Chapter 79: Chapter 78. Everything Else
It hadn’t even been half a year since her wedding to Roxanne de Borgia, yet here she is, pregnant. The truth sat heavily in her mind, leaving her speechless as she stared down at her stomach. The soft curve beneath her palm is barely noticeable, but it carried something impossible. After a whole day of nausea, mood swings, and unexpected tears, Vivianne sat quietly by the window, her expression a mixture of awe and disbelief.
Roxanne had fallen asleep nearby, exhausted from tending to her. The alpha had refused to leave her side, running errands herself, carrying trays of food, and chasing off anyone who might disturb her rest. Seeing her usually composed, proud alpha reduced to a frantic caretaker almost made Vivianne laugh, almost.
Her gaze lowered again to her belly, and the laughter died in her throat. "Not even a year..." she whispered. "Not even half."
In her past life, when she was bound to Dietrich, she had never once conceived. Not after months of trying, not after endless pressure from the palace, not even after the humiliation of being forced into the arms of other alphas.
A bitter taste filled her mouth as the memories surfaced, those years of degradation, of being treated like a broken vessel. Three years of marriage, and still, her womb had remained silent. Her life had ended before she ever knew what it meant to truly carry life.
And yet now, with Roxanne, it had taken only months. One bond. One touch that felt right. One alpha whose presence never suffocated her but made her feel safe, wanted, and loved. She looked at her stomach again, her hand trembling slightly as she traced small circles. The warmth she felt there is real, undeniable.
"How strong is her essence, really..." she murmured, half in wonder, half in disbelief. A faint smile tugged at her lips, tired but genuine.
Maybe this is what fate had meant all along, that she was never meant to be with someone so ordinary, even if that someone is the emperor of a mighty empire. Even when she wore the crown of empress, adorned in jewels and silk, that life had given her nothing but chains of shackles that left scars no one could see.
The halls of the imperial palace, once meant to symbolize power and prestige, were nothing more than gilded cages. Every smile she’d given had been measured, every step watched, every word twisted into something useful for someone else. Behind all that, she was a slave.
No matter how much she had tried to please, to fit, to be what they wanted, nothing had ever been enough. Not her grace, not her loyalty, not even her body. When Dietrich finds out that his mark didn’t change anything in her pheromones, his insecurities drive him crazy, and he finds another excitement by sharing his beautiful omega.
But that was in the past, her past life before this one. She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. That life felt so far away now, and yet sometimes it haunted her like the scent of smoke clinging to old clothes.
Behind her, the faint rustle of sheets broke the silence. Roxanne stirred, her arm instinctively reaching across the bed, searching for her in the half-dark. Her voice, still rough with sleep, called out softly, "Vivian?"
"I’m here," Vivianne answered, her tone gentle.
She turned, her nightgown whispering against the floor as she crossed the small distance back to the bed. The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, gilding Roxanne’s hair with gold, and for a moment, Vivianne felt her heart ache with quiet affection.
She sat down beside her alpha, brushing her hand through Roxanne’s disheveled hair. "Go back to sleep," she whispered, though her voice trembled just slightly.
But Roxanne’s hand caught hers, warm and strong, pulling her gently closer. "Not without you," she murmured, eyes half-open, the corners of her lips lifting into a sleepy smile.
Vivianne’s breath hitched. She eased herself back into Roxanne’s embrace, feeling the steady thrum of her heart beneath her palm. The scent of her alpha surrounded her, warm, grounding, and safe.
"Mmmm..." Roxanne muttered as she held Vivianne tightly in her arms.
Even though dealing with a pregnant omega was far more exhausting than fighting a war, Roxanne found herself truly enjoying her new role. She had already started imagining what their child might look like; having a little version of Vivianne running around would be wonderful. The thought made her smile faintly as she kissed the crown of her omega’s head.
"What are you thinking?" Roxanne whispered softly.
"Everything," Vivianne replied. "I never thought I’d be able to get pregnant this easily."
Roxanne chuckled drowsily. "You talk like you were married before. You were a virgin when I took you the first night." Her words slurred slightly as she drifted back toward sleep, a soft snore following soon after.
Vivianne didn’t say anything. She just held on tighter to Roxanne, her chest heavy with unspoken memories. She might have been a virgin in this life, but not in her past one, not after everything Dietrich had done. Used and broken, she had long accepted that she would never have a child.
"I’m just babbling," Vivianne murmured, knowing that today isn’t the right time to tell Roxanne about her past.
