Episode-840
Chapter : 1679
Rosa remembered the way Mina had looked at Lloyd during the ball. She remembered the silence that had stretched between them when Lloyd had asked Mina for a dance. She remembered the subtle shift in Mina’s letters, the way she spoke of the future with a strange, guarded optimism that didn't fit her usual melancholic demeanor.
"You are being paranoid," Rosa thought, her internal voice sharp and critical. "You are projecting your own obsession with him onto everyone else. Mina is your sister. She is loyal. She knows the boundaries."
She heard footsteps on the stairs and turned. Mina entered the room, a smile plastered on her face. To anyone else, it would have looked like a genuine expression of welcome. But Rosa had spent five years as a spy in a hostile court. She knew the anatomy of a fake smile. She saw the tightness at the corners of the eyes, the slight tension in the jaw.
"Rosa!" Mina exclaimed, moving forward with open arms. "What a wonderful surprise. We didn't expect you until next month."
"Plans change," Rosa said, her voice cool and melodic. She accepted the embrace, but her body remained stiff. As she pulled back, her eyes swept over her sister with the precision of a scanner.
She noticed the looseness of Mina’s dress. Mina usually favored tailored, structured gowns that emphasized her figure. This was a flowing tunic, elegant but concealing.
She noticed the way Mina stood. Her weight was shifted slightly back, her hand hovering near her waist before quickly dropping to her side, a aborted protective gesture.
And then there was the smell. Beneath the scent of lavender soap, Rosa’s enhanced senses—sharpened by her time in the Special Training Palace and her awakening as a Sovereign—picked up a faint, medicinal undertone. Ginger. Peppermint. Herbs used to settle the stomach.
"You look... tired, Mina," Rosa said, keeping her tone neutral. "Are you unwell?"
Mina waved a hand dismissively, moving towards the seating area. "Just the changing seasons. You know how the damp air affects me. I’ve been a bit sluggish lately."
"Is that why you have been avoiding the capital?" Rosa asked, sitting down opposite her. She watched Mina’s reaction closely.
"The capital is exhausting," Mina said, pouring tea with a hand that trembled ever so slightly. "And my work on the translations requires quiet. I’ve found the estate to be more conducive to focus."
"Focus is important," Rosa agreed. She gestured to the pile of wrapped packages on the table. "I brought you some things from the Eastern delegation. There is a bolt of that crimson silk you admire. And some preserved plums."
At the mention of the plums—sour, salty plums—Mina’s eyes lit up for a fraction of a second before she masked it. It was a microscopic reaction, a flash of visceral hunger that had nothing to do with taste preferences and everything to do with biology.
Rosa’s heart gave a painful, cold thud in her chest. The data points were accumulating. The loose clothes. The nausea tonic. The fatigue. The craving for sour food. The protective body language.
It was a hypothesis that made Rosa sick to her stomach, a conclusion she desperately wanted to be wrong. Because if it was true... if Mina was pregnant... then the question of the father became the only variable that mattered. And given Mina’s isolation, her widowhood, and her only recent, significant male contact...
"Thank you, Rosa," Mina said, reaching for the tea but not drinking it. "That is very thoughtful of you."
"I also stopped by the manufactory on my way south," Rosa lied smoothly. She hadn't, but she needed to provoke a reaction. "Lloyd was not there. They said he has been spending a lot of time in the archives. Alone."
Mina flinched. It was subtle, a quick darting of the eyes, a tightening of the fingers around the teacup. "Oh? I... I wouldn't know. I haven't been there in weeks."
"Really?" Rosa leaned forward slightly, her gaze intensifying. "The logs at the gate suggested otherwise. But perhaps I misread them."
"You must have," Mina said, her voice taking on a defensive edge. "Why are you checking the logs, Rosa? Are you spying on your husband? Or on me?"
The accusation hung in the air, sharp and brittle. Rosa didn't flinch. "I am a creature of habit, Mina. I notice things. I notice when patterns change. I notice when my sister, who loves the social season, hides away in the country. I notice when she drinks ginger tonic instead of her favorite black tea."
