Heartache

Deep within the ancient and expansive hereditary estate of the Rochefort Family in Hewenham Territory.

It is quite different from the bustling scene of Carnford in the Northern Territory, which blends trauma, rebuilding clamor and emerging ambition, or the silent undercurrent of power and glamorous intrigue in the palace of Prye City.

This Count, located in the northwest of the kingdom and known for its gentle hills, dense forests, and tranquil lakes, was now shrouded in an almost stagnant, excessive stillness.

This tranquility was not peaceful; rather, it was like a thick layer of velvet, absorbing all sounds from outside the core area of the manor, leaving only a heavy silence where one could almost hear their own heartbeat.

People coming and going in the manor seemed to subconsciously slow their footsteps and lower their voices, as if afraid of disturbing something.

At the very edge of the estate, deep within a tall oak grove, lies an unassuming two-story stone house built entirely of local grey rock.

This stone house is ancient, with its outer walls covered in thick ivy that has just been cleared away. It is usually a secluded place for the family to cool off in the summer or for occasional quiet meditation.

Now, it has become Charlotte's temporary, unknown refuge and place of childbirth.

Inside the manor, very few people truly knew Charlotte was there and understood her true situation.

Besides her father, Earl Rochefort, she only had Aunt Martha, who had taken care of her since childhood and was as loyal as a second mother to her, as well as two other close maids who had served Charlotte since she was a child, had undergone strict tests, and were extremely discreet.

Even the manor's butler was only told that "Miss is slightly unwell and needs to rest here quietly, and no one is allowed to disturb her," remaining tight-lipped about the specific reasons.

The Count's orders were the highest principle, and no one dared to question them.

These days, Charlotte's life is so regular it's almost rigid, even carrying a mechanical, self-imposed exile.

She usually wakes up very early, quietly getting up before the dawn has completely dispelled the forest mist.

Most of the time, she stayed in the largest and best-lit room on the second floor, where there was an east-facing arched window that offered a view of the thick branches of oak trees and the edge of the forest clearing further away.

She often sat by the window in a rocking chair with thick cushions, covered with a soft wool blanket.

There was always a book open on his lap, sometimes a collection of poems, sometimes a dry historical biography, and sometimes just a travelogue he picked up casually from the manor's library.

But her gaze rarely actually fell on the pages of the book; more often, she lost focus, staring blankly out the window at the gray sky, fragmented into countless irregular pieces by the crisscrossing oak branches.

Sunlight occasionally struggled to penetrate the dense canopy, casting dappled, dancing spots of light on her pale, almost translucent cheeks and her loose, long golden hair, but she seemed oblivious.

Eating became a purely life-sustaining activity; Martha would carefully prepare nutritionally balanced and easily digestible food and serve it to her.

Charlotte would eat quietly and slowly, never being picky or showing any particular appetite.

She ate very little, and apart from her belly inevitably swelling due to pregnancy, the rest of her body gradually thinned out. Her already slender frame seemed even more prominent, and her cheeks became sunken, making her azure eyes appear larger, yet also more vacant.

Occasionally, during a brief period when the weather is relatively fine and the afternoon sun is at its strongest, she would ride in an old, unassuming, enclosed carriage, accompanied and supported by Martha, without any family crest.

Driven by an absolutely reliable, elderly, mute coachman, they silently drove along a path inside the manor that was almost completely overgrown with weeds, into the depths of the manor's even more remote primeval forest.

There, she would get out of the car and, with Martha's careful assistance, walk slowly and silently along a gentle slope beside a stream.

She was still wearing a loose, comfortable, floor-length dress made of soft fabric, with a thick wool shawl over it, cleverly concealing her pregnant belly, which could no longer be completely ignored.

Her face mostly maintained an almost indifferent calm, without a smile or a furrowed brow, as if she were wearing a meticulously crafted mask that isolated her from all emotions.

She quietly accepted Martha's care, politely answering necessary questions, but keeping her words brief, never initiating any conversation, and never mentioning anything related to "the outside world."

Without Carnford, without Karl, without mentioning the war that changed her fate, and without mentioning the royal marriage that plunged her into an icy abyss.

But this deliberately maintained, stagnant calm, was more heart-wrenching and worrying to Aunt Martha, who had been with her for many years and knew her best, than any hysterical crying, angry accusation, or sorrowful sobbing.

She watched Charlotte grow from a lively, curious little girl into a smart, brave, and occasionally stubborn young woman, and later into a dashing young female knight who began to make a name for herself in Fran City's social circles, showing a strong interest in family affairs and military matters.

She also witnessed firsthand the most dramatic and cruel turning point in this girl's life.

Initially, Charlotte was bewildered by the possibility of pregnancy, a mixture of panic and secret sweetness and unease. Then came the devastating news of the Carnford Defense Battle, which kept her on edge day and night, unable to eat or sleep, yet she managed to handle family affairs and try to gather information amidst her anxiety and resilience.

Then, when the news of Karl's miraculous survival and glorious victory arrived, she felt an instant sense of relief, her eyes regained their sparkle, and she even began to secretly plan for the future with ecstatic joy and hidden anticipation.

Finally, the Imperial Edict from Prye City, declaring Karl the prince Prince Consort of Princess Louise, was like the cruelest judgment, instantly shattering her newly rebuilt hopes, all her aspirations for the future, and the love and dignity she had carefully guarded!

From then on, the Charlotte who could laugh, get angry, ride horses, and study maps seemed to have disappeared. In her place was this Charlotte, who was like a delicate doll, quiet, obedient, but had lost all vitality.

Martha knew that the current calm was not a true sense of relief or acceptance.

It was more like a numbness born from the deepest sorrow and death of the heart, the result of forcibly freezing and burying all the surging pain, resentment, anger, sadness, and complex emotions of love and hate for Karl deep in one's heart.

She dared not touch upon the topic lightly, lest she bring it up in any way, for fear that she might accidentally shatter this fragile calm and unleash the terrible emotions beneath, emotions powerful enough to destroy Charlotte herself.