Cold Hearts In Love.

"What are you speaking of, Mother?" Stephen stood, his towering figure casting a shadow over hers. 

"You will listen to me, Stephen!" she hissed, her tone brimming with restrained anger.

"How dare you bring a courtesan into this palace? Do you know what I overheard the maids whispering? It will spread, Stephen—it's only a matter of time. I don't care what connection you think you have with her. She must go!" 

Aurora's head pounded, her temples throbbing as Genevieve's words echoed in her ears. She closed her eyes, her body too feeble to respond, though her heart twisted painfully at the venom in the Queen Dowager's tone.

For the first time, shame swept over her for what she was—a courtesan. She could hardly bear to imagine the look of disappointment that would cloud his face upon hearing the truth.

Stephen's face remained stoic, his voice steady but cold.

"Mother, can we discuss this later? As you can see, she is unwell." 

"I am worried about you, Stephen. What if—" 

"Don't." His voice cut through hers, firm and unwavering. "Do not pretend this is for my sake. You are doing this for yourself, and you know it. Leave, and we will speak of this later." 

Genevieve straightened her posture, her face hard as stone. She glanced at Aurora one last time, her expression unreadable, before spinning on her heel and exiting the room with a sharp hmph. 

Stephen turned toward the door, his anger barely concealed. He stepped out into the corridor, addressing the two guards stationed outside.

"You are not to allow anyone inside the room without my permission, alright?" 

The guards bowed low. "Yes, Your Majesty." 

With a curt nod, Stephen re-entered the chamber. Aurora lay against the headboard, her eyes closed, though the tension in her face betrayed her unrest.

Sensing his approach, her eyes fluttered open, locking onto his. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, moving to sit beside her. She nodded faintly but didn't speak. 

Stephen frowned, leaning in slightly. "Pay no mind to my mother; she has a habit of imagining things." 

Aurora's lips parted as though to speak, but she hesitated. It's true, I am a courtesan, she wanted to admit, yet the words stayed trapped in her throat. The price of being known, she supposed.

But why should it matter what he thought of her? She clenched that thought tightly, though it felt less steady with each passing moment. 

"By chance, did you find a pendant in the forest?" she asked at last, her voice soft. 

"A pendant?" Stephen echoed.

"I cannot say I stumbled upon anything of the sort." His eyes flicked briefly to her neck—bare of the Blood Moon stone. If she meant to deceive him, it would not be so easily done, not anymore. 

She gave a faint nod, her lashes lowering as weariness threatened to pull her under once more. "It holds great meaning to me," she murmured. "My mother gave it to me… just before she passed." The final words were scarcely more than a breath, but Stephen heard them clear enough. 

For a moment, he remained silent, the sorrow in her voice tightening something deep in his chest. At length, he spoke, his tone steady yet tinged with an unyielding gentleness.

"Listen, Aubree—Aurora," he corrected himself with quiet care, "I know you do not trust me, and perhaps you have reason not to. But I swear to you, I played no hand in your family's misfortune. You need not take me at my word, but grant me the chance to prove it." 

She closed her eyes briefly, as though weighing his words, then opened them again, a soft smile brushing her lips.

"Very well." 

He studied her face intently, his brow knitting. "You're not merely saying that because you feel unguarded now, are you? Will you truly give me your word?" 

Her smile deepened, faint though it was. 