Chapter : 1680
Mina set the cup down with a clatter. "I have an upset stomach, Rosa. Is that a crime against the House?"
"No," Rosa said softly. "But secrets can be."
She stood up and walked over to Mina. She placed a hand on Mina’s shoulder. It wasn't a comforting gesture; it was a test. She felt the tension in Mina’s muscles, the way she instinctively pulled away, curling inward to protect her core.
"You are hiding something, Mina," Rosa whispered, her voice dropping to a temperature that frosted the air between them. "And I have a terrible feeling that I know what it is."
Mina looked up, her eyes wide with fear and defiance. "You are imagining things. You are letting your jealousy over Lloyd cloud your judgment. Just because he doesn't want you doesn't mean he is..." She stopped herself, realizing she had said too much.
Rosa’s face went blank. The mention of Lloyd’s rejection was a slap in the face, but the unfinished sentence was a smoking gun. Doesn't mean he is what? With me?
"I didn't say anything about him being with anyone," Rosa said, her voice dangerously calm. "I just said you were hiding something."
She pulled back, her mind racing. It was just a hunch. A terrible, gut-wrenching hunch. Mina was a widow; she could have a lover. It didn't have to be him. It could be anyone. A guard. A scholar.
But it isn't anyone else, a cold voice in Rosa’s head whispered. You know it isn't. Who else is worthy of her intellect? Who else has she been alone with for hours on end?
Rosa turned away, unable to look at her sister's terrified face any longer. "I am tired from the journey," she said abruptly. "I will retire to my rooms. We will speak later."
She walked out of the parlor, her back straight, her footsteps echoing with military precision. But inside, the Ice Queen was trembling. She needed proof. She needed to be wrong. But as she walked down the corridor, the image of Mina’s hand hovering over her belly burned in her mind, a brand of betrayal that was just beginning to sear.
The Siddik estate was wrapped in the heavy silence of the afternoon, the kind of stillness that precedes a violent storm. In the library, dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight, undisturbed by the turmoil brewing within the walls. Mina sat at her desk, surrounded by ancient scrolls and translation notes, but she hadn't read a single word in an hour. Her mind was replaying the conversation with Rosa, dissecting every glance, every pause, every inflection.
She knew Rosa. She knew that her sister was not a woman who let things go. Rosa was a hunter who tracked truths until she cornered them. The sudden retreat to her rooms wasn't a surrender; it was a tactical withdrawal to analyze the data.
Mina poured herself a glass of water, her hand shaking so badly that some of it spilled onto the desk. She wiped it away frantically. "Calm down," she muttered. "She knows nothing. She has suspicions, nothing more. Without proof, she cannot act."
But the door to the library opened, and the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees instantly.
Rosa entered. She had changed out of her travel leathers into a formal gown of ice-blue silk, a garment that emphasized her stature and her role as the future Duchess. Her silver hair was pinned back severely, exposing the sharp, aristocratic lines of her face. Her expression was unreadable, a mask of flawless porcelain.
She didn't knock. She didn't greet Mina. She simply walked into the room, closed the door behind her with a definitive click, and locked it.
Mina stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Rosa? What are you doing?"
Rosa walked to the center of the room and stopped. She looked at Mina, her grey eyes piercing and cold. "I have been thinking, Mina. About logic. About probability."
"I am busy, Rosa," Mina said, trying to inject authority into her voice. "If you want to discuss philosophy, can we do it at dinner?"
"You are with child," Rosa stated.
It wasn't a question. It wasn't an accusation. It was delivered as a cold, immutable fact, like stating that water freezes at zero degrees.
The air left Mina’s lungs. The denial died in her throat. She opened her mouth to speak, to lie, to act outraged, but her body betrayed her. Her hand flew to her stomach, a reflexive, protective flinch that screamed the truth louder than any words could.
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.