Prince Sweyn...

As the king's words echoed through the grand hall, Isolde could not help but glance at the that rude pleb Rorik once more.

She waited for a convenient moment and, having invented a plausible pretext, accompanied by guards, went down into the corridors of the castle dungeon.

Rorik...

He was even somewhat attractive (from the point of view of a pampered and luxury-accustomed aristocratic woman) as a rough and decisive male with calloused hands that caressed her so passionately.

Now the consequences of their illicit meeting will affect the life of the queen and not only her life...

She took a risk by putting him to bed, but the excitement of the forbidden was too great to resist.

Now the consequences of their illicit meeting will affect the life of the queen and not only her life...

Rorik did not even notice the gaze of the queen, who secretly watched him while he was in one of the prison cells of the dungeon of the royal capital castle. He was physically exhausted from poor nutrition and constant beatings...

Convicted of insulting the monarch's wife, the pathetic pleb could not count on a good attitude from the prison guards...

Did he regret their meeting or wish it had never happened?

Or did he never understand that the queen's attention to his person was fatal to his life?

Isolde had foreseen the fact that this drunken pleb would tell someone about the "intimate meeting with the beautiful queen" that had taken place.

That day, a patrol of guards found themselves next to this idiot for a reason...

"You know how to act, sergeant..." - a quietly spoken phrase addressed to the obsequious guard clearly hinted that Rorik would probably not remain among the living for very long.

Then Isolde left the corridors of the dungeon.

Rorik...

The true father of the unborn child...

The only person who, besides the queen herself, knew about the secret... has been neutralized.

But the queen must continue to carefully hide her thoughts and plans amidst the luxurious life of the royal court, where behind smiles and elegant etiquette lie treachery and danger.

The nobles continued to congratulate the royal couple, their voices a dull roar in Isolde's ears.

Isolde wanted to scream, to rip off the mask of the perfect queen and reveal the passionate, rebellious woman beneath. But she couldn't. Not yet.

She would have to bide her time, wait for the right moment to reveal the truth. And until then, she would play her part, the dutiful queen carrying her husband's heir.

The king's hand on the small of her back brought her back to the present. He was guiding her towards the raised dais where their thrones awaited. She allowed herself to be led, a serene smile on her face.

But beneath the placid surface, Isolde's mind was churning. What would happen when the child was born and its parentage could no longer be hidden?

She touched her belly again, feeling a fierce surge of protectiveness. She would do whatever it took to keep her child safe, even if it meant destroying her own carefully constructed world.

The king settled in his throne, his face flushed with wine and happiness. He looked down at Isolde with undisguised adoration as she sat beside him.

"Shall I call for more wine?" he asked. "To celebrate the future of our kingdom?"

Isolde inclined her head, not trusting herself to speak. The future was indeed uncertain, but for now, the present was all that mattered.

The nobles cheered, raising their goblets in a toast to the unborn heir.

Little did they know, Isolde thought grimly, that the child who would one day sit on the throne was already on its way... but not by the loins of King Eadric.

***

The cries of a newborn baby echoed through the castle halls. In the royal bedchamber, Isolde lay exhausted but triumphant, a bundle in her arms.

King Eadric burst in, his face a mixture of excitement and trepidation. "What is it?" he demanded. "A son? Or a daughter to secure our line?"

Isolde looked up at him, her eyes hard. "A son, Your Majesty. A fine, healthy son."

The king's face split into a wide grin. He strode over to the bed, reaching for the child. "Let me see him! Let me behold the future of the kingdom."

Isolde clutched the baby closer, a sudden surge of protectiveness overtaking her. "Wait," she said sharply. "He is not ready for such rough handling."

The king's brow furrowed in confusion. "Nonsense... Rough handling... I am his father."

Isolde took a deep breath, steeling herself for the confrontation to come. "And I am his mother," she said evenly. "A mother who knows that a babe needs to be handled with care."

The king's eyes narrowed. He studied Isolde's face intently, as if seeing her for the first time. "You have changed, wife," he said slowly. "There is a hardness in you that was not there before."

Isolde met his gaze unflinchingly. "Childbirth changes a woman, my lord. It gives her strength. And resolve."

The king reached out again, this time more gently, and lifted the child from her arms. He held him up, marveling at the tiny features so similar to his own. "A fine study lad... he reminds me of my grandfather. A son," he breathed. "The heir to the throne. What shall we name him?"

Isolde's grip on the blankets tightened. She had hoped against hope that the baby's likeness to the drunken peasant would not be remarked upon. But the king was too besotted with the idea of a male heir to notice.

"Name him yourself, my king," she said coldly. "He is your son, after all."

The king's head snapped up, his eyes suddenly sharp. He stared at her for a long moment, then at the baby. When he spoke again, his voice was low and filled with emotion. "Sweyn... was my grand sires name and so it shall be my son's name for it is a great name for a great king!"