Chapter Text
Rhysand POV
Rhysand was horrified when Amarantha told him she was pregnant with his child. He couldn’t fathom how something so pure could emerge from their twisted and vile relationship.
Still, Rhysand forced a smile and congratulated her. “That’s… great,” he said, his lips curving into a strained grin. “Are you happy?”
Amarantha laughed—that cruel, mocking sound that sent shivers down his spine. “Happy? I’m delighted by the power this brat will hold,” she replied with a sneer.
Rhysand’s stomach twisted. He knew their child would be powerful, and he feared what she might do with that power. It was a miracle they had even conceived, given how difficult it was for fae to bear children.
“Come here, Rhysand,” Amarantha said, her voice dripping with desire as she stroked a finger up her thigh. “Let’s get a few more rounds in.”
Suppressing a sigh, he slipped on a smirk and approached the bed.
9 months later-
With a final scream, Amarantha brought her child into the world. The healer wrapped the infant in a blanket and carefully placed the bundle in Amarantha’s arms.
“You have a daughter, my lady,” the healer said, stepping back.
“Great. Send it to Hybern. Tell the king the brat is a powerful gift.” Amarantha barely glanced at the newborn before tossing the bundle onto the bed.
Rising, she strode towards the bathroom, then paused. “Tell Rhysand it died during birth. Tell no one it’s alive.” Without another glance, she disappeared into the bathroom.
The healer’s face paled as she approached the bed. Gently, she gathered the tiny bundle into her arms. “I am sorry,” she whispered, before winnowing to Hybern.
Later that day-
Rhysand stumbled back, shock rippling through him at the healer’s words. His child was dead.
After murmuring a hollow thank you, he shut the door and collapsed into his desk chair.
He had asked to see his daughter, but the healer had explained that Amarantha had already burned the body.
A strange mix of sorrow and relief churned within him. Sorrow for the loss of his child, and relief that she would never suffer under Amarantha’s control—not as he had.
Tears slipped down his face. As he closed his eyes, he mourned not only his daughter but the shattered remnants of his own hope.