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

Qazaethel continued to look for Eiravelle in the sky, her massive dragon form cutting through the clouds with desperate urgency. Her wings beat against the wind, carrying her higher and farther than she had ever flown before, and her eyes—sharp and keen even in this form—scanned the ground below for any sign of the omega she sought.

Every moment that passed without finding her felt like a blade twisting deeper into Qazaethel’s chest, and the fear that she might be too late clawed at her insides with relentless persistence.

She had been searching for hours, time had lost all meaning since Eiravelle had been taken. Sleep had become an impossibility, food a distant memory, and the only thing keeping her going was the burning need to find Eiravelle before something terrible happened.

The thought of what those traffickers might do to her, what they might have already done, was enough to make Qazaethel want to burn the entire world to ash.

Then she saw it. A column of smoke rising in the distance, dark and deliberate against the pale sky. She knew it was Liv. The signal was unmistakable—three short bursts followed by a long plume, the code they had agreed upon for urgent news.

Qazaethel’s heart lurched in her chest, hope and terror warring within her as she changed course and flew toward the source of the smoke.

She descended quickly, her massive form shrinking and shifting as she approached the ground. By the time her feet touched the earth, she had resumed her human-like appearance, though her eyes still held the fierce, predatory gleam of her dragon nature.

The soldiers who had been waiting below immediately straightened, their postures went rigid with respect and a touch of fear—they had all seen what Qazaethel was capable of when provoked, and none of them wanted to be on the receiving end of her wrath.

Liv, Dawn, and the other soldiers were gathered around a small fire, their faces were drawn and weary from their own long search. But there was something in Liv’s expression—something that looked almost like relief—that made Qazaethel’s breath catch in her throat.

”What is it? Have you found any leads?” Qazaethel asked, her voice was filled with urgency. She didn’t bother with pleasantries, didn’t ask about their journey or their wellbeing. Every second counted, and she couldn’t afford to waste any of them on formalities.

Liv stepped forward, her posture was respectful but her eyes were meeting Qazaethel’s without flinching. ”Your Majesty, Demon Lordess Xelvyn personally sent her eagle to sent the message.” She paused, as if wanting to make sure her next words would be heard clearly. ”She has Eiravelle and the other omegas safe with her.”

Qazaethel’s eyes widened, and for a moment, she felt as though the ground had shifted beneath her feet. Eiravelle was safe. Eiravelle was alive. The relief that flooded through her was so intense that it nearly brought her to her knees, and she had to force herself to remain standing, to remain composed.

”Where are they?” She demanded, already preparing to take flight again. Nothing else mattered now—not the exhaustion that weighed down her limbs, not the hunger that gnawed at her stomach, not the fear that had been her constant companion since Eiravelle’s disappearance.

She would fly to the ends of the earth if that was what it took to reach her.

”They’re near the Golden Thread,” Liv said, and Qazaethel was already turning, already spreading her wings, ready to launch herself back into the sky.

But Liv’s next words stopped her cold.

”We got another message.” Liv’s voice was careful now, measured in a way that made Qazaethel’s blood run cold. ”Lordess Xelvyn stated that Lady Eiravelle refuses to leave the demon borders.”

The words hit Qazaethel like a physical blow. She halted midstep, her body was freezing in place as her mind struggled to process what she had just heard.

What did she say? The question echoed in her thoughts, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice it aloud. She glanced back slightly, just enough to show her sharp eyes, and when she spoke, her voice was dangerously quiet.

”What did you say?”

Liv didn’t flinch at the cold fury in Qazaethel’s tone. She had served the sovereign long enough to know that this anger wasn’t directed at her—it was the anger of someone who had just received news they couldn’t comprehend, couldn’t accept.

”Lady Eiravelle refuses the demon borders,” Liv repeated, her voice was steady despite the tension radiating from Qazaethel. ”I received another letter stating she wanted to stay in the demon realm.”

Qazaethel’s mind raced, trying to make sense of what she was hearing. Eiravelle wanted to stay in the demon realm? Eiravelle, who had been so frightened, so desperate to escape the everyone who hurt her?

