A Queen’s Suspicion

The royal corridors were quiet at this hour, but Queen Eleanor never truly slept.

Seated in her private chambers, she waited, the golden candlelight flickering against the polished wood of her desk. A single cup of tea rested untouched before her.

She had sent for her son nearly half an hour ago.

And still, he hadn't arrived.

That, in itself, was telling.

Alexander was a man of duty. He had never been one to hesitate when summoned. But tonight? Tonight, something had shifted.

When the door finally creaked open, she did not look up immediately. Instead, she let the silence stretch, listening carefully to his movements. His breathing. His hesitation.

"Mother," Alexander finally greeted, stepping inside.

She lifted her gaze, studying him. His usually composed features were strained, his expression guarded. And though he tried to stand tall, there was tension in his shoulders.

Something was troubling him.

Eleanor gestured toward the chair opposite her. "Sit."

Alexander obeyed, though she noticed how he avoided meeting her eyes.

"You've been restless," she observed, tapping her fingers lightly against the table. "Your mind is elsewhere."

A flicker of something—guilt? irritation?—crossed his face. "The competition is… overwhelming," he said carefully. "There are too many eyes on me at all times."

Eleanor hummed, watching him closely. "You have never been one to shy away from attention, my son."

His jaw tightened. "Not this kind."

She studied him for a moment longer before gracefully rising from her chair. Moving slowly, she crossed the room and stood before the large window overlooking the palace gardens.

"When we first announced this competition, you accepted it without protest," she said, her voice light but deliberate. "And yet, now… I sense resistance."

Alexander exhaled sharply. "I'm not resisting anything."

Eleanor finally turned to face him. "A mother knows when her son is keeping secrets."

His eyes met hers then—just for a second—before he quickly masked whatever emotion had surfaced.

Interesting.

She took a step closer. "Are you having doubts?"

Alexander hesitated, but then shook his head. "No."

A lie. A carefully constructed one.

Eleanor narrowed her gaze slightly. "Then what is it?"

For the first time, he looked truly frustrated. "What do you want me to say, Mother? That I find this entire process suffocating? That I'm meant to choose a woman to stand beside me for the rest of my life, but I can hardly breathe under the weight of it?"

She tilted her head. "And yet, that is the duty of a future king."

His hands curled into fists. "Duty," he repeated.

Ah. There it was.

That single word carried too much weight tonight.

Something—or other, someone—was making him feel trapped.

And Queen Eleanor had a very strong suspicion about who.

Her lips curved into the barest hint of a smile. "Perhaps I should remind you, Alexander, that the choice is ultimately yours."

His gaze flickered to her. "Is it?"

Eleanor merely smiled, letting the question hang.

Then, in a softer voice, she added, "You cannot afford distractions."

For the briefest second, something flashed across his face. Guilt.

Eleanor turned back to the window, pleased. She had not even needed to say Isabella's name.

Her son's expression had given her all the confirmation she needed.

He was hiding something.

And soon enough, she would uncover it.

The tension in the room thickened, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. Queen Eleanor let the silence stretch between them, watching her son carefully. He was holding something back.

Alexander had always been strong-willed, but he was not unreadable—not to her.

"Distractions, Mother?" he finally said, forcing a chuckle. "Isn't that the point of this whole competition? Parading distractions in front of me until I choose one?"

Eleanor raised a delicate brow. "A future king must be wise about where he invests his attention."

Alexander leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. His fingers tapped against the armrest—a nervous tick he had never quite outgrown. "I assure you, my focus is where it should be."

Another lie.

Eleanor stepped closer, her gown sweeping across the floor, and placed a hand on the back of his chair. "Good. Then you won't mind me asking about Lady Evelyn Lancaster."

At that, Alexander stilled.

It was subtle—the slightest shift in his posture—but Eleanor caught it.

Ah. So Evelyn had his attention, too.

She walked toward the table and picked up her teacup, though she had no intention of drinking from it. "She is… different from the others."

Alexander cleared his throat. "She is."

"She does not try to impress you."

"No."

Eleanor turned, meeting his gaze. "And yet, you seem to notice her."

Alexander hesitated, as if carefully considering his response. "She's not like the other contestants. That makes her interesting."

Eleanor studied him for a long moment before setting the teacup down. Interesting.

She had intended to test his reaction, to prod at his feelings for Evelyn and see if there was something worth nurturing there. Instead, she had uncovered another layer to his secrets.

His response was too cautious. Too carefully worded.

Which meant only one thing—Evelyn was not the distraction consuming his thoughts.

Eleanor's gaze sharpened. "You must be careful, my son."

Alexander tensed again. "Of what?"

She allowed herself a small, knowing smile. "Of making promises you cannot keep."

The color in his face did not change, but his grip

on the chair's armrest tightened ever so slightly.

A confirmation, silent yet undeniable.

Alexander might not have realized it, but he had just confirmed her suspicions.

There was someone. Someone who was not

part of the competition.

And that someone had a hold on him strong enough to unravel everything.

Eleanor's smile remained, but inside, her mind was already working.

She would find out who.

She would uncover the truth.

Because no matter who her son thought he loved, the future queen of the kingdom would not be decided in secret.

The silence between them stretched. A game of unspoken truths. A test.

Alexander held his mother's gaze, his expression calm, but Queen Eleanor had spent a lifetime reading people—especially him.

"You've always had a strong will," she murmured, gliding back to her seat. "Even as a boy, you would insist on getting your way. I see that same defiance in you now."

"I'm not defying anything," Alexander replied smoothly.

Eleanor took a slow sip of her tea. "No? Then why do you seem so… tense?"

Alexander exhaled, leaning forward. "Because you're interrogating me."

Her lips curved, ever so slightly. "A mother's concern is not an interrogation."

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "It feels like one."

Eleanor studied him. A flicker of frustration. A slip of control.

She had always taught him the importance of maintaining a mask, of keeping emotions locked away where they could not be used against him. And yet, tonight, his composure was cracking.

"Alexander," she said gently, "you know as well as I do that a king's duty is to his kingdom first. That means you cannot afford…" She let the sentence trail off, waiting to see if he would take the bait.

He did not.

Instead, he leaned back, his fingers drumming against the table. "Afford what?" he asked, as though daring her to say it aloud.

Eleanor smiled faintly. Clever boy.

"You tell me," she replied smoothly. "What is it that you cannot afford?"

For a brief moment, something flashed in his eyes—an emotion too quick to name. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

But she had seen it.

Doubt.

No, not doubt. Guilt.

Eleanor set her teacup down, the porcelain clinking against the saucer. "I have always trusted your judgment," she said softly. "You know that."

Alexander's jaw tightened. "Of course."

"I trust that you will make the right choice for the kingdom."

He nodded once, but his silence spoke louder than words.

He was conflicted.

There was someone else pulling at his heart, someone outside the competition.

Eleanor kept her expression serene, but her mind was already working. If Alexander would not confess, she would simply have to uncover the truth herself.

"Get some rest," she said at last, dismissing him with a graceful wave of her hand. "Tomorrow will be another long day."

Alexander hesitated for half a second before nodding. "Good night, Mother."

She watched as he stood and left, his footsteps fading down the corridor.

Once he was gone, she turned toward the dim candlelight, her eyes narrowed in thought.

Something was amiss.

And Queen Eleanor would find out what it was.