The Debt Of Fate-Chapter 294: An heir for the king

Anastasia entered her carriage and was preparing to leave when she was informed that the queen had invited her for tea.

She wanted to refuse, using the excuse that her husband was still ill and that she needed to return home to care for him. On second thought, however, she knew Elizabeth was petty. It would be better to go and see her than give her another reason to hold a grudge.

The maid who came to summon her led the way to the garden, where Elizabeth was already seated with two ladies. Anastasia recognized them as Elizabeth’s friends—members of her court.

"Your Majesty," Anastasia said, stopping a few steps away and bowing.

She did not feel uncomfortable bowing to Elizabeth. It was merely a formality, and having worn the crown herself before, she did not envy her in the slightest.

Elizabeth frowned. She had expected to see envy in Anastasia’s eyes, but the woman’s gaze was clear and composed. Displeased, Elizabeth deliberately withheld her response, intending to leave Anastasia bowing.

Anastasia, however, refused to be humiliated. After waiting a brief moment with no reply, she straightened her back.

"Lady Anastasia, you cannot straighten yourself while Her Majesty has yet to respond," one of the ladies commented sharply.

"Yes, it is disrespectful to the crown," the other agreed.

"I fail to understand the logic behind your statement," Anastasia replied calmly. "I have not disrespected the crown in any way. I bowed to greet the queen. When I received no response, I became concerned that something might have happened to Her Majesty, so I raised my head to check. How does that constitute disrespect?"

She paused, her gaze steady.

"Unless the queen was deliberately trying to punish me by forcing me to remain bowed. If that is the case, I would like to know my offense." Even as a queen one had to find an excuse to punish a noble lady unless she wanted a ruthless reputation.

The two ladies were rendered speechless.

Elizabeth was furious, but noticing the queen mother’s attendant watching from the side, she forced a smile.

"My sister is always so caring. You misunderstood her intentions."

"Your Majesty is indeed kind," the two noble ladies quickly praised.

"Please, sit," Elizabeth said, no longer interested in making Anastasia stand. She feared that if Anastasia remained standing, she would only gain more control of the situation.

Anastasia took her seat. Tea was served, and Elizabeth began speaking at length about her achievements over the past two months.

Anastasia commented only when directly addressed, otherwise calmly sipping her tea. Yet her presence dominated the table. Had Elizabeth not been seated at the head, one might easily have mistaken Anastasia for the queen.

The more composed Anastasia remained, the more irritated Elizabeth grew. She had summoned her to vent her frustration and to show off, yet Anastasia’s lack of reaction infuriated her.

"Look at me, talking only about myself," Elizabeth said with a light laugh. "I’m sure you must miss the palace, dear sister."

She refused to believe Anastasia felt nothing. She just knows how to hide it, Elizabeth thought.

"There is nothing in the palace to miss," Anastasia replied gently. "Having a husband who loves and cares for me is enough. Without a mistress pulling him out of my bed at night, I am quite comfortable. Who knows? I may even be with child soon."

She smiled faintly. Then as if rembering something she continues to speak.

"Dear sister, you should consider bearing an heir for the king. A mistress’s son is never as valued as a legitimate child."

Her voice was sincere, but her intent was not. Since Elizabeth had invited her to humiliate her, Anastasia saw no reason not to return the favor. Miss Magdalene had already told her that the king had not once slept in Elizabeth’s bedchamber since their marriage.

As expected, Elizabeth’s gaze darkened.

How could she bear and heir if the king doesn’t share a bed with her, always running to spend his free time with the mistress claiming to check on the prince.

...

Ernest’s new residence stood in a quiet quarter of the inner district—solid and well-built, though understated when compared to the general’s estate he had recently left behind. The outer walls were tall and cleanly cut, the iron gates free of royal insignia. There were no ornamental towers or ceremonial courtyards—only a design meant for living.

To most, it would appear modest.

In truth, the house was anything but small.