Eiravelle, who had cried out for help in her sleep, who had flinched at every sudden movement, who had looked at the world with eyes that expected nothing but pain?

”Why on earth would she choose to stay there?” Qazaethel demanded, her voice was rising despite her efforts to control it. ”Have you made sure that Xelvyn is not blackmailing her? That she’s not being coerced or threatened?”

The questions tumbled out one after another, each one born from the fear that had taken root in Qazaethel’s heart. She knew Xelvyn by reputation—the Demon Lordess was powerful, cunning, and not known for her mercy.

The idea that she might be holding Eiravelle against her will, using her as a bargaining chip or a pawn in some larger game, was enough to make Qazaethel’s blood boil.

Liv shook her head, her expression was earnest. ”Lordess Xelvyn is asking for your audience, to be honest. She wants to discuss whether you will allow it. She doesn’t want any harm or any misunderstanding to happen.” Liv paused, choosing her next words carefully. ”Lordess Xelvyn noticed that we were looking for Lady Eiravelle, so she assumed she was important.”

”Important?” Qazaethel repeated, and something inside her cracked. ”She is important!”

The words tore from her throat with a force that surprised even herself, and she saw Liv and Dawn exchange a glance, saw the soldiers shift uncomfortably behind them.

She hadn’t meant to raise her voice, hadn’t meant to let her emotions spill out so openly, but the idea that anyone could question Eiravelle’s importance—could even suggest that she was anything less than essential—was more than Qazaethel could bear.

She looked away, trying to hide her gaze, trying to regain control of the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. The shame was there too, burning hot in her chest, because she knew that this was her fault. If she had been honest with Eiravelle from the beginning, if she had told her the truth instead of hiding behind secrets and lies, none of this would have happened.

Eiravelle would never have been taken, would never have been hurt, would never have chosen to stay in the demon realm rather than return to a place where she had known nothing but pain.

”Forgive me,” Qazaethel said, her voice turning quieter now, though the emotion behind it was still raw and bleeding. ”I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken things—things that Qazaethel wanted to say but couldn’t, things that she knew would change everything if she ever found the courage to speak them aloud.

”Your Majesty,” Liv said gently, and there was understanding in her voice, a compassion that Qazaethel didn’t feel she deserved.

”I know you’re already stressing about everything. But please, take it easy.”

The words were kind, but they didn’t help.

How could she take it easy when Eiravelle was out there, somewhere in the demon realm, choosing to stay with a Demon Lordess rather than return to the place she had once called home?

How could she rest when the person she cared about more than anything in the world had decided that she would rather face the dangers of the demon realm than come back to Solkanaia?

”Your Majesty,” Dawn spoke up, her voice was thoughtful, as if she had been considering something for a while and had finally decided to share it. ”If Lady Eiravelle truly wishes to stay in the demon realm, we have to show her someone important to her to persuade her to return here to Solkanaia.”

Qazaethel’s mind caught on the words, turning them over, examining them from every angle. Someone important to Eiravelle. Someone who could reach her, could remind her of what she was leaving behind, could make her want to come home.

The answer came to her with sudden, painful clarity.

”The only one who can do that is Arielle,” Qazaethel answered.

The name hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning and memory. Arielle—Eiravelle’s older sister, the one person who had always been able to reach her when no one else could. If anyone could convince Eiravelle to return, it would be Arielle.

But the hope that had flickered to life in Qazaethel’s chest was quickly extinguished by Liv’s next words.

”But Lordess Arielle was badly injured and remains unconscious,” Liv admitted, her voice was heavy with regret. ”Master Ragnar refused to provide any magical peaches.”

Qazaethel sighed, the sound filled with disbelief and frustration. Ragnar. Of course it would come down to Ragnar. The mysterious entity who existed outside the boundaries of their realm, who answered to no one, who gave aid or withheld it according to his own incomprehensible whims.

