Chapter 261: Chapter 261 Private Questions
Perry’s POV
The instant Phoebe’s door closed, my carefully maintained facade crumbled.
Timothy fell into step beside me as we headed toward the secure building where Ashford’s former leadership was being interrogated. Each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by intelligence reports that had been flooding in since we’d arrived.
"Talk to me," I said, knowing Timothy’s expression meant the news was worse than expected.
"Three separate assassination attempts planned for the next week," Timothy began without preamble. "We intercepted communications between loyalist cells that apparently run deeper than we initially thought. They’re not just angry—they’re organized."
My jaw tightened. Bringing Phoebe here had been a calculated risk, but every hour made it feel more like a potentially fatal mistake.
"The intelligence gets worse," Timothy continued, his voice grim. "Two of the five kingdoms that confirmed attendance for your ball? They’ve been quietly discussing a military alliance against us. Our expansion has them spooked enough to consider joint action."
"Expected," I replied, though the timing was worse than I’d hoped.
"The venue’s arranged, but security will be a nightmare," Timothy added, shooting me a look that bordered on accusation. "You really painted a target on our backs by moving this aggressively."
I said nothing, refusing to second-guess strategic decisions that had already been made. But Timothy wasn’t finished.
"Is it smart?" he pressed, worry creasing his features. "Hosting an event like this when our hold here is barely stable? When we have credible threats against your life?" His voice dropped. "And with Phoebe here..."
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. Every moment she spent in this hostile territory was another roll of dice with stakes I couldn’t afford to lose.
"Yes," I replied firmly, though the single word carried more weight than he could understand. The ball wasn’t just diplomacy—it was a carefully orchestrated trap. But explaining that would have to wait.
We walked in tense silence toward the detention facility, passing guards who snapped to attention with the nervous energy of soldiers expecting attack at any moment.
"There’s something else," Timothy said finally, his voice carrying a different kind of concern. "Something that’s been bothering me for weeks now."
"What?" Irritation crept into my voice, though it was directed more at our impossible situation than at him.
Timothy hesitated, clearly struggling with how to phrase whatever was on his mind. "Can I ask you something personal? Something about... about Phoebe?"
The change in his tone made something cold settle in my stomach. "Spit it out."
"Are you..." Timothy fumbled with the words, shooting nervous glances at me. "Are you deliberately preventing it? Using protection or something?"
"Preventing what?" My voice came out sharper than intended, though I already knew where this conversation was heading.
"Preventing Phoebe from getting pregnant," Timothy said in a rush, as if speaking quickly would make the question less invasive.
The words hit like a physical blow, though I kept my expression neutral. This was the question I’d been dreading, the conversation I’d hoped to avoid for as long as possible.
"No," I answered after a pause that stretched too long to be casual.
"Then why hasn’t she..." Timothy ran a hand through his hair, clearly wishing he could take back the question but unable to stop now. "It’s been months, Perry. With how... active you two have been, statistically speaking, she should have conceived by now."
The clinical way he discussed it made my skin crawl, but I forced myself to remain calm. "What exactly are you asking me, Timothy?"
"I’m asking if there’s a medical issue. If something’s wrong." Genuine concern colored his words now. "Have you had her examined?"
The question I’d been dreading finally hung in the air between us like a loaded weapon. I stopped walking entirely, fixing Timothy with a stare that made him step back instinctively.
For a long moment, I said nothing. The weight of what I knew—what Marcela had discovered during her examination—pressed down on me like a physical force. The truth that had been eating at me for weeks, the secret that was slowly destroying the woman I loved from the inside out.
"Yes," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Timothy’s expression shifted as he registered the pain in my voice—an emotion he’d rarely seen from me, even in our darkest moments.
"And?" he pressed gently, though I could see he was already bracing himself for bad news.
I looked away, unable to meet his eyes as the full weight of Marcela’s diagnosis crashed over me again. The memory of Phoebe’s face when she’d learned the truth. The way she’d blamed herself. The desperate way she’d been trying to make up for what she thought was her failure.
"What did Marcela find, Perry?"
The question hung in the air like a death sentence. I could feel Timothy’s eyes on me, could sense his growing alarm at my reaction. In all the years he’d known me—through battles, political coups, the systematic elimination of threats to my throne—he’d never seen me like this.
Never seen me afraid.
I opened my mouth to answer, but no words came. Because saying it out loud would make it real in a way that Marcela’s quiet diagnosis in the privacy of the medical wing somehow hadn’t.
And I wasn’t ready for that reality. Not yet.
"Perry?" Timothy’s voice was barely a whisper now, filled with the kind of dread reserved for news that changes everything.
I finally met his eyes, and I saw the exact moment he understood that whatever was wrong with Phoebe was serious enough to break even me.