 "I will. You have my word."

 ~~~ 

"Did you hear me, Mother?" Genevieve stormed into the chamber, her voice sharp and brimming with indignation. "Stephen refused to listen when I told him to send that girl away!" Her face flushed with anger as she paced about the room. 

Bathsheba, reclining on a cushioned chair, glanced up briefly, her demeanor calm and unbothered. "Eve, I am in dire need of rest. Must you disturb my peace with this endless prattle?" 

Genevieve stopped in her tracks, her hands clenching into fists. "A courtesan, Mother! A courtesan! How can Stephen even entertain the thought of bringing such disgrace upon the crown? How could he marry someone so beneath his station? It is unthinkable—utterly disrespectful!" 

Bathsheba sighed and sat up slightly, her gaze cool and piercing. "And what, pray tell, is so wrong with being a courtesan? Are they not human as we are? I have no time for your theatrics, Eve. This matter does not concern you. Let my grandson choose for himself whom he deems worthy of his heart." 

Genevieve scoffed, folding her arms tightly across her chest. "You always stand by him, don't you? Forever on Stephen's side! And this is why he disregards me, defying me at every turn! The only one who ever cared for me, who truly obeyed me, was Alexander. And now that he is gone, I am nothing—irrelevant in the eyes of my own son!" 

"Cease this self-pity, Eve," Bathsheba said sharply, rising with an air of authority.

"If anyone has been wronged, it is Stephen. Yes, you lost your husband, but Stephen lost his father as well. He needed you then, and yet you turned your back on him.

You loathe him, Eve, though you refuse to admit it. You have never truly listened to him, yet he has never blamed you for it. Do not dare to place all the blame upon him now." 

Genevieve's face darkened, her voice

trembling as she replied, "I was grieving—struggling to survive! And you know well enough that Stephen is the reason I—" 

"No," Bathsheba interrupted, her voice steady but edged with rare anger.

"It is not Stephen. It is you, Eve. You've buried the truth beneath your bitterness and blame. You condemn that innocent boy for a sin he did not commit. I lost my son too, Eve, yet I do not lay the blame at Stephen's feet!"

"Innocent?" Genevieve laughed bitterly, her voice laced with scorn.

"That 'innocent boy' killed my husband, Mother! He will never be free of that blame in my eyes. And as long as I live, I will never allow him to marry a courtesan—royal family or not!" 

Bathsheba stared at her, the weight of Genevieve's words striking her like a blow. "Eve," she said, her voice trembling, "you have let your hatred consume you." 

"Do not try to lecture me, Mother." Genevieve snapped, raising her finger as though to warn her. "You will regret this blind loyalty to Stephen. One day, he will end you, like he did to my husband. Mark my words." 

Bathsheba sighed deeply as Genevieve stormed out of the room, her steps echoing down the corridor. Left alone, Bathsheba sank back into her chair, exhaustion etched into her features.

She sighed wearily, "bearing children has been both my greatest joy and my deepest regret. They will be the undoing of me." 

She rose and made her way to a hidden room at the far end of the wing. The chamber was sparse, lit only by the faint glow of a smoldering fire at its center.

From a small shelf, she retrieved a dagger and, with a steady hand, drew it across her wrist. Drops of blood fell into the flames, hissing as they struck the embers. 

She whispered an incantation, her voice low and steady, and a figure began to take shape within the firelight. His face remained obscured by shadows, but his presence filled the room with a foreboding energy. 

His expression was one of boredom and mild irritation. "You've grown quite bold, summoning me without warning. Do you imagine I am as idle as you?" 

"I beg your pardon?" she replied, her tone sharp, meeting his disdain with her own. 

"Whatever purpose you've called me for had best be worth my time," he said. 

Bathsheba released a weary sigh.

"My grandson has finally found his potential bride. And if you will grant me a moment—" 

The figure let out a cold, humorless chuckle. "And what of it? How does any of this concern me?" 

"She is the one," Bathsheba replied firmly. 

"The one? Are you certain?" His tone shifted, though it was tinged with skepticism. 

"I can prove it to you." 

"Very well. You have my attention—briefly." 

He raised a hand, and with a wave, his form dissolved into the shadows, leaving her alone once more.

Bathsheba wiped away the lone tear that streaked down her cheek, her resolve hardening.

"Forgive me, Stephen," she murmured. "You will despise me for what I must do, but it is for the greater good." 

---

Meanwhile, rumors of the King courting a courtesan spreads like wildfire. Whispers reached every corner, stoking scandal and dismay among the nobility. 

At Lady Katherine's manor, preparations were underway. She and her daughter with her best friend's daughter, Charlotte and Marianna, were dressing for a formal visit to the palace. Katherine, having recently returned from her travels. 

Lady Katherine, accompanied by her eldest daughter, Charlotte, busied herself with preparations for their visit to the royal palace. Having only just returned from an extended journey, Katherine had been utterly taken aback by the whispers of scandal that awaited her—a rumor that her nephew, King Stephen, was to wed a courtesan, though it was just a rumor, she'd never make the mistake of just brushing it off, she must confirm with her own eyes.

She prayed fervently that it was mere gossip, nothing more than idle talk from the lower servants. 

"Charlotte! Marianna!" Katherine called out sharply, her voice ringing through the grand hall. 

"We are coming," Marianna answered, her voice carrying faintly from the next chamber. A moment later, Marianna appeared, her attire simple yet refined, her expression as composed and unreadable as ever, Charlotte appeared, standing beside Marianna, a bored expression etched on her face. 

Katherine turned her gaze to Marianna, a smile of satisfaction gracing her lips. "You look exquisite, my dear," she said, her voice tinged with pride.

"The king will surely be pleased when he lays eyes upon you. Perhaps your presence will help dispel this disgraceful rumor. I feel ashamed merely speaking of it!" She chuckled softly, pulling Marianna aside. 

"Do your best to impress him," Katherine whispered, offering a playful wink to her, in which Marianna smiled in return.

"And you, Charlotte, I beg you—do not cause any trouble this time. And try not to look dead as much as possible." 

"Whatever you say, mother." Charlotte muttered, trying hard not to roll her eyes. 

Happy tenth chapters! I hope you enjoyed the story so far. Thanks for following up, and supporting me.