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

Eiravelle got the letter of what Qazaethel did and she immediately got worried. The parchment trembled in her hands, the elegant script blurring before her eyes as she read the words again and again, hoping she had misunderstood.

She had not. The sovereign had locked the omega concubines in the Southerneast palace. All of them. Trapped behind sealed doors and frozen walls, held captive by the sovereign’s wrath. The teacup she had been holding clattered against its saucer, and she set it down quickly before she dropped it entirely.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, and a cold, sick feeling settled in her stomach that had nothing to do with the child she carried.

”Why her majesty... Locked the omega concubines in the southerneast palace? I don’t understand.” Eiravelle was totally confused, it was Kai who told her about it.

The omega stood before her with his head bowed, his posture one of supplication and humility. His robes were simple, unadorned, as though he had dressed deliberately to appear less threatening.

But there was something in the way he held himself, something in the careful stillness of his shoulders, that made Saye’s instincts prickle.

”That is right, lady Eiravelle. I am here to humbly ask you a favor. Please beg the sovereign to forgive them... I have no rights to beg you for this after they talked bad about you, but they’re also the omas of the sovereign’s children. I hope you understand.” Kai said, he bowed his head and he was secretly smiling with malice that Eiravelle wasn’t able to noticed.

The words were smooth, practiced, and they painted a picture designed to tug at Eiravelle’s heartstrings. The omegas were mothers. They had children. They were suffering. And she, Eiravelle, was the only one who could save them.

Saye didn’t say anything but she was already thinking about what to do. She stood behind Eiravelle like a shadow, her hands are clasped loosely in front of her and her expression was carefully neutral.

But her mind was racing. She had seen Kai before, had observed him in the corridors and the gardens, had noted the way he moved through the palace like a predator in plain sight.

He was the only concubine who had never participated in the gossip against Eiravelle. The only one who had kept his distance. And now, suddenly, he was here, kneeling before her lady with tears in his eyes and honey on his tongue.

It did not fit at all

”Lad Kai, please. Stand up, don’t kneel like that.” Eiravelle’s voice was soft, almost pleading. She could not bear to see anyone kneel before her, could not bear the weight of another person’s supplication. It felt wrong. It felt like a burden she had never asked for and did not deserve.

”If this is the only way I can do to beg you––” Kai began, his voice cracking with practiced emotion. He did not rise. He stayed on his knees, his head bowed, his shoulders were trembling as though he were overcome with grief.

”Please, rise. I will talk to the sovereign. I promise I’ll do something about it.” Eiravelle said, and she meant it. She meant every word. She could not stand by while other omegas suffered, even if those omegas had been cruel to her.

She could not let their children live without their omas, could not let them experience the same loneliness and fear that she had known her entire life.

Saye remained a silent shadow behind Eiravelle, her eyes are narrowing as she watched Kai’s performance. There was a rhythmic inconsistency to his humility—a certain stiffness in the bow that didn’t reach his eyes.

Saye knew the politics of the palace were written in invisible ink and blood, and Kai was currently sketching a very specific picture. She had seen enough liars in her life to recognize the shape of one, and Kai wore his mask well, but not well enough.

The tears in his eyes were too precise, the tremor in his voice too measured. He was performing, and Eiravelle was too kind to see it.

Eiravelle’s heart hammered against her ribs, her kindness acting as a blindfold. She viewed the sovereign’s sudden volatility not as a shield, but as a storm that needed to be calmed before it demolished everything in its path.

The thought of the omega concubines trapped in the freezing silence of the southeast palace sent a shudder through her, regardless of the venom those women had spat at her name.

She had felt the cold of that palace before, had shivered beneath its frost-covered walls, and she would not wish that fate on anyone. Not even Vespera. Not even the woman who had whispered poison into her ears and made her believe her child would not survive. They were still people.

They were still omas. And they were suffering.

”I will go to her,” Eiravelle murmured, her voice trembling slightly with a mix of apprehension and resolve. She didn’t see the flicker of dark amusement crossing Kai’s features as he straightened up, his smile hidden by the angle of his head.

He had done it. He had planted the seed, and now he would watch it grow. If Eiravelle went to the sovereign and begged for the release of the omegas, she would be interfering with the sovereign’s justice.

She would be undermining Qazaethel’s authority at the exact moment when the sovereign was at her most volatile. And if the sovereign refused, if Qazaethel turned her cold, draconic eyes on Eiravelle and denied her request, then Eiravelle would be humiliated.

She would be broken. And Kai would be there to pick up the pieces.

As Eiravelle turned to leave, Saye stepped forward, her voice a low, cautioning hum. ”My Lady, remember that the sovereign’s wrath is rarely a mistake. If she has locked the doors, it is because she wishes for no one to enter—and certainly no one to leave. Tread carefully.”

The words were chosen with precision, gentle enough not to alarm Eiravelle but firm enough to convey the gravity of the situation.

Saye had served Eiravelle for months now, had watched the omega struggle and suffer and somehow remain kind through it all. She would not let her lady walk into a trap without at least trying to warn her.

”I know... Please, help me go to her.” Eiravelle said, and Saye had no choice but to comply and help her lady stand up as Eiravelle carry her heavy pregnant belly.

The weight of the child she carried had grown immense in recent weeks, and every movement was a labor. Her back ached, her ankles were swollen, and her breath came in short, uneven gasps. But she was determined. She would not let her own discomfort stop her from doing what was right.

