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

Eiravelle’s arrival in the palace was immediately spread throughout the entire Solkanaia palace, the news traveled through servants’ whispers and guards’ murmurs until every corner of the vast estate knew that the sovereign had brought home a new concubine.

The words passed from mouth to mouth like a current, slipping through the kitchens and the laundry rooms, through the stables and the armories, until there was not a single soul within the palace walls who had not heard the name Eiravelle spoken at least once.

It was the kind of news that could not be contained, could not be hidden, could not be softened by careful framing or strategic silence. It was simply there, and it demanded to be discussed.

It did not take long for all the concubines to learn of Eiravelle’s existence, and with that knowledge came the inevitable storm of gossip and speculation. Who was this omega? Where did she come from? Why had the sovereign chosen her, of all people, to bear the title of concubine?

The questions spread faster than the news itself, each answer spawning a dozen more questions, each rumor growing more elaborate than the last. Some said she was beautiful beyond words.

Others said she was plain, unremarkable, nothing special to look at. Some said she was kind and gentle. Others said she was cunning, a snake in sheep’s clothing. The truth, whatever it was, mattered less than the speculation. What mattered was the disruption she represented, the shift in the delicate balance of power that had existed within the harem for so long.

The harem was a world unto itself, a collection of beautiful beings who had been chosen by Qazaethel over the centuries. Some had been there for decades, others for centuries, and each of them had learned to navigate the complex politics of their shared existence.

They knew the rules, knew the hierarchies, knew how to survive in a place where favor was everything and attention was currency. And now, a new player had entered their midst.

The gossips spread like wildfire through the halls, passed from lip to ear in hushed tones and knowing glances. Some of the concubines laughed at the thought of Eiravelle, dismissing her as nothing more than a passing fancy. Surely, they said, she would not survive the competition inside the harem.

She was young, inexperienced, clearly not prepared for the intricate dance of court life. The sovereign would tire of her soon enough, and then she would fade into obscurity like so many others before her.

”Did you hear? She’s from the house of Arthion.”

The words were spoken with a particular kind of disdain, the kind that came from those who believed themselves superior by birth. The Arthion family was respectable enough, but they were not royalty. They were just nobility.

”A product of her Oma’s affair, they say. No proper lineage at all.”

The whispers grew crueler with each retelling. The story of Eiravelle’s parentage had been twisted and distorted until it bore little resemblance to the truth. Some said her Oma had been a servant who had seduced a married alpha.

Others said she had been a concubine who had been cast out for her transgressions. The details changed depending on who was telling the story, but the judgment remained the same. Eiravelle was tainted. Eiravelle was unworthy. Eiravelle was nothing.

”The sovereign must be losing her mind. What could she possibly see in someone like that?”

The laughter that followed was sharp and brittle, the kind of laughter that came from insecurity rather than genuine amusement. The concubines who laughed the loudest were the ones who felt the most threatened, though none of them would have admitted it.

They had spent years, decades, centuries building their positions within the harem. They had learned to read the sovereign’s moods, to anticipate her needs, to be exactly what she wanted at exactly the right moment. And now, a newcomer had arrived, and she had been given the eastern wing, the most prestigious of all the concubine quarters. It was an insult. It was a challenge. It was a declaration that none of them had expected.

The whispers followed Eiravelle through the palace like shadows, though she did not hear them. She was too lost in her own thoughts, too consumed by the weight of everything that had happened, to notice the way servants glanced at her with curiosity and suspicion.

She did not know that her name was on everyone’s lips, that her arrival had sparked a firestorm of speculation that would not die down for weeks. She walked through the halls with her eyes fixed on the floor, her hands rested on her stomach, her mind was a thousand miles away.

She was thinking of Arielle. She was thinking of the child. She was thinking of the life she had left behind and the life she had been forced to accept.

But not everyone shared the cruel opinions that circulated through the harem.

Dawn, the future Phoenix empress of Solkanaia, a gentle soul with warm eyes and a kind heart that had somehow survived the cruelty of court life back when she was in Ashrein kingdom.

She had heard the whispers, had listened to the speculation, but unlike the others, she felt no desire to mock or dismiss Eiravelle. Instead, she felt something that she had not felt in a long time: excitement.

When Dawn found out about Eiravelle’s arrival, she was so excited that she urged her servants to prepare a gift for Eiravelle as she planned to visit her palace that very day. She paced back and forth in her chambers, her mind was racing with possibilities, her hands are clasped together in front of her chest.

She had been wanting to meet Eiravelle ever since she joined Liv and the dark elite soldiers to look for her yesterday. But she didn’t get the chance because the Sovereign found her before they even did.

”What gift should I give her?” Dawn asked, her voice was bright with enthusiasm. She turned to her servants, her eyes are sparkling with anticipation. ”I want it to be perfect. It has to be perfect. She must be so frightened, coming to a new place, not knowing anyone. I want her to feel welcome.”

Her servants exchanged glances, clearly bewildered by their mistress’s enthusiasm. They had served Dawn for years and had never seen her this animated about anything. She was usually so calm, so composed, so content to stay in the background and avoid the drama of the harem. But now, she was practically bouncing with excitement, and it was more than a little unsettling.

”Your Highness, please calm down,” one of her maids said, her voice was careful and measured. She was an older woman who had served Dawn since her arrival at the palace, and she had always been able to speak frankly with her mistress. ”Why are you so excited to meet that omega? I heard she is a misfortune and that she is a product of her Oma’s affair.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and then Dawn snapped a glance at the maid, her expression shifted from excitement to cold fury in the span of a heartbeat.

