Rejected by My Fiancé, I Accidentally Carried His Mother's Heir (GL)

The imperial bath was thick with steam, the heated water was releasing slow coils of vapor that drifted toward the vaulted ceiling and disappeared into the shadows above.

Qazaethel sat submerged to her shoulders, her head was tilted back against the smooth marble edge of the pool, and her eyes were closed. The warmth seeped into her muscles, loosening the tension that had settled there over the past few days, though it did little for the deeper exhaustion that clung to her bones.

She tried to focus on her breathing, on the steady rhythm of air entering and leaving her lungs, and on the quiet that surrounded her. Meditation had always come easily to her before. Tonight, her thoughts refused to settle.

She was still attempting to clear her mind when she heard footsteps echoing against the stone floor. The sound was familiar, the stride was confident and unhurried, and Qazaethel felt a flicker of irritation before she even opened her eyes. She let out a slow sigh, her lashes were lifting to reveal pale eyes that fixed on the figure now standing at the edge of the imperial bath.

”When will you learn how to knock?” Qazaethel asked coldly, leaning back against the edge of the pool with an air of practiced indifference.

Liv smirked, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked down at her. The lamplight caught the edges of her armor, casting faint reflections across the water’s surface. ”It seems like Her Imperial Majesty couldn’t entirely say no to her best friend,” she said, her tone was light with amusement.

Qazaethel raised her gaze, studying Liv’s face with an expression that betrayed nothing. ”You’re really insolent. You don’t know how to properly greet me now?”

There was no real bite to her words, and Liv knew it. They had grown up together, had spent years navigating the intricate politics of the court side by side, and the formality between them had long since worn thin. Liv had seen her at her worst and her best, had stood beside her through battles and bereavements alike. The coldness in Qazaethel’s voice was habit more than feeling, a reflex born from years of maintaining a distance between herself and everyone else.

”Well, Qaz,” Liv said, dropping the title without hesitation, ”you should be resting now, not taking a bath.”

Qazaethel looked away, her gaze was drifting across the gently rippling water. ”You used your energy to soothe Lady Eiravelle’s pain,” Liv continued, her voice was losing some of its playful edge. ”And you need to recover from that.”

”I’m fine,” Qazaethel said flatly. ”I’m not going to die. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

Liv squatted at the edge of the pool, her arms are resting on her knees as she studied Qazaethel’s profile. The steam curled around her face, dampening the strands of hair that had escaped from her braid. ”You should remember that you’re not a God yet,” she said quietly. ”Even though we’re immortals, there’s still a high chance we’re going to die.”

Qazaethel smirked, though the expression didn’t reach her eyes. ”Are you afraid of that? Although the inevitable death for humans is unavoidable, we immortals are still praised for not aging much unless we choose that appearance.” She turned her head, meeting Liv’s gaze directly. ”So tell me, Liv. Are you afraid of dying?”

Liv shook her head without hesitation. ”I am a warlord. I’ve been serving Solkanaia for my whole life while growing up beside you. Why would you think I fear death like a common mortal does?” Her voice carried a note of pride, the confidence of someone who had faced death on the battlefield more times than she cared to count.

Qazaethel reached for the robe draped over the nearby rack, pulling it around her shoulders as she rose from the water. The fabric clung to her damp skin, and she ascended her steps from the imperial bath with slow, deliberate movements. ”How boastful of you,” she said, her tone was cool. ”You act like a common mortal at this rate.”

Liv’s smile faded. ”I apologize for that part,” she said immediately, the words are coming out before she could stop them.

Qazaethel shook her head, water was still dripping from the ends of her hair and onto the polished floor. ”It’s alright.” She adjusted the robe, tightening the sash at her waist. ”I’ll prepare for tomorrow.”

She was about to leave when Liv called after her. ”Wait! I want to know why you’re preparing a feast for tomorrow.” Qazaethel glanced back over her shoulder. ”Princess Dawn is visiting tomorrow.”

Liv’s eyes widened, and whatever composure she had managed to regain vanished in an instant. ”Your cousin?!”

”Who else would it be?” Qazaethel asked dryly.

”Oh my goodness! Why didn’t you tell me?! I should’ve prepared my soldiers to escort her tomorrow!” Liv was on her feet now, her earlier concern for Qazaethel’s health was seemingly forgotten in the wake of this news.

