The rumors did not stop after the ball. If anything, they spread faster.

Circe noticed it over the following days in the subtle shifts that passed between nobles whenever she was in their midst. She noticed how their conversations usually ended abruptly whenever she entered a room.

She still got some odd stares from people, a few of them even daring enough to glance down at her stomach before quickly averting their eyes.

Yet, no one said anything directly to her.

That almost irritated Circe more.

Cowardice, the lot of them. They were fine with spreading lies about her but none of them had the gall to say it to her face.

By the fourth day, she was nearing her wits end.

The next afternoon, she arranged another private tea with two out of the ten women she invited the first time and she did so under the pretense of continuing discussions regarding potential ladies-in-waiting.

Lady Selene Arvath.

And Lady Oria Gyles.

Both women had attended the ball and both were known for maintaining broad social connections among the nobles. More importantly, neither struck Circe as particularly malicious.

Which meant they were far more likely to talk when questioned.

Circe kept her focus on the two women as she lightly tapped the side of her cup. A maid moved quietly through the room to refill her teacup before retreating once more toward the corner where she had been standing.

The meeting remained pleasant at first.

They discussed palace routines, the things Circe would expect from them if they were to be picked to be her ladies in waiting, and the endless social obligations that they would have to attend with her.

Then eventually, she steered the conversation to her main reason for having this meeting.

"Lately, it seems that I have been a topic of conversation among the nobility," she said mildly as she lifted her teacup.

Matching looks of fear appeared on both women’s faces.

"I do not mind gossip," she continued calmly. "I simply prefer knowing what is truly being said rather than hearing fragments of it secondhand."

Still neither woman answered.

Circe set her cup down gently.

"I overheard certain conversations during the ball regarding my pregnancy." Neither appeared surprised by the subject itself. Only nervous. Which told Circe enough already. "There are also apparently questions regarding my child’s parentage. As well as my conduct while living in Amris."

Selene looked horrified now. "Your Majesty, I swear I never repeated any of those rumors—"

"I did not accuse you of doing so."

The woman immediately fell silent again.

Circe leaned back slightly in her chair, watching them both carefully. "I just want to know who started it?"

When the tension became unbearable, Oria was the first to break. "Most people heard it through Lady Ophelia."

That name again. The same one those women at the ball mentioned.

"She did not claim the rumors were her own originally. Only that she had heard concerning things regarding Your Majesty." Selene chimed in.

"And where did she hear them?" Circe asked.

Selene lowered her gaze to her teacup as though silently debating whether they should answer at all.

"We don’t know, your majesty. Ophelia didn’t say." Oria answered for her.

"I see," Circe said softly. She didn’t, for one second, believe that they were as oblivious as they claim to be but she knew there was little she could do to force the truth out of them without scaring them more than they already were.

Neither Selene nor Oria seemed eager to continue the topic after that.

Circe did not push further. Instead, she shifted the conversation to lighter topics, allowing the tension to dissipate enough that the women no longer looked moments away from collapsing from anxiety.

By the time they left the palace an hour later, both looked visibly relieved.

But Circe remained seated long after the doors closed behind them.

Ophelia

She turned the name over carefully in her mind.

The rumors alone already skirted dangerously close to treason. Questioning the legitimacy of a royal heir was not harmless noble gossip no matter how softly people disguised it.

And yet something about it still felt personal.

***

The following morning, Circe left the palace with only two guards accompanying her carriage.

She intended to pay someone a visit, yet she sent no formal notice of arrival beforehand.

That alone was enough to unsettle the household when the royal carriage stopped before Lady Ophelia’s home that morning.

Servants rushed to receive her, their confusion plainly visible as frantic word spread throughout the manor that the queen herself had arrived unannounced.

Circe was already waiting inside by the time Ophelia mustered enough courage to face her.

It wasn’t hard to deduce why the queen was here and Ophelia’s stricken face was practically a beckon, flashing her guilt for all to see.

"Your Majesty," she greeted quickly, dipping into a polite bow. "Had I known you intended to visit, I would have properly prepared—"

"There is no need for all that," Circe interrupted gently. "I’m here to have a word with you."

The warmth inside the room stood in sharp contrast to the winter breeze blowing outside the windows. A fire crackled softly within the hearth while shafts of sunlight filtered through tall curtains embroidered with silver thread.

Several embroidery frames and baskets of colored silk had been left arranged across a low table. Ophelia had evidently been working before Circe’s arrival.

Circe moved toward them, drawn in by their beautiful.

"This is beautiful work," she said, lightly brushing her fingers along the edge of one unfinished piece on display.

Ophelia forced a faint smile. "Thank you, Your Majesty. You can have any one you want."

"How generous of you." She said, stepping away from them.

"Your highness, please have a seat." She said, hoping her hospitality might be enough to smooth over some of the queen’s displeasure.

Circe sat down and after only a brief hesitation, Ophelia joined her.

Her body remained tense with nerves, anxiety leaving her so unsettled that she no longer knew what to do with her hands. In the end, she reached once more for her embroidery needle, carefully drawing dark blue thread through the pale fabric simply to give herself something to focus on besides the fear tightening around her throat.