Chapter 8: The Son She Lost
461 Words
The Cold Palace was a place of silence and forgotten souls. Once a woman was sent there, she was as good as dead to the imperial court. No one spoke her name, no one visited, and no one cared if she lived or died.
Isabella had once been the favored consort, showered with jewels and affection. But all it took was one mistake—one moment of defiance—and she was cast aside like trash.
She still remembered the day Kaelen ordered her banishment.
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The Day of Her Fall
"Please, Your Majesty," Isabella knelt before the emperor, her hands clutching her stomach. "I am with child—your child. If you will not have mercy on me, at least spare him."
Kaelen sat upon his golden throne, his expression cold and unmoved. "You have already lost my favor, Isabella. Do not think a child will change that."
Tears welled in her eyes. "But he is innocent! He is your son—"
Kaelen stood abruptly, his sharp gaze cutting through her like a blade. "Enough. You defied me, and now you face the consequences. Guards, take her away."
"No! Please!" Isabella sobbed, clutching her stomach protectively. "Kaelen, please don’t do this!"
But the emperor merely turned his back on her, sealing her fate.
As the guards dragged her from the throne room, Isabella screamed, "If my son dies, I will never forgive you, Kaelen! I will curse you with my last breath!"
Kaelen never looked back.
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The Cold Palace: A Mother’s Agony
The Cold Palace was as merciless as its name suggested. There was no warmth, no comfort—only isolation.
Isabella spent months alone, her once-lavish gowns reduced to rags, her once-beautiful face now gaunt with suffering. She endured hunger, cold nights, and the whispers of ghosts who had died there before her.
And then, the labor pains began.
She gave birth to her son in the darkness, with no midwives, no warm blankets, no one to hold her hand. Only pain. Only blood.
He was so small. So fragile.
She named him Asher, whispering his name over and over as she cradled his tiny body against her chest.
But he never took his first breath.
He never cried.
He never lived.
A stillborn.
Isabella’s wail of grief echoed through the empty halls, but no one came. No one cared.
She held Asher for hours, refusing to let him go, rocking him gently as if she could will him back to life.
By morning, she buried him with her own hands in the small courtyard of the Cold Palace, marking his grave with a single white stone.
And as she stood there, her heart shattered beyond repair, she whispered, "Kaelen, for this, I will make you suffer."
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