The days following the Duke's rejection passed in a blur of silence and sorrow. The once bustling servant's quarters were now quieter than ever, as if the walls themselves felt the weight of the child's birth. Liora spent her days in solitude, her every moment consumed by her son. There was no joy to be found in the world beyond her small room, and the shadow of the Duke's threat loomed over them like an inescapable darkness.
Orion, despite his father's curse, continued to grow—a tiny, innocent child unaware of the legacy that clung to him. His cries became a familiar sound within the small room, and his mother's gentle whispers the only solace he knew. But even in his sleep, when his tiny body was cradled in his mother's arms, there was a restlessness about him, as if he sensed the burden of his birth.
Liora's heart ached for him. She would hold him through every moment of the night, watching as he slept soundly, free from the weight of his reality, if only for a short time. But in the stillness of the early mornings, when the world was quiet and the first light of dawn filtered through the cracked window, Liora would often find herself staring at him, wondering if she was doing enough to protect him from the cruelty they both faced.
She had heard nothing from the Duke since that fateful night, and perhaps that was the worst of it—the silence. Casimir's rejection had been absolute. The threat he had left hanging in the air was clear: if Orion's existence was ever revealed to the outside world, they would both be erased from it. In truth, the world would likely never know of Orion at all, for he would remain hidden, nothing more than a shadow in the forgotten corners of the estate.
But it was not just the Duke's wrath Liora feared. The Varnhart family was an empire of its own, one built upon power, blood, and reputation. Though the Duke had made his stance clear, his seven legitimate children would likely share his disdain. Even though they were hidden away from the world, the other servants in the household seemed to know their place in the unforgiving hierarchy. No one dared speak of the bastard child that had been born into their midst.
Then there was Princess Isolde, the Duke's wife, the sister of the Emperor. She had been the epitome of grace and nobility, beloved by all who knew her. But Liora had seen the coldness in her eyes on the rare occasions their paths had crossed. Isolde had been raised in the imperial palace, surrounded by power and grandeur, and her marriage to Casimir had been an arrangement, a strategic alliance more than a union of love.
Though Isolde had no claim to the child, Liora felt the chilling absence of affection from the woman who, by title, would be Orion's stepmother. Isolde had long turned a blind eye to the situation, never acknowledging the child that had disrupted her perfectly arranged world. Like her husband, she viewed Orion as nothing more than a mistake, a blemish on the Varnhart name. In truth, Isolde didn't care to have her world disrupted, and the bastard son of the Duke was as inconvenient to her as a thorn in her side.
Liora had heard rumors, whispers in the halls of the estate, about Isolde's indifference to Orion's existence. Some said she had even gone so far as to suggest the child be sent away, hidden from the public's eye. Others murmured that, like her husband, Isolde had no wish to see Orion thrive. As long as he was hidden away, as long as his presence remained a secret, she had no problem with him. But Liora could sense the subtle disdain in the way the princess spoke of the child—when she spoke of him at all.
The tension between the Duke and his wife was palpable, though it rarely ever came to open conflict. In the rare moments when they were in the same room, their exchanges were brief and cold, often punctuated by a heavy silence that neither of them seemed willing to break. It was clear that their marriage was a hollow one, built on duty, not affection.
But Liora knew that if Isolde ever learned of the child's existence beyond the confines of the estate, things could turn far worse. Casimir had already threatened to erase them both from existence, but it was the princess's cold indifference, her calculating eyes, that sent a far greater shiver through Liora's spine. If Isolde ever chose to act, there would be no forgiveness, no mercy.
Liora's life had become a quiet prison. She worked the same hours as she had before, her duties as a maid never altered, but now her mind was never far from Orion. Every moment she spent cleaning, cooking, or tending to the estate was haunted by the thought that her son could be taken away at any time. Even the smallest sound from the corridors outside her room sent her heart racing.
Orion's cries were often the only thing that anchored her to reality. She would hold him, soothe him, and whisper words of love to him, knowing that these precious moments were all she could give him. She was only one person, and in the face of such immense power, her role as a mother seemed inconsequential. Yet she never wavered. No matter what the world had in store for them, she would protect him. She would keep him safe in the only way she knew how: by never allowing him to be seen.
As the weeks passed, Orion's cries grew stronger, his little hands reaching for the world, but his mother kept him close. Every day, she prayed for a future where he could live freely, where he wouldn't be bound by the chains of his birth. She dreamt of a life far away from the Varnhart estate, a place where he could be just another child—unburdened, untainted by the past. But Liora knew such dreams were futile. She had no power to change the course of their lives.
One evening, as Liora sat by the window, rocking Orion gently in her arms, she thought she saw something in the distance—a flicker of movement, perhaps, beyond the courtyard. Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, she thought the Duke had returned. She rose to her feet, her hands trembling, only to find that it was nothing more than a passing shadow.
Her breath caught in her throat. She had grown accustomed to living in fear, and yet, it was moments like this—when the fear was not based on a direct threat—that made her realize how fragile their lives truly were.
Orion stirred in her arms, sensing her anxiety. She looked down at him and smiled softly, her tears welling up once again.
"It's just the world, my love," she whispered, kissing his forehead. "It's nothing more than the world that will never understand you. But I will always be here. Always."
For now, that was all she could offer him: her love, her protection, and the hope that one day, when the time was right, he would rise above the shadows that had bound him since birth. Liora could not give him the world, but she could at least give him the one thing he would always have—her heart.