Her face had lit up with an enthusiasm that was almost childlike, a stark contrast to the hardened warlord who had stood at the edge of the bath moments before. Qazaethel remained neutral, though something flickered in her expression. ”I don’t know if I want to see her. I’m uncertain why she is visiting, but I am sure it is connected to my Oma’s business.” ℯℯ𝑙.

Liv shook her head, waving a hand dismissively. ”I’m sure she just missed you.”

”But I miss Eiravelle more,” Qazaethel admitted, and the words hung in the air between them. Liv sighed in frustration, running a hand through her hair. ”Why do you like that kid so much? I don’t understand.”

There was no real bite to her words, just genuine confusion. Liv had never quite understood the bond between Qazaethel and Eiravelle, had never seen what drew the sovereign to the younger woman with such intensity.

She had watched it happen from a distance, had seen the way Qazaethel’s demeanor softened in Eiravelle’s presence, and she had never been able to make sense of it.

”Because I have fallen in love with her,” Qazaethel said simply. ”Just like how you also fell for Dawn.”

Liv’s breath hitched. The words seemed to strike her like a physical blow, and for a moment she could only stare at Qazaethel, her mouth was slightly open and her thoughts scattered in a dozen different directions. The steam continued to rise from the bath, curling between them like a veil.

”Liv, I know,” Qazaethel continued, her voice became temporarily soft now. ”And I am not mad. I just hope you’ll treat her right, and whatever decision she says, I hope you respect that with all your heart.”

Liv looked away, her face was flushing with heat that had nothing to do with the warm bath. ”Who said I like her? I... I-I... I don’t...” She stumbled over her words, her usual confidence had crumbling. ”Me and Princess Dawn barely look at each other, and our interaction was purely just my duty to protect her and serve her.”

Qazaethel shook her head, a faint trace of amusement crossing her features. ”Whatever you say. It’s your own feelings, not mine.”

She turned to leave, her bare feet was padding softly against the stone floor, but she stopped in her tracks after only a few steps. For a long moment, she stood there in silence, her back to Liv, and her hand resting on the frame of the doorway.

”I will formally take Eiravelle and declare her as my concubine to take responsibility for our child,” Qazaethel said, her voice was carrying clearly through the steam-filled room. ”But I’ll finish my meeting with Dawn tomorrow first.”

She left without waiting for a response, the door closed behind her with a soft click.

Liv stood alone in the imperial bath, the silence was pressing in around her. The steam continued to curl upward from the surface of the water, and she stared at the empty doorway, her thoughts was churning.

She had known, of course. On some level, she had always known about Qazaethel’s feelings for Eiravelle. It was difficult not to notice the way the sovereign looked at her, the way she found excuses to be near her, or the way her entire demeanor shifted when Eiravelle was in the room. But hearing it spoken aloud, hearing Qazaethel admit it so plainly, was something else entirely.

And then there was the matter of Dawn.

Liv pressed a hand to her face, feeling the warmth of her cheeks beneath her palm. You don’t like her, she told herself firmly. You’re just... Admiring. She’s the princess, and you’re her guard. That’s all it is. That’s all it can be.

The words felt hollow even in her own mind.

She thought of Dawn’s smile, the way it could light up an entire room. She thought of the sound of her laughter, bright and unguarded, so different from the careful composure she wore in public. She thought of the way her hand had brushed against Liv’s once, seemingly by accident, and how Liv had felt that touch for hours afterward.

You don’t like her.

Liv let out a long breath and shook her head, trying to dislodge the thoughts that had taken root there. She was a warlord. She had faced down enemies on the battlefield, had led soldiers into battle, had spilled blood and taken lives. She was not supposed to be undone by something as simple as a smile.

But as she stood there in the empty bath, surrounded by steam and silence, she found that she could not quite convince herself of that.

***

Qazaethel walked through the corridors of the palace with measured steps, her robe was trailing behind her on the stone floor. The night air was cool against her damp skin, a welcome contrast to the oppressive heat of the bath. Servants she passed bowed their heads and stepped aside, and she acknowledged them with the barest of nods, her mind was already elsewhere.