They left the palace and Kai’s smile widened even more. The moment the doors closed behind them, the mask fell away, and his face twisted into an expression of cold, calculating satisfaction.

”How gullible. So this is what lady Eiravelle is.” He hum lowly to himself as he realized Eiravalle’s weakness. He had found it. The chink in her armor. The flaw that would bring her down.

She was too kind. Too trusting. Too desperate to see the good in others, even when they gave her no reason to. It was pathetic, really. But it was also useful. He could use her kindness. He could weaponize it. And one day, when the time was right, he would use it to destroy her.

Saye’s expression shifted from caution to a frown of deep concern as she braced Eiravelle. The Lady’s pregnancy had progressed to the point where every step was a conscious effort, her breath coming in short, rhythmic hitches.

Saye placed a steadying hand beneath Eiravelle’s arm, ensuring the woman’s weight was well-supported. She could feel the trembling in Eiravelle’s body, could feel the way her lady leaned heavily against her, and her heart clenched with worry.

Eiravelle should not be walking. She should be resting. But Saye knew better than to argue with her lady when she had that look in her eyes—that quiet, stubborn determination that meant she would not be swayed.

”Slowly, my lady,” Saye whispered, her eyes darting back toward Kai. The man’s lingering gaze was like a stain on the air, an unsettling presence that made the hair on the back of Saye’s neck stand up.

She didn’t trust the way he lingered, nor the strange, predator-like stillness that had settled over him the moment they turned away. There was something wrong with him. Something dangerous. And Saye made a mental note to watch him carefully in the days to come.

They began the slow steps toward the gardens, the path to the southeast wing being a grueling distance for someone in Eiravelle’s condition. The cobblestones were uneven beneath their feet, and the morning sun cast long shadows across the hedges and flowerbeds.

Saye adjusted her pace, matching the labored footsteps of her mistress, her eyes scanning the surrounding colonnades for any signs of the sovereign’s guards. The air grew progressively colder as they moved further from the main residence, a precursor to the glacial atmosphere Qazaethel had established in the distant palace.

The flowers that bloomed so brightly in the gardens seemed to wilt as they passed, their petals curling inward as though retreating from the cold.

”We have to get there...” Eiravelle was determined despite her heavy belly. She pressed a hand to her lower back, trying to ease the ache that had settled there, and forced herself to keep moving. She could feel the baby shifting inside her, responding to her distress, and she murmured a soft apology under her breath.

She was sorry. Sorry for dragging her child into this. Sorry for bringing them both into a situation that was dangerous and uncertain.

But she could not stand by and do nothing. She could not let the concubines suffer. She could not let their children grow up without their mothers.

Then the carriage stopped in front of her and Saye immediately assisted her to get on with it safely. The carriage was simple, unadorned, one of the smaller ones used for short journeys within the palace grounds.

The driver was an older man with weathered hands and kind eyes, and he stepped down quickly to help, his movements efficient and practiced.

”Take me to the Sovereign’s main palace.” Eiravelle commanded to the coachman, and she was a little taken aback she can command someone like that. The words had come out before she could stop them, sharp and imperious, and she felt a flush of shame rise to her cheeks.

”I mean... Please take me there, sir.” She said, and the coachman was also taken aback because a concubine would never take their time to respect someone beneath them.

But Eiravelle did that there was a long silence. He stared at her for a moment, his weathered face unreadable, and then he nodded slowly.

Saye gotten used to Eiravelle’s kindness. ”Just drive...!” Saye said to the coachman and Eiravelle felt embarrased about what she did. She’s not used to being commanding to anyone.

She was not used to giving orders, was not used to having people obey her. She had spent her entire life being told what to do, being pushed and pulled and commanded by others.

The idea that she could command someone else felt wrong. It felt like a betrayal of everything she was.

The coachman remained motionless for a heartbeat longer than necessary, his eyes flickering from Saye’s sharp glare to Eiravelle’s soft, apologetic expression.

In a court where the sovereign’s whims could end a life and the concubines treated servants like furniture, this sudden display of genuine courtesy was almost jarring. He cleared his throat, a look of bewildered respect crossing his face as he snapped the reins.

The horses lurched forward, and the carriage began to move, the wheels rattling against the cobblestone.

As the carriage lurched forward, the wheels rattling against the cobblestone, Eiravelle sank back into the plush velvet seat, her hand instinctively resting on the curve of her stomach.

She looked out the window, watching the familiar scenery of the palace gardens blur into a streak of green and grey. The further they traveled toward the sovereign’s domain, the more the air seemed to thin, growing crisp and biting.

She could feel the temperature dropping, could see the frost beginning to form on the edges of the windowpane, and she knew they were getting close.

Saye watched her lady’s embarrassed flush with a mixture of affection and worry. She reached over to adjust the heavy fur shawl around Eiravelle’s shoulders, shielding her from the growing chill.

”Do not apologize for being decent, my lady,” Saye murmured, though her voice remained guarded. ”But in this palace, kindness is often mistaken for a crack in the armor. I only hope that the Sovereign views your heart with more clarity than the others do.”

Eiravelle did not respond. She simply stared out the window, her hand resting on her belly, and watched the palace of the sovereign grow larger on the horizon.

She did not know what she would say when she arrived. She did not know if Qazaethel would even listen to her. But she knew she had to try.