Countess Olivia Londkowska stretched contentedly on the bed, nearly knocking over the candelabrum where three candles stood like little soldiers, casting a warm glow across the spacious room. She glanced at King Theodore of Aquinsby, who sat at the edge of the bed, slowly buttoning his shirt. With a playful, panther-like grace, she adjusted her light hair—streaked with a single strand of silver—and slid behind the monarch, gently placing her hands on his shoulders.
“My love, I’m worried about our son. I’d like to talk about him.”
“What about him?” the man replied, barely turning his head as he continued dressing. The countess sat beside him on the bed, her gaze shyly dropping to the floor.
“He works so hard and is such a talented young man. He’s at that age now—not a little boy anymore. I think it’s time we told him everything. I want you to acknowledge him as your son, grant him the title of prince, and name him your heir. He deserves it.”
“Not this again. You know it’s impossible,” Theodore said, his tone sharp. “To everyone, he’ll always be just a bastard. How do you think the nobility will react? I’m a married man, and suddenly I have an illegitimate son. I already have an heir—Martin. I don’t understand why you keep bringing this up.”
The king shot an irritated glance at the countess, clearly unwilling to continue the conversation. But she wouldn’t back down.
“And how is our son any less than Martin? Just because he wasn’t born in wedlock? That’s not fair to him. He’s strong, intelligent, brave—he has all the virtues a ruler needs.”
“What are you getting at?” Theodore raised his voice, his temper flaring. “Don’t you dare compare your son to Martin. Martin is the future king, and he alone will rule this kingdom. Nothing will change that, so don’t forget it. I don’t need any more gossip or scandal. I can’t fathom what you’re complaining about. Your son lives at court, just like you. You see him every day. He holds a high position, a title, wealth—I’ve taken care of everything. I even arranged for noble parents to raise him. No one suspects he’s not their own. What more do you want?”
Abruptly standing from the bed, he fixed Olivia with a piercing stare as she sat motionless on her knees. Tears welled in her green eyes, though she fought to hold them back, still pressing her case.
“But you have two sons. How can you love and honor one while refusing to even acknowledge the other? Have you ever once spoken to him as a father? Yes, he doesn’t know the truth about you, but he longs for a father’s love. Your love. I don’t want him to spend his life in service. Make him a prince and give him what your child deserves.”
Her words only fueled the king’s anger. Striding toward the door, he gripped the handle, paused for a moment, and took a deep breath. Turning back, he looked like a enraged beast.
“Don’t forget who you’re speaking to. I am still the king. And your son has people serving him as well, so you’ve no reason to complain. Be grateful for what you have, because I gave it all to you. Remember that. Don’t ever bring this up again.”
Slamming the door behind him, Theodore stormed out of the room with a thunderous noise. Bitter tears rolled down Olivia’s cheeks. No, she wouldn’t cry—not anymore! “Your son,” echoed in her mind. When had he become only her son? Why not “our son”? She knew she was partly to blame. She should have acted sooner, not waited all these years, not clung to the hope that the king would change his mind. What had she been hoping for? That she’d one day become his wife? No, she’d known from the start that would never happen.
Over twenty years ago, young and in love, she had soared on the wings of passion. It seemed nothing could tear her apart from Theodore. But then, like a bolt from the blue, she learned of his marriage to another—a dynastic union with a princess from a neighboring kingdom, orchestrated by his father, the king at the time. It had been agony to watch their married life unfold while she dreamed of one day taking the queen’s place. Yielding to the desires of her heart, she had agreed to become his secret mistress, a role no one could know about.
In time, fate blessed her with a son. Her only son, whom her beloved refused to acknowledge. When she first told Theodore of her pregnancy, he was furious, but he eventually devised a plan and saw it through. Hiding the child’s birth, he gave the boy to others to raise, and after ten years, brought him to serve at the palace. And now? Yes, her son held an important position and a title, but he remained an unrecognized prince.
“Be grateful for what you have, because I gave it all to you”—the hurtful words reverberated in her mind. What had he given her? She’d never had a true family, never known the real happiness of a woman. What was she to him—nothing more than a mistress? All these years, she’d waited for change, but today she finally understood: nothing would ever change. The love she once felt had long since faded, replaced by emptiness, disappointment, anger, and perhaps even hatred. Enough! She had endured and waited long enough. It was time to act. She would make her son a prince and the future king, no matter the cost—even if it meant getting rid of Theodore, his queen Margaret, and their children, Martin and little Gloria. Oh, Margaret—she’d be rid of her gladly.
Throwing on a light silk robe, the countess sat at the table and began to write a letter.