She had meant what she said to Liv. She would formally take Eiravelle as her concubine, would declare it publicly and take responsibility for the child they had created together. It was the right thing to do, the honorable thing. Eiravelle deserved that much, at least.

But the thought of it sent a strange ache through her chest, a tangle of emotions she did not want to examine too closely. She had spent so long keeping her feelings carefully contained, had built walls around herself that no one had been able to breach.

And then Eiravelle had come along, with her strength and her gentle eyes, and those walls had crumbled before Qazaethel had even realized what was happening.

She stopped at a window, overlooking outside the palace courtyard, her reflection was faint in the glass. The moonlight cast silver shadows across the hedges and pathways below, and she could see the faint glimmer of the fountain in the center of the garden, its waters was still and dark.

She had not planned for any of this. She had not planned to fall in love, had not planned to bind herself to anyone in that way. Her life had been dedicated to duty, to the empire, to the responsibilities that had been placed on her shoulders from the moment she was born. There had been no room for anything else, no space for the kind of attachment that could weaken her, and could make her vulnerable.

And yet here she was.

Qazaethel closed her eyes, letting the cool air wash over her face. Tomorrow, she would meet Dawn. She would learn what business had brought her second cousin to the palace, and she would navigate the political complexities that were sure to follow. She would nod and say all the right things, would play the role of the gracious sovereign that everyone expected her to be.

But tonight, she allowed herself a moment of stillness. A moment to feel the weight of everything that had happened, everything that was yet to come. A moment to acknowledge, if only to herself, that the walls she had built were no longer as impenetrable as she had once believed.

She opened her eyes and turned away from the window, continuing down the corridor toward her chambers. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and she needed to be ready.

***

Liv remained in the imperial bath for a long time after Qazaethel left. She sat on the edge of the pool, her feet was dangling just above the water’s surface, and her gaze was fixed on the steam that continued to rise in lazy spirals. The warmth had begun to fade, and the room felt larger now, it felt emptier.

Liv had never allowed herself to think too deeply about her feelings for the princess. She had buried them beneath layers of duty and professionalism, she had convinced herself that whatever she felt was nothing more than admiration for someone she was sworn to protect. It was easier that way, safer. She could not afford to be distracted, could not afford to let her emotions cloud her judgment.

But Qazaethel had seen through her. Of course she had. Qazaethel had always been able to read her, she had always known when Liv was hiding something. They had grown up together, had shared secrets and dreams and fears. There was no point in pretending with someone who knew her so well.

Liv stood up, brushing invisible dust on her aketon armor. She had a long day ahead of her tomorrow. She needed to prepare the soldiers for Dawn’s arrival, and she needed to make sure everything was in order. There would be no time for distractions, no room for the feelings she was trying so desperately to deny.

She walked toward the door, her footsteps were echoing in the empty room. The steam continued to rise behind her, curling toward the ceiling and disappearing into the shadows. And as she stepped out into the cool corridor, she allowed herself one final thought before pushing everything else aside.

Maybe Qazaethel was right. Liv was just too stubborn to admit the truth.

But that was a problem for another day.

***

The night settled over the palace like a blanket, stars emerging in the darkening sky above. The servants had long since retired to their quarters, and the corridors were quiet, lit only by the occasional torch that flickered in its bracket. In her chambers, Qazaethel sat before her mirror, running a comb through her damp hair with slow, methodical strokes.

Tomorrow, everything would change. She could feel it in her bones, a certainty that had settled over her like a weight.

She set the comb down and stared at her reflection, at the pale eyes that looked back at her, at the face that had been called beautiful by countless courtiers and diplomats. She saw none of that. She saw only the exhaustion that lingered beneath her eyes, the faint lines of tension around her mouth.

She was tired. So tired.

But there was no time for rest, no time for weakness. There was only the path ahead, and she would walk it as she always had, with her head held high and her heart carefully guarded.

Even if that heart had already begun to betray her.

Qazaethel rose from the vanity and crossed to her bed, sliding beneath the cool sheets with a sigh. She closed her eyes, letting the darkness wash over her, and tried to quiet the thoughts that churned in her mind. Tomorrow would come whether she was ready or not. Tomorrow, she would face her cousin and whatever news she brought. Tomorrow, she would take the first step toward a future she had never imagined for herself.