Chapter 229: Episode 228: Just need a little time.

Roxy moved through the water sluggishly. Her tail flicked just enough to keep her moving forward, but there was no grace in it, no energy.

Nimue swam beside her, nervously twisting a strand of pearls around her fingers.

She didn’t know why Roxy was being this way.

And was only nervous that this would annoy Nerissa.

“It is… it is just ahead,” Nimue whispered, trying to fill the oppressive silence. “Mother has opened the East Wing. It gets the most currents. Very healthy for the hatchling.”

Roxy didn’t answer. She didn’t care about currents. She didn’t care about the view.

They turned a corner, passing two stone-faced guards who bowed low.

The double doors to the new nursery were open.

Inside, it was a hive of activity. Artisans were carving intricate reliefs of sea turtles and dolphins into the soft coral walls.

Weavers were draping swaths of iridescent sea-silk from the ceiling, creating a canopy that shimmered like the surface of the water.

In the center of the room stood Queen Nerissa and King Caspian.

Nerissa was pointing a long, blackened fingernail at a mural, barking orders at a terrified painter. Caspian stood a few feet away, his arms crossed, his posture rigid. He looked as tired as Roxy felt. .

When Roxy entered, the room went silent.

Caspian’s head snapped up. His eyes locked onto her, and for a second, a flicker of desperate hope lit up his face, hope that perhaps she had slept off her anger, that perhaps the “I would rather die” comment was just a nightmare.

“Daughter,” Nerissa greeted, turning around. Her sharp eyes scanned Roxy from head to tail, noting the puffy eyes and the slump of her shoulders. “You took your time. The tide waits for no one, and neither does a nesting mother.”

“I was sleeping,” Roxy lied. Her voice was flat, devoid of inflection.

“Sleep is good,” Nerissa allowed. She gestured to the room with a grand sweep of her arm. “Behold. The Royal Nest. We have cleared the entire wing. It will be the envy of the Seven Seas.”

She floated over to a table covered in samples of fabric and stone.

“We need your decision on the bedding,” Nerissa said, holding up two swatches. One was a deep, royal purple moss; the other was a soft, pale blue sponge. “The purple signifies the Crown. The blue signifies the peace of the deep. Which do you prefer?”

Roxy looked at the samples.

To her, they looked like shackles. Purple shackles or blue shackles.

“Whatever you think is best, Mother,” Roxy said quietly.

Nerissa frowned. “It is your child. You must have a preference. The nest must carry the scent of the mother’s choice.”

“The blue is fine,” Roxy said, not even looking at it.

“Are you sure?” Nerissa pressed, holding the purple one higher. “The purple is traditional for firstborns.”

“Then the purple,” Roxy corrected immediately. “Whatever is traditional.”

Caspian flinched. He watched her, his heart hammering against his ribs. She was agreeing to everything just to make the conversation end faster. It was a surrender that felt far worse than any scream.

“And the mobile,” Nerissa continued, undeterred, pointing to a floating arrangement of chiming crystals. “We can have it tuned to the key of C-Major or the traditional Whalesong frequency. The Whalesong promotes bone density.”

“Whalesong,” Roxy said.

“Have you even heard it?” Nerissa asked, her eyes narrowing.

“It doesn’t matter,” Roxy whispered. She looked away, staring at a blank patch of wall. “Just… make it safe. That’s all that matters.”

A heavy silence settled over the group. The artisans shifted uncomfortably, sensing the domestic disaster unfolding before them.

“You look thin,” Nerissa observed bluntly. She snapped her fingers.

A servant swam forward instantly, carrying a silver tray. On it sat a bowl of the spicy seafood stew Roxy had invented, the dish that had won over the court.

“Eat,” Nerissa commanded. “The Healer says your mana reserves are low. You need to eat.”

The smell hit Roxy instantly.

Garlic. Chili. Fish fat.

A week ago, it would have made her mouth water. Now, combined with the rolling nausea of her grief and the stress of the hologram call, it smelled like rotting garbage.

Roxy’s stomach lurched. She brought a hand to her mouth.

“No,” she gagged.

“It is your recipe,” Nerissa pointed out. “Eat.”