Ernest had acquired the property shortly after his promotion to lieutenant general, intending it to be his long-term home. When the king later granted him the general’s estate, protocol left him little choice but to move. Yet he had never grown accustomed to that residence. Edward’s influence was everywhere—oppressive and deliberate.

So when the suspension came, Ernest used it as an excuse to return here without drawing attention. Leaving the general’s estate was not a retreat; it was a release. Many viewed the move as his fall, but only Ernest understood the truth.

That afternoon, sunlight filtered through tall lattice windows as Ernest—who was supposed to be confined to bed by illness—reviewed reports discreetly spread across his desk. Though officially relieved of duty, messages still reached him quietly, carefully, through men who had once followed him into battle and would do so again without hesitation.

Given the constant changes within the kingdom, he knew the only way to stay relevant—and alive—was to remain informed about the war front.

Two rebel groups rising simultaneously, no matter how small, would strain the royal army. Worse still, Lord Aureline’s forces were growing by the day. From reports gathered through his own channels, Ernest realized the royal army was dangerously misinformed. Lord Aureline was deliberately concealing his true strength.

"All is fair in war," Ernest sighed. He could only blame the royal generals who had grown complacent.

A servant knocked on the study door. "My lord, a messenger waits at the gate. He bears the token of the Duke of Ironhaven and says he carries a message from His Grace."

Ernest tapped his fingers against the desk. Since leaving home to join the royal army, the Duke had only contacted him during significant moments—his promotion, or the New Year celebrations. Now, after two months of suspension, the message finally came.

Moreover, the Duke’s territory bordered the sixth Region, where the Third Prince had raised his banner. Logically, the prince would try to draw the Duke into his camp.

"Let him in," Ernest said.

The messenger entered shortly after. "My lord," he bowed, handing over the letter.

"Sir Grey?" Ernest was surprised to recognize one of the Duke’s most trusted aides.

He immediately knew the matter was serious.

Ernest broke the seal himself. The handwriting was firm and unmistakable—the Duke had written it personally.

You have withdrawn from the king’s residence and been relieved of your command. The court is restless, rebellions stir, and your name is spoken in careful whispers. I ask you plainly—do you intend to rebel and reclaim your biological father’s throne?

Ernest read the letter in silence.

The Duke of Ironhaven—his father, or more accurately, his uncle. The man who had raised him, protected him, and buried the truth of his birth beneath years of loyalty and service. Few knew of the claim flowing through Ernest’s veins, and fewer still would dare to name it so directly.

He leaned back in his chair.

When he first learned the truth, he had been determined to reclaim his father’s throne. After King George’s death, however, he had thought it pointless. But now...

Edward had dared to lay hands on his nephew. He was no different from his father—bloodthirsty and power-hungry.

"My mother wanted me to live a peaceful life," Ernest said quietly, testing Sir Grey.

"Yes," Sir Grey replied. "His Grace asked me to give you this as well."

Ernest took the old sack bag.

"I say this without permission," Sir Grey continued. "If there is a chance to live in peace, then take it. But if His Majesty ever learns the truth, he will not let it go. Sometimes it is better to take the initiative. Dead or alive, King George’s evils should be exposed."

Ernest listened, feeling a strange clarity settle within him.

"Thank you for the reminder," he said. "A servant will show you to your quarters. Give me some time to think. I will send a response to my father."

Sir Grey nodded and exited the study.

In the corridor, he encountered Anastasia returning from the council, eager to tell Ernest how the case had concluded.

"My lady," Sir Grey bowed, briefly studying her. He wondered why Ernest had chosen her as his wife. If rebellion lay ahead, a wife with powerful backing would be far more useful.

Anastasia frowned. His face was unfamiliar.

"Forgive me, but I do not recognize you," she said.

"My lady, I serve the Duke of Ironhaven. I am here to deliver a message to the young lord," Sir Grey replied.

Anastasia was surprised. Since her marriage to Ernest, this was the first time anyone from his father’s side had reached out.

She had almost forgotten that he still had a father.