The King’s Secret
Description
In a gilded palace filled with secrets and lies, Princess Celeste is trapped in a cold, loveless marriage to Prince Renard-a man who sees her as nothing more than a political pawn. For a year, she's been ignored, discarded, and humiliated, whispered about as barren and useless. But when King Alexandre IV-her stern, ruthless father-in-law-begins to look at her with something darker than disdain, the air shifts. What begins as a war of words becomes something far more dangerous: desire. As betrayal ignites scandal and hidden passions blur the lines between duty and want, Celeste is thrust into a perilous love triangle between the man she married, the man who ruined her, and the man she's forbidden to love. When a secret pregnancy threatens to unravel the fragile balance of power, Celeste must decide how far she's willing to go-for survival, for revenge, and for love.
Chapter 1
Oct 13, 2025
Celeste
“Please, Renard. Don’t turn away from me again.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them, hanging in the air like a quiet plea.
Renard lay beside me with his back turned, barely moving. Even in the dim light, he was handsome in a way that hurt. His dark hair fell across his forehead, his broad shoulders a reminder of how alone I felt.
My fingers brushed his shoulder.
“Renard,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “It’s been nearly a year.”
He didn’t stir. Just said flatly, “Yes. I’m aware.”
The dismissal hit me like a blow. How had I become this desperate creature, begging for attention from my own husband?
“I thought maybe tonight…” I tried to sound hopeful, though my heart hammered against my ribs. “The servants are talking. Your father’s been asking questions, and I—”
“Céleste, I’m not going to pretend this is something it’s not.”
He sighed and turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling. The candlelight cast shadows across his sharp features, his winter-storm eyes that used to at least pretend to see me.
“I’m your wife,” I said, my voice shaking between fury and desperation.
“No,” he said coldly. “We’re a contract. An alliance. You knew that when you said yes.”
My chest tightened. “Your father—”
“My father wants a child. Not a marriage. He doesn’t care how we feel as long as there’s an heir.”
I stared at him. “And you? Is that all I am to you?”
He rubbed his face, slow and tired. “I don’t know what you are. You’re everything I was told to want. And that’s exactly the problem.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I look at you and see duty. You’re my wife. You’re untouchable.”
“Untouchable.”
“You’re always composed, always controlled. I know I’m supposed to want that. But I can’t.”
“And what do you want?” I asked, though I already knew.
He looked away, jaw tight.
“What am I supposed to say when your father asks why I’m not pregnant?” The words came out strangled. “When the court whispers that I’m barren?”
“Lie,” Renard said with a shrug. “You’re good at that.”
The silence stretched between us like a blade. I could hear my heartbeat, feel shame crawling up my throat.
“You don’t even find me attractive,” I murmured.
He looked at me then—really looked—for the first time in months. His gaze swept over my face, my hair spilling across the pillow.
“You’re not unattractive,” he said finally. “Just not my preference.”
That cut deeper than cruelty. Clean, surgical, final. I turned away quickly, hiding the sting in my eyes.
“Goodnight, Céleste,” Renard said quietly.
I didn’t respond.
My body ached with the absence of touch, of warmth, of being wanted. The humiliation burned through me, made worse by King Alexandre IV’s voice echoing in my mind from last week’s council meeting.
A princess who cannot produce an heir is merely decoration. Pretty, perhaps, but ultimately useless.
The court had pretended not to notice, but I’d seen the glances, heard the whispered conversations that stopped when I entered a room. Everyone knew. Everyone was watching me fail.
And yet… God help me, when the King had spoken those cruel words, something had stirred in me that I didn’t understand. Alexandre IV was past fifty, silver threading through his dark hair, lines etched around those piercing eyes. But he still commanded every room he entered. Still made my pulse quicken in a way that terrified me.
What’s wrong with me?
The thought made my stomach twist with shame. Here I was, desperate for my husband’s touch, and yet when the King looked at me with those calculating eyes, when his voice dropped to that dangerous whisper during private audiences, I felt something I had no right to feel.
He frightened me. His power, his cruelty, the way he could destroy lives with a word. But it had been so long since anyone had looked at me with desire—even the dark, possessive kind that flickered in the King’s gaze when he thought no one was watching.
What kind of woman am I?
The sky was still dark when Hannah entered with tea. Her gray hair was tied back, her kind eyes finding mine immediately. She’d been with me since I was twelve—had braided my hair for my wedding, held me after nights like this.
“He didn’t…?” Hannah asked softly.
I shook my head. “No.”
Her mouth tightened. “Your body’s still yours, then.”
“For a year now,” I whispered. “He said I’m not for him.”
Hannah set the tray down gently, then crouched by the bed. “Then he’s a fool.”
My eyes drifted toward the window, to the rising sun painting the sky gold and rose. Another day of emptiness stretched ahead.
Another day of being nothing more than a failed wife.
The King’s Secret
30 Chapters
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