Even though her mother-in-law, Princess Morwenna de Erengard, already knew the truth. The spirit had revealed everything: that Vivianne isn’t just an ordinary Spirit King bearer but the one who had defied the very concept of time itself. Her suffering, her death, and this second chance at life were all threads in a cycle she had somehow broken.
It was easier to speak with Morwenna, who already understood what that meant and who had been listening to all the spirit talk before. But deep down, Vivianne knew Roxanne deserved to hear it too. Just not today.
For now, she buried herself deeper into her alpha’s arms, the steady rhythm of Roxanne’s heartbeat lulling her back to peace. She clutched her tighter, letting the warmth of her embrace chase away the echoes of her past, until sleep finally claimed her once more.
-
The night of the plan, Ashenhold Tower
The signal arrived as planned, a ragged chorus of drunken voices echoing against the stone of Ashenhold Tower. Outside, the men Gerhard had planned in the morning to come at the hour he had already told them, three veteran knights bought and briefed for this one desperate hour.
They staggered and shouted, drunk on courage and brandy. They shoved at the gate, stamped their boots, and made a perfect, noisy diversion, drawing the attention of every sentry within earshot. Managed to knock out two guards outside and keep trying to get inside the tower.
Inside, things moved quietly. Because Red and a handful of Borgia knights were already waiting outside the tower, waiting by the hidden entrance to the secret passage only Marvessa knew.
As former head of the Shadow Knights, Marvessa had spent months mapping the palace’s underbelly; tonight her knowledge would be the difference between escape and slaughter. They make a knowing stare between Red and the royal guard, which was already bought by Gerhard.
"I’ll handle the two inside the tower," Anton said to Gerhard in a low rush, voice steady though his fingers tightened on the spare key. "You free my men. Keep watch over my wife if anything goes sideways." He fit the key to the lock and turned it with a near-silent click, careful not to rouse whatever patrols might be nearby.
Anton slipped down the stair as if swallowed by shadow. He moved fast and sure and in the stairwell’s gloom, he found two guards distracted by the commotion at the gate, drawn by the drunken brawl and the clamor of feet. Anton struck hard and quick, with a sweep of his boot, a fist to the throat, and a blade’s whisper against leather. In seconds, the guards lay groaning on the steps, out cold.
Above, Gerhard hurried through the corridor with the Viscountess at his side, keys jangling as he reached the doors of the lower cells. The Wyndham knights peered through the bars, faces pale but hard with expectation.
"Viscount—are you clear from the inside?" A voice called from the outside of the tower, tense and clipped.
"Clear," Anton answered shortly, checking the two guards he knocked down last time before signaling the others.
Gerhard bent to the iron lock on the first cell, hands moving quickly to unlock all the cells with the key the Viscount had already copied. The Viscountess worked beside him, opening the doors, undoing bindings, and whispering directions under her breath. One by one the cell doors creaked open. The knights inside rose, rubbing wrists and flexing stiff fingers, each man a coiled thing ready to spring.
A courier’s voice barked from the outer door. "I’ll open the gate. Make it quick, Viscount. The Duke—?"
"Behind me," Anton replied, his voice low but sure, his eyes flicking toward the narrow stone passage. He looked up at Gerhard, nodding once. "Let’s go."
By the time the heavy door creaked open from the outside—unlocked with the key taken from the unconscious guards—every Wyndham knight had already been freed. Three bribed royal guards slipped inside, faces pale but resolute. One of them gave a curt nod to Gerhard.
Without a word, they swung the door shut again and turned the key. The iron lock clicked into place, sealing off the chaos behind them. Before leaving, one of the guards carefully tucked the key back into the pocket of a fallen guard, covering their tracks perfectly. Then, as planned, they vanished back to their posts as if nothing had happened.
Outside, Anton guided his wife forward while Gerhard followed close behind. Red was already waiting at the end of the tunnel, torchlight flickering over his scarred face. "Duke Eisenwald," he greeted, bowing slightly. "You’ll head south with Graham’s unit. The Grand Duke has arranged for you to meet midway with a combined battalion from Borgia and Wyndham. From there, you’ll have safe passage back to your estate. The Grand Duke’s orders are clear; your safety is a priority. But in return, the South must acknowledge Borgia’s leadership and sever ties with the emperor."
Gerhard exhaled, the weight of the moment settling on his shoulders. The empire he once served now hunted him, yet before him stood the only true path to survival. "I pledge my loyalty," he said, his voice firm and steady. "From this day forth, the South bends its knee to the Grand Duke of Borgia."
Anton chuckled softly beside him, his tone laced with grim satisfaction, and Gerhard de Eisenwald continued, "The South will stand behind the North," he said.