Chapter 91: Praying for an Heir

That same night, in the lamplight of his private study, Prince Benedict leaned back in his chair, one ankle casually resting on his knee as Percival stood at attention before him. A decanter of deep red wine sat untouched on the table between them.

"You look troubled," Prince Benedict remarked dryly, dark eyes fixed on his most trusted confidant.

Percival shifted his weight slightly. "My lord, the search parties still have not found the prince's body. The river is treacherous, but until we see proof, we cannot assume he is truly gone."

Prince Benedict drummed his fingers thoughtfully against the arm of his chair. The firelight played across his face, making him look even more sharp and ruthless than usual. "Alive or dead," he began slowly, "it hardly matters. If he survived the fall, he is injured and weak. A perfect opportunity to finish what was started."

He took a measured sip of his wine before setting it down with deliberate care. "Double the number of men along the river paths," he ordered. "Pay handsomely to anyone who gives information. Do not stop until you have him or his corpse. Do you understand, Percival?"

"Yes, my prince," Percival answered at once.

Benedict's gaze sharpened. "And this time, take your most capable men. No mistakes. Bring me his head if you must. Once he is truly gone, no one will stand between me and the throne." A faint, satisfied smile curved his lips. "My path will be clear."

Percival nodded, bowing his head low before turning to leave.

As the door clicked shut, Prince Benedict rose and crossed to the window. Outside, the moon was shrouded by a thin curtain of mist, and for a long moment he stared into the dark gardens below.

"So close," he murmured to himself, fingers tightening on the sill. "This kingdom will finally be mine."

Lady Calista paused outside the door to Prince Benedict's private study. A chill ran along her spine as she gathered her composure, smoothing her hands over her gown of deep emerald velvet before knocking once and entering.

He was seated at his writing desk, fingers drumming absently on the polished surface, his expression blank yet somehow stern. Candles burned low, casting long shadows across the ornate chamber. When he lifted his gaze and saw her, his brow arched slightly. "Calista," he greeted, voice smooth but detached, "what brings you here at this hour?"

She took a few careful steps inside, the silken hem of her dress whispering across the floor. "I wished to see you," she answered, forcing warmth into her voice. "You've been so busy of late that I hardly have the pleasure of your company anymore." Her hands were clasped before her, knuckles white beneath the softness of her gloves.

Prince Benedict's mouth tilted into a faint, humorless smile. "And I have many responsibilities," he replied. "Responsibilities that require my attention." His gaze swept over her but held none of the tenderness it once had.

Lady Calista felt the sting of his indifference and fought to keep her composure. "Responsibilities," she echoed, bitterness lacing her words despite herself. "Or rather, distractions elsewhere?" Her chin lifted ever so slightly as she tried to read his face.

For a fleeting moment, something sharp flashed in his blue eyes, but his voice was measured as he spoke. "Do not concern yourself with matters that do not pertain to you," he told her coolly. "Your place is here at my side when it is needed. Beyond that…" His voice trailed off as he returned his gaze to the papers before him.

The dismissal was clear. Lady Calista's hands trembled inside her gloves, a cold knot forming in her stomach. "I am your wife," she murmured, voice trembling despite her best effort to sound poised.

"You are," Benedict agreed, as if simply noting a fact. "And so long as you do not forget that, we shall have no troubles between us."

Lady Calista felt a pang of sorrow and pride mingled into one painful knot. The silence stretched between them like a chasm as she held his gaze. There was so much more she wanted to say, so much she wished would change but she knew better than to provoke him further tonight.

With a graceful bow of her head that belied her sadness, she took a step backward. "As you wish, my lord," she said softly, then turned and glided toward the door, the cold ache of loneliness settling deeper in her heart as it closed behind her.

Meanwhile in Clarisse Chambers

The moonlight slanted through the gauzy curtains in Lady Clarisse's private chambers. The room smelled faintly of rose oil and warm skin, the air heavy and close. Lady Clarisse was reclining on a chaise lounge, dressed in a sheer emerald robe that matched the color of her sharp eyes. The light from the hearth gave her auburn hair a rich, warm glow as she rose gracefully to greet him, her lips painted a deep rose.

When the door eased open and Prince Benedict stepped inside, her lips curved into a practiced, seductive smile.

"You're looking weary," she cooed as he crossed the threshold. "Come, my prince. Let me chase the troubles from your brow."

Without waiting for permission, she glided close, hands trailing up the folds of his cloak before easing it from his shoulders and setting it aside.

He gave a tired grunt but let his hands slide to her waist. Clarisse was good at reading him. She always was.

"I thought you might not come tonight," she murmured, lips brushing his ear before she led him to one of the cushioned divans. With practiced ease, she pushed him down to sit, then stood behind him, her hands pressing into his tense shoulders.

"Your thoughts weigh too heavily, my prince," she crooned, kneading the muscles with expert fingers.

Prince Benedict exhaled sharply, hands coming to grip her thighs. "You've heard some of the troubles," he said lowly.

"I've heard some whispers," Clarisse replied, kissing the corner of his mouth, "but my job is not to judge. My job is to make you feel good." Her hands were already working at his belt, deft fingers freeing him as her lips brushed the column of his throat.

He groaned, tilting his head back against the cushion as her mouth followed suit, her tongue tracing the lines of tension in his neck. Clarisse's skill was well-earned; she knew just when to press, when to soothe, when to bite gently at his ear. Every sigh and breathy moan she pulled from him was like another knot unfurling.

"You work too hard," Clarisse replied, fingers combing back his dark hair. "And they heap their plots upon you. I pray every day that I might give you a son who will strengthen your place forever."

For the briefest instant, his expression chilled at her words, his gaze narrowing. Clarisse caught the shift immediately, her heart skipping in fear.

"You… you do want a son from me, don't you?" she whispered, uncertain.

That was when he smiled; a slow, predatory curl of his mouth as his hands grabbed her waist. "Do I look like a fool who would refuse a gift so sweet?"

Clarisse smiled happily.

"You spoil me," he murmured as she sank lower between his legs, the world outside momentarily forgotten.

Clarisse glanced up with a wicked smile before she whispered, "That's what I'm here for, my prince." And with that, she took him into her mouth, her hands caressing, her eyes never leaving his face as she pulled him deeper into the intoxicating rhythm only she could command.

"You always do," he murmured, his voice like a blade wrapped in silk.

Clarisse barely had time to draw breath before his lips crushed hers in a possessive kiss. Strong hands bunched her robe up over her thighs, lifting her easily as though she weighed nothing at all.

With a low, hungry sound in his throat, he carried her to the bed and pinned her to the mattress. Clarisse's hands tangled in his hair as he kissed his way down her neck, his lips and hands firm and sure.

The questions and fears in her mind dissolved into heat and aching need. Nothing mattered but him, his weight, his scent, his hands on her body and his mouth scorching her skin.

And as he lost himself in her softness, Clarisse welcomed him with an eagerness that held the trembling, silent hope that this passionate joining would bind him closer and, just perhaps, grant her the powerful heir that would ensure her future.