”Ragnar is a different entity,” Qazaethel said, forcing herself to remain calm. ”He doesn’t live within our zones or borders, so whether he says yes or not is his decision that we need to respect.”

The words tasted bitter on her tongue, but they were true. Even as sovereign, Qazaethel couldn’t command Ragnar. She couldn’t order him to help Arielle, couldn’t demand the magical peaches that might wake her from her slumber. All she could do was ask, and hope that he might listen.

”But Master Ragnar never refused to give Lady Eiravelle those peaches,” Liv said, and there was a careful note in her voice, as if she knew she was treading on delicate ground. ”I heard she was his favorite student.”

Qazaethel’s jaw tightened, and she felt the weight of a thousand complications pressing down on her. Of course Eiravelle was Ragnar’s favorite student—why wouldn’t she be?

Eiravelle, with her quiet strength and her gentle heart, would have been exactly the kind of student that Ragnar would have taken under his wing.

But that knowledge didn’t help her now. It only made the situation more complicated, more tangled, more impossible to unravel.

”Take me to Eiravelle,” Qazaethel finally said, and the words felt like a surrender.

She was giving up on the idea of convincing Eiravelle through Arielle, giving up on the hope that someone else could fix what she had broken. This was her mess to clean up, her wrongs to right, and she couldn’t ask anyone else to do it for her.

Liv shook her head, her expression troubled. ”If you go there, she will find out you’re—”

Qazaethel didn’t let her finish.

”I know.” The words were heavy with resignation, heavy with acceptance of what was to come. ”And I should have done this before.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was soft, almost broken.

”She deserves to hate me.”

The words hung in the air like a confession, like a prayer, like the last words of someone who had finally accepted that they had lost everything that mattered. Liv and Dawn exchanged a glance, and something in their expressions shifted—softened—as they heard the pain in Qazaethel’s voice.

”Whatever you wish, Your Majesty,” Liv said quietly.

She bowed, and one by one, the other soldiers followed suit. Even Dawn, who had always been one of the more outspoken members of the elite guard, lowered her head with respect.

The gesture wasn’t just formality—it was acknowledgment, acceptance of the decision that Qazaethel had made, and a silent promise to stand by her side no matter what came next.

Qazaethel watched them bow, watched them offer their respect and their loyalty, and felt something twist painfully in her chest. She didn’t deserve their faith. She didn’t deserve their loyalty. Not after what she had done, not after the mistakes she had made. But she would take it—she would take it and she would use it, because she couldn’t afford to face this alone.

She turned her gaze toward the horizon, toward the direction of the Golden Thread and the demon realm beyond it. Eiravelle was there, waiting, and Qazaethel knew that the moment she arrived, everything would change.

Eiravelle would see her, would know the truth, would understand the magnitude of the secret that Qazaethel had been keeping.

And then Eiravelle would hate her. She would look at Qazaethel with those eyes that had once held trust and affection, and all she would see was betrayal. That was what Qazaethel deserved. That was what she had earned.

But she would face it. She would face it, because Eiravelle deserved to hear the truth from her own lips, deserved to make her choice with all the facts laid bare.

And if Eiravelle still chose to stay in the demon realm, if she decided that she would rather remain with Xelvyn than return to Solkanaia, then Qazaethel would accept that.

She would let Eiravelle go, because that was what love meant—not possession, not control, but the willingness to let someone choose their own path, even when the path they chose led them away from you.

The transformation came naturally, her human-like features melting away as her dragon form emerged. Her wings spread wide, scales rippling in the light, and she let out a breath that carried the weight of everything she was feeling—fear, guilt, hope, and a love so profound that it had become indistinguishable from pain.

She would fly to the Golden Thread. She would face Xelvyn and she would tell Eiravelle the truth.

And whatever came next, whatever Eiravelle decided, Qazaethel would accept it.

Because that was what Eiravelle deserved.

Because that was what love required.

The wind caught beneath her wings, and she rose into the sky, leaving the signal fire and the soldiers behind. Below her, she could see Liv and Dawn watching, their faces were turned upward, their expressions were a mixture of worry and resolve.