside was quiet, the air warm against her skin. She walked without direction at first, her steps steady but hollow.
Three months.
The thought returned.
And this time—
It did not stand alone.
It began to connect.
1. The next day after the engagement.
“I will not marry her.”
Julian’s voice had been firm.
Unyielding.
“There are decisions made for appearances,” he had said. “But they do not define my life.”
She had stood there, listening.
Not questioning.
Not doubting.
“I will marry the one I love,” he had continued.
“When the time comes, I will correct what has been forced upon me.”
There had been no hesitation in him.
No uncertainty.
Only conviction.
And she had believed him.
She had taken those words as truth.
Not as possibility.
Not as defiance.
But as promise.
A promise she never asked him to make—
Yet one she chose to trust.
Her breath faltered.
“I was a fool,” she whispered.
The corridor felt narrower now.
Her mind moved again.
Forward.
To the wedding.
She had stood there.
Watched him.
Listened.
And yet—
She had chosen not to see.
The way he had spoken his vows.
The steadiness in his voice.
The absence of resistance.
And the words—
Clear.
Unmistakable.
“I do not take this oath till death,” he had said.
“I take it beyond it.”
There had been no force in that moment.
No hesitation.
No reluctance.
Only certainty.
She had heard it.
She had understood it.
And still—
She had dismissed it.
Because it did not align with what she wanted to believe.
Her chest tightened.
The truth was no longer distant.
It was precise.
It was measured.
It was three months.
Her mind moved again.
To the conversations that had followed.
2. During the departure of Lydia and Daniel Price with 3 other couples,, “Even if I have married her, I will not consummate it.”
Julian’s voice again.
Certain.
Confident.
“That requires love. And I do not love her.”
She had held onto that.
Held onto it as something real.
Something that placed her above what had already been decided.
3. And then—
Just a month ago.
When Isolde had returned to Harrowcliffe.
When Elaria had arrived at Marengrove.
“I have not begun my marriage.”
“I am waiting.”
“For my true love.”
Elaria closed her eyes.
The realization did not come slowly.
It struck.
Three months.
Isolde had been carrying his child even then.
Even when he had spoken those words.
Even when he had stood before her and repeated them without pause.
It was not confusion.
It was not misunderstanding.
It was a lie.
Her strength gave way.
She slid down against the wall, her back pressing into the cold surface as she sat on the floor.
Her hands trembled.
Not with anger.
With clarity.
“I believed him…”
The words broke from her quietly.
“I believed everything…”
Her breath grew uneven.
And then—
Another truth surfaced.
Heavier.
Deeper.
“I said no to Lucien…”
Her voice faltered.
“I said no to the one who saw me…”
Her fingers tightened in her lap.
“He never spoke to me about my beauty.”
“He never praised what I looked like.”9
“He spoke to me as if I mattered.”
As if her thoughts had weight.
As if her presence was not something to be admired and forgotten.
Tears fell.
Uncontrolled.
“I turned him away…”
“For this…”
Everything Lucien had said returned to her now.
Not loudly.
Not forcefully.
But clearly.
Every warning.
Every measured word.
Every moment where he had tried to show her truth without forcing her to accept it.
He had never demanded.
Never exposed.
Never humiliated.
He had simply remained steady.
Waiting.
“And I did not see it…”
Her shoulders shook now.
The weight of her choices settled fully.
Not just what Julian had done.
But what she had chosen to believe.
What she had defended.
What she had refused to question.
“I have lost him…”
The words came slowly.
But once spoken—
They did not leave.
“I have lost Lucien.”
Footsteps approached.
Quick.
Measured.
Adrian.
He had felt it when she left.
Something had not been right.
He had followed.
When he reached the corridor—
He stopped.
For a moment, he did not move closer.
He had never seen her like this.
Not composed.
Not guarded.
Not controlled.
Broken.
“Elaria.”
Her name was steady.
She did not respond immediately.
Then slowly, she lifted her face.
Her eyes were red.
But clear.
“He lied to me.”
There was no confusion in her voice.
No doubt.
“Everything he said… it was all a lie.”
Adrian did not interrupt.
He did not correct.
He listened.
“I thought he chose me.”
Her voice trembled.
“I thought I mattered.”
Her breath faltered.
“I thought he was waiting…”
Adrian stepped closer now.
“I pushed Lucien away,” she said.
The words were heavier now.
“I told him no.”
“I told him to leave.”
Her voice broke.
“And he listened.”
Silence followed.
Not empty.
Heavy.
“I have lost him, Adrian. I have lost Lucien.”
She looked at him fully now.
There was no pride left.
No defense.
“I have lost him forever.”
Adrian held her gaze.
He did not rush to deny it.
He did not soften the truth.
But when he spoke—
His voice was steady.
“You have realized it.”
Elaria did not respond.
Because she understood.
Realization had come.
But it had come late.
Her gaze dropped again.
Her tears did not stop.
But they had changed.
They were no longer only for what she had believed.
They were for what she had lost.
And this time—
She knew it completely