”Who gave you the right to talk about her that way?” Dawn raised her voice, her tone was sharp and commanding in a way that her servants had never heard before. She was asserting her authority, and it worked. It should.

The maid and the other servants immediately prostrated themselves, their foreheads are pressing against the cold floor as they begged for forgiveness.

”I am sorry, Your Highness. Please forgive this lowly servant for speaking out of turn,” the maid stammered, her voice was trembling with fear.

”From now on, no one is allowed to badmouth Lady Eiravelle, especially not in my presence!” Dawn declared, her voice was ringing through the room. Her hands were shaking, though whether from anger or something else, she could not tell.

She had heard the rumors, of course. She had heard the cruel words and the dismissive laughter. But she had also heard something else—something that made her heart ache for the young omega who had just arrived.

She had heard that Eiravelle was carrying the sovereign’s child, and that she had done so not out of ambition or greed, but out of desperation. She had heard that Eiravelle had left behind a sister she loved. She had heard that Eiravelle had come to the palace not because she wanted to, but because she had no other choice.

Dawn understood that. She understood it more than anyone.

She had survived because she had learned to stay quiet, to stay small, to stay out of the way. She had learned to smile even when she wanted to cry, to nod even when she wanted to scream. She had learned to accept her place in the hierarchy and never, ever challenge it. But she had also learned something else.

She had learned that kindness was rare in the palace, and that when it appeared, it should be embraced. She had learned that the only way to survive was to hold onto the pieces of herself that the court could not take away—her compassion, her warmth, and her ability to see others as more than just competitors.

And when she heard about Eiravelle, she had seen something in the young omega that she recognized. She had seen someone who was fighting to survive, just like she had done all those years ago.

She had seen someone who was scared and alone and doing her best to navigate a world that was not built for her. She had seen a reflection of herself, and it had stirred something in her heart that she had thought long buried.

Ads by PubFuture She wanted to help her. She wanted to be the kind of friend that she had wished for when she first arrived. She wanted to offer a hand to someone who needed it, to show Eiravelle that she was not alone, that there was at least one person in this vast, cold palace who saw her as a being with feelings and not just another concubine.

”Now... Help me find a suitable gift for Lady Eiravelle as I planned on visiting her this afternoon,” Dawn said, and finally turned her back on the servants. She had made her decision, and she would not be swayed from it.

The servants scrambled to their feet, their earlier hesitation was replaced by a newfound determination to please the princess. They had never seen her like this before, had never heard her speak with such conviction. They did not understand why she cared so much about a stranger, but they knew better than to question her.

”What about flowers?” One of the maids suggested. ”We could arrange a bouquet of the rarest blooms from the palace gardens.”

Dawn considered this for a moment. Flowers were beautiful, yes, but they were also temporary. They would wilt within days, and Eiravelle would be left with nothing but a memory. She wanted something more lasting, something that would show Eiravelle that she was not alone.

”Perhaps books would be better,” another servant said. ”I heard Lady Eiravelle enjoys reading. She was a former top student of the Solkanaia Royal Academy.”

Dawn’s eyes lit up. ”Books! Yes, that’s a wonderful idea. But not just any books—something special. Something that will make her feel welcome.” She paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. ”Does anyone know what kind of books she likes?”

The servants exchanged blank looks. They knew nothing about Eiravelle except for the rumors that had been circulating through the palace, and none of those rumors mentioned her taste in literature. They knew she had been a top student, but that told them nothing about what she might want to read now, in this new Chapter of her life.

”We could also consider jewellery,” a third servant suggested. ”A necklace or a bracelet—something that she could wear and remember your kindness.”

Dawn shook her head. ”Jewellery feels too impersonal. It’s the kind of gift that anyone could give. I want something that shows I truly thought about her, that I see her as a person and not just another concubine.”

She walked to the window and looked out at the gardens below, her mind was turning over the possibilities. The afternoon sun was warm on her face, and the scent of flowers drifted up from the grounds. It was a beautiful day, the kind of day that made her want to believe that everything would be all right.

”I know,” she said finally, turning back to her servants. ”I will give her a collection of poetry. There is a volume in my personal library—the works of a poet from the eastern provinces. His words are gentle and kind, and they speak of hope and resilience. I think she would appreciate that.”

The servants nodded, relieved to have a clear direction. They set about preparing the gift while Dawn returned to her chambers to change out of her casual clothes and into something more appropriate for visiting a fellow concubine.

She chose a dress of pale blue silk, elegant but not ostentatious, and she wore her hair loose around her shoulders, the way she had when she first arrived at the palace. She wanted to seem approachable, not intimidating. She wanted Eiravelle to see her as a friend, not as a threat.

As she prepared, her mind wandered to the young omega she was about to meet. She wondered what Eiravelle would be like. Would she be shy and reserved, or would she have a fire in her that the palace had not yet extinguished? Would she accept Dawn’s gift, or would she see it as an attempt at manipulation? Would she trust her, or would she keep her at arm’s length?

Dawn did not know the answers to these questions, and she supposed it did not matter. She would visit Eiravelle anyway, because she knew what it was like to be alone in a strange place, and she would not wish that on anyone. She would offer her friendship, and if Eiravelle chose to accept it, then she would be grateful. If Eiravelle chose to reject it, then she would understand.

But she knew... She wanted to be close to Eiravelle.