Chapter 26 · The Mother Has No Rights

They walked me to the South Wing like I was cargo.

Two guards in black uniforms. No chains, no rough handling. They didn't need it. I was six months pregnant and glowing gold an hour ago. Where exactly was I going to run?

The hallway smelled like old wood and something floral I couldn't name. My shoes made soft sounds on the stone. The guards' boots didn't. I kept my hands on my stomach. The baby kicked once, then settled.

"Here," one of them said.

The door was thick. Dark wood, iron hinges. A bedroom on the other side. Pale blue walls, a four-poster bed with white sheets, a sitting area by the window. Bars on the window. Thin, decorative, silver-coated. Still bars.

The guard put a folded paper on the dresser. "The formal ruling. Someone will bring dinner at six."

They left. The lock clicked.

I stood there for a long time. Then I picked up the paper.

It was handwritten. Fancy script, the kind that takes effort.