Chapter 105: Chapter 105: Come home.

Delphine Rosenroth did not scream.

Not at first.

She stared at the screen in her private sitting room as if staring long enough might force the words to rearrange themselves into something acceptable. The ether-network’s imperial priority ping still sat on the corner of the display like an insult, its crest, House Alamina, stamped with that maddening power that only the palace could afford.

FORMAL IMPERIAL NOTICE.

HOUSE ALAMINA.

Her eyes moved down.

DUKE GREGORIS AURELIAN FRASNER

and

RAFAEL ROSENROTH

Her hand, still holding a crystal tumbler, tightened around the glass.

’No.’

’No, no, no… This is wrong. This is impossible. This is—’

The line beneath it populated with the calm brutality of law:

Further, the Imperial House acknowledges that an heir is expected.

Delphine’s breath went shallow.

Her fingers spasmed.

The tumbler shattered.

Crystal exploded across the polished floor, shards skittering like frightened insects. The sound was sharp enough that a maid flinched in the doorway, but Delphine didn’t even look up. Her gaze stayed locked on the screen as if she could will it to retract.

As if the palace would apologize.

As if anyone ever apologized to her.

The maid took one step forward, mouth opening… then stopped. She knew better. Everyone in Delphine’s household knew what it meant when Lady Rosenroth went quiet like this.

Delphine lifted her hand slowly. Blood welled where the glass had cut her palm.

She didn’t seem to notice.

“He took him,” she whispered, voice raw with conviction. “He took my son.”

The maid stood frozen, terrified. Delphine’s eyes were bright, fevered with the desperate need to reframe reality into something where Delphine was still the center of it.

It couldn’t be that Rafael chose.

It couldn’t be that Rafael had looked at her life and decided it wasn’t worth obedience.

It couldn’t be that Delphine’s grip had finally slipped.

’No.’

This had to be force. Manipulation. Coercion. A predator’s trap.

Gregoris Frasner. The Shadow commander. The Emperor’s favorite weapon.

Of course.

Delphine’s lips pulled back, a beautiful woman’s face twisting into something ugly and righteous. “That monster,” she hissed. “That—”

Her voice broke into a curse too vicious for the maid to hear without blanching.

Delphine did not blame herself. She did not examine the years she’d spent shaping Rafael into a prized asset, the way she’d tried to arrange his smile, his alliances, and his life, as if he were a piece on a board she owned.

She blamed the world for not obeying her.

She blamed Gregoris for being stronger than her influence. She blamed Augustus for being a coward.

And, in the deepest corner of her mind, where she kept all uncomfortable truths locked away, she blamed Rafael for surviving her and still having the audacity to be loved by someone else.

But she couldn’t say that.

So she told the only story that let her remain innocent.

“He’s confused,” Delphine whispered, as if speaking it made it true. “He doesn’t understand. He’s sick, and he’s… vulnerable, and that man… he’s taking advantage. Rafael would never do this. He would never—”

She stopped, chest rising too fast.

’Never… disobey me.’

’Never leave me.’

’Never choose something I didn’t design.’

Delphine’s gaze flicked back to the announcement, to the imperial seal, and to the phrase that made her vision blur with rage.

’Expected heir.’

She swallowed hard.

Her mind seized on it like a lifeline. Pregnancy was weakness. Pregnancy was leverage. Pregnancy was a reason people could be isolated, controlled, and hidden away behind “care.”

If Rafael was pregnant, then—

Then he needed help.

Help she could provide and place herself back at the center.

Help that would justify her arrival at the manor with her head held high and her hands already reaching for the reins.

Delphine’s expression hardened into purpose.

She turned sharply, blood dripping from her palm onto the carpet like careless red punctuation. “Get out.”

The maid jolted, bowed quickly, and fled.

Delphine didn’t bother with bandages. She didn’t bother with a physician. Pain was irrelevant compared to this insult.

She crossed the room to the antique communication console, ether-powered, old-fashioned, and expensive, the kind of thing that looked like tradition but ran on modern grid lines like everything else. Her fingers flew over the interface with the crisp poise of a woman used to ordering the world.

She selected a contact.

LAYLE ROSENROTH.

Her eldest. Her reliable one.

The one who had learned early that it was easier to be the good son than to fight.

The call connected.

Layle’s face appeared in crisp holo-light, seated in what looked like a car, city lights sliding past behind him. His expression was calm at first… until his eyes caught the blood on Delphine’s hand.

“Mother,” he said immediately. “What happened?”

Delphine’s voice went smooth, controlled, and almost trembling with carefully manufactured concern. “It’s Rafael.”

Layle’s brows drew together. “Rafael?”

Delphine lifted her bloodied palm slightly, as if the injury itself proved the urgency. “He needs us. He’s… in a situation.”

Layle’s gaze sharpened. “What situation?”

Delphine’s eyes flicked to the screen again, to the imperial announcement still displayed like a victory banner. Her lips trembled, then hardened.

“That man,” she said, as if spitting the name might cleanse it. “Gregoris Frasner. He’s done something to him. He’s isolated him. He’s—”

“Mother,” Layle interrupted carefully, “I saw the broadcast.”

Delphine’s expression twitched, irritation flashing. “Then you understand.”

Layle hesitated. “I understand that the palace announced a marriage.”

Delphine leaned closer to the holo, eyes bright with conviction that had nothing to do with reality. “And you believe that means Rafael is safe?”

Layle’s jaw tightened. “Rafael is not a child.”

Delphine’s voice sharpened immediately, the softness cracking. “He is my son.”

Layle exhaled, controlled. “He’s your son, yes. And he is also an adult who has made choices before.”

Delphine’s smile turned brittle. “You think this is a choice.”

Layle’s eyes flicked down, then back up. “Mother—”

Delphine didn’t allow it. She surged over his caution the way she always had. “He’s pregnant,” she said, and her tone turned syrupy with weaponized care. “Do you have any idea what that means? Do you know how vulnerable he is right now? How sick? How easily… how easily he could be… pressured?”

Layle went still.

Delphine seized the pause. “I need you to come home,” she ordered. “You and your family. Immediately. Rafael needs help. He needs his brother. He needs people who love him to remind him who he is.”

Layle’s mouth parted slightly, then closed.

Behind him, a second figure shifted in the car, his spouse, listening.

Layle’s gaze returned to Delphine, steady but strained. “You want us to go to the manor.”

“Yes,” Delphine said, as if it was obvious. “We will not leave him there alone. Not with that man. Not when he’s—”

She swallowed dramatically. “Not when he’s carrying a child.”

Layle’s eyes narrowed, not with anger, but with something tired. “Mother, the announcement came from the imperial house.”

Delphine’s voice snapped. “And that makes it worse.”

Layle blinked. “Worse?”

“Yes,” Delphine hissed, and for a moment the mask slipped, revealing the true wound: not Rafael’s safety, not his well-being, but Delphine’s loss of control. “Because now it’s not just Gregoris. It’s the palace. They’ve taken him from me and dressed it up as protection.”

Layle stared at her.

Delphine’s voice softened again, deliberately. “Come home,” she repeated. “Bring the child. Rafael needs… family.”

Layle’s expression tightened, caught between duty and instinct, between the mother who raised him and the brother he wasn’t sure he knew anymore.

“Layle,” Delphine pressed, eyes bright, voice trembling just enough to sound sincere. “Please.”

Layle’s jaw flexed as he knew his mother hated his wife and that this was another plan of hers.

Then, slowly, he nodded once. “We’ll come.”

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