“I said no,” Roxy stepped back, turning her face away. “Please. Take it away. The smell… it’s too strong.”

Caspian moved then. He stepped between Roxy and the servant, waving the tray away with a sharp gesture.

“She does not want it,” Caspian said, his voice low and protective. “Do not force her.”

He looked at Roxy, his hand hovering near her elbow but not daring to touch her. He remembered her words—I never needed you to save me. He remembered how she had flinched from him.

“Roxy,” he said softly. “Is there anything you want? Fruit? Sweet-algae? Anything?”

Roxy looked at his hand near her arm. She didn’t flinch this time. She just looked at it as if it belonged to a stranger.

“I want to go back to my room,” she said.

Caspian’s hand dropped.

“We are discussing the nursery,” Nerissa interrupted, her tone sharpening. “This is important, Roxy. You cannot just float away whenever the mood strikes. You are the Queen. You have duties.”

“I am tired,” Roxy said, looking at Nerissa with dead, hollow eyes. “I have picked the purple bedding. I have picked the Whalesong. The room is beautiful. It is perfect. Can I go now?”

Nerissa stared at her. The Matriarch was not used to being dismissed, but she was also not blind. She saw the fragility in the girl..

“Go,” Nerissa said finally, waving her hand dismissively. “Rest. But do not think you can hide in the Pearl Wing forever. The birth approaches.”

“Thank you,” Roxy whispered.

She didn’t look at Caspian. She didn’t say goodbye. She simply turned and swam out of the nursery, her movements slow and heavy, like a ghost fading into the mist.

Caspian watched her go. He watched the way her silk dress trailed behind her. He watched the solitary, lonely line of her retreating figure until she disappeared around the curve of the corridor.

He felt a physical pain in his chest, a cracking sensation that had nothing to do with magic.

“Caspian.”

Nerissa’s voice was low, devoid of the earlier command.

Caspian didn’t turn. He kept staring at the empty corridor.

Nerissa swam closer, circling her son.

“Did you fight? Did she insult the Crown again?”

Caspian closed his eyes.

“No,” he whispered. “She did not insult the Crown.”

“Then what?” Nerissa pressed. “Why is she fading? A mother should be glowing. She is withering.”

Caspian opened his eyes, staring at the unfinished mural of the sea turtles—a picture of a happy family that felt like a mockery.

He couldn’t tell his mother. He couldn’t say, She hates me. She hates her tail. She wishes she had died in the sea rather than marry me.

If he told Nerissa that, Nerissa would lock Roxy in the dungeons. She would view Roxy as a traitor. She would take the baby the moment it was born and banish Roxy to the wastes.

He couldn’t let that happen. Even now, even after she had shattered him, he wanted to protect her.

“It is the pregnancy,” Caspian lied, his voice thick. “The Healer warned us. Her body fights the change. Her mind is… clouded by the hormones.”

“Hormones do not make a woman look at her mate with hatred,” Nerissa countered shrewdly.

Caspian turned to her. “Leave it be, Mother. Please.”

“You are losing her,” Nerissa warned, her eyes flashing. “Whatever grip you had… it is slipping. If you do not fix this, the Heir will be born into a war zone.”

“I know,” Caspian said. “I know.”

He turned and swam away, not toward the Pearl Wing, but toward the dark, solitary currents of the upper balcony. He couldn’t bear to go back to the room and see her sleeping in the air pouch, separated from him by glass and grief.

Roxy didn’t stop swimming until she reached the sanctuary of the Pearl Wing.

She dismissed the guards at the door and went straight to the membrane.

She pushed through, gasping as the water fell away and the dry, stale air of the lounge hit her face.

She collapsed onto the chaise lounge, not bothering to dry off. The wet silk of her dress clung to her skin, cold and uncomfortable, but she didn’t care.

She pulled the cotton blanket up to her chin, curling into a tight ball.

She closed her eyes.

It hurt. It hurt so much she wanted to scream.

But she didn’t. She had to save her energy. She had to be strong.

As exhaustion finally began to pull her under, dragging her into the black, dreamless void of sleep, a single thought repeated in her mind.

Just survive the days, she told herself as the darkness took her. Just survive the days, and finally, you will be out of here.

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