Hiding My Twin Heirs from the Ruthless Prince

CHAPTER 92

POV: Cordelia

The palace is already in chaos when I arrive.

I feel it before I see it—the air sharp with urgency, servants moving too quickly, voices lowered into that particular register reserved for fear disguised as efficiency. I step through the corridor toward the medical wing and catch fragments of conversation like thrown knives.

“—His Highness asked for quiet—”

“—the physicians were summoned at dawn—”

“—the Queen has been sent word—”

My pulse steadies instead of racing.

This is the moment.

I round the corner and see them through the open doors of the chamber.

Sebastian stands near the window, his shoulders rigid, one hand clenched at his side. Evangeline sits on the edge of the bed, pale and composed, her fingers folded neatly in her lap. A physician murmurs something to her, his back to the room. The smell of herbs and antiseptic stings my nose.

Sebastian looks up.

Our eyes meet.

The relief on his face is immediate—and then something else follows, sharper, more complicated. Guilt. Fear. Want. All of it flickers across his expression in the span of a heartbeat.

Cordelia, that look says. Thank God.

I don’t hesitate.

If I hesitate, I lose him.

I step fully into the room, letting the doors swing wider so my presence is undeniable. The warmth coils tight beneath my ribs, not flaring, not demanding—focused. Ready.

“What’s happened?” I ask, my voice calm, concerned, perfectly placed.

Evangeline turns slowly. Her gaze lands on me like a blade measuring depth.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” she says politely.

Sebastian takes a step toward me without thinking. “Cordelia—”

The physician clears his throat. “Your Highness, I’ll return later.”

Evangeline nods. “Yes. Please.”

The door closes behind him, leaving the three of us in a silence that hums with unspoken things.

I look at Evangeline first.

“You’re unwell,” I say softly. Not accusing. Observing.

She lifts her chin. “Temporarily.”

Sebastian runs a hand through his hair. “It was a scare. That’s all.”

I nod once. “I’m glad.”

The truth is—I am. Not because I care for her health, but because the fear in this room sharpens the edges of what comes next. Fear makes people cling.

Evangeline studies my face. “You didn’t come to check on me.”

“No,” I agree. “I came to speak to Sebastian.”

Sebastian stiffens. “Cordelia—”

I take a breath.

This is the moment where panic would ruin everything if I let it. This is where I would stammer, overexplain, betray myself with softness or hysteria.

I do neither.

“I’m pregnant,” I say.

The words land like a dropped goblet.

Sebastian goes completely still.

Evangeline blinks once. Then twice.

The silence stretches so long it almost becomes unbearable. I let it. Silence does more damage than pleading ever could.

Sebastian speaks first. “What?”

I meet his eyes steadily. “I’m pregnant. The child is yours.”

The lie forms cleanly in my mouth, smooth and practiced, like it has always existed.

Evangeline stands abruptly. “That’s impossible.”

Sebastian turns to her sharply. “No.”

The speed of his response tells me everything I need to know.

I keep my voice even. “I didn’t intend for this to happen the way it did. I was going to tell you privately. But when I saw—” I gesture vaguely at the room, at the urgency, at the vulnerability. “I realized waiting would be foolish.”

Sebastian takes another step toward me, his face pale. “How long?”

“Long enough to be certain.”

His hand lifts as if to touch me, then stops, hovering in the space between us. “You’re sure.”

“Yes.”

Evangeline lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “You expect us to believe this?”

I turn to her, calm and unwavering. “I expect nothing from you.”

Her eyes flash. “You’ve been circling my husband for months.”

Sebastian snaps, “Evangeline.”

“No,” she says sharply. “I want to hear this.”

I don’t rise to the bait. “I didn’t plan this. But I won’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

Sebastian swallows hard. “You’re carrying my child.”

I nod.

The warmth hums, steady and obedient, sealing the shape of the lie without magic, without force. Just timing. Just truth-shaped words.

Sebastian exhales slowly, then laughs once—broken, disbelieving. He drags a hand down his face.

“My child,” he repeats.

Evangeline looks at him like she’s seeing a stranger. “Sebastian.”

He doesn’t look away from me. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I needed certainty,” I say quietly. “And privacy.”

He nods. “Of course.”

Evangeline’s voice tightens. “You’re accepting this without question?”

He finally turns to her. “I know Cordelia.”

Her gaze snaps back to me. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Sebastian says firmly. “I do.”

Something inside Evangeline fractures.

“I see,” she says slowly. “Then I suppose my presence is… unnecessary.”

Sebastian’s expression twists. “Evangeline—”

“No,” she interrupts. “I will not argue in front of her.”

She gathers herself with rigid grace and walks toward the door. At the threshold, she stops.

“I hope,” she says without turning around, “that you understand exactly what you’re taking.”

The door closes softly behind her.

The silence that follows is different now. Charged. Intimate. Dangerous.

Sebastian turns back to me, his voice unsteady. “You should have told me.”

I step closer. “I’m telling you now.”

He looks at me like the world has shifted on its axis. “This changes everything.”

“Yes,” I say again.

He reaches for me then, hands firm on my arms, grounding himself. “You’re not alone in this.”

I meet his gaze. “I know.”

“I’ll protect you,” he says fiercely. “The child. Both of you.”

I don’t smile.

I don’t thank him.

I let him say it.

“I won’t let anyone touch you,” he continues. “Not the council. Not my father. Not—”

I lift my hand and rest it against his chest, feeling his heart hammer beneath my palm. “I believe you.”

He closes his eyes briefly, leaning into the touch. “I swear it.”

The lie settles fully now, heavy and immovable, like stone set into place.

After he leaves, I sit at the edge of the bed and press my hand to my stomach again.

The warmth coils protectively, unchanged by deception. The child is still Henry’s. The truth remains exactly where it was—hidden, contained, waiting.

I stare at the wall and let out a slow breath.

“It’s done,” I whisper.

The lie has taken shape. It has found its footing. It has a future now.

There will be consequences. There always are.

But as I lie back against the pillows, the sounds of the palace drifting in from beyond the door—whispers already spreading, footsteps already shifting—I know one thing with absolute certainty.

I acted first.

And in this world, that is everything.