"If you mustn't find any enjoyment in a man
who clearly reflects what you desire, you wouldn't mind settling for less,
would you?"

viii. With child

            PRINCESS APHRODITE'S LIFE, IT SEEMED, was quite the calamity. She had engaged in a most unseemly act with a gentleman who was not yet her husband. It wasn't precisely the worst of sins, but there had been... fondling. Scandalous enough, indeed, that if the ton were ever to learn of it, the whispers would be unbearable. She had allowed his lips upon hers, his hands where they had no rightful place, and now she felt caught in a whirl of confusion.

For was it truly love she felt for him? Or was it the allure of what they might become?

Her thoughts could not be tamed. The gentleman in question was none other than Prince Edward of Saxony, her betrothed, and the match had always seemed... appropriate. Queen Charlotte had encouraged it, after all, and society viewed it with approving eyes. But in the solitude of her chambers, Aphrodite could not shake the feeling that perhaps the prince was not the man to whom her heart truly belonged.

I mean.. it wasn't rocket science.

Aphrodite sat in the library, her fingers delicately tracing the embroidered edge of her gown. She hadn't left her chambers in what felt like an eternity—though in truth, it had been but a few days since she had retreated from the world. Hidden away from the prying eyes of society, she had even refused her mother's company. Queen Charlotte had taken it as a grave offense, sending word through Anne, her lady-in-waiting, no doubt assuming the worst.

And what was the worst, you ask?

Her mother had leapt to the conclusion that she must be in the family way—and without a wedding band to show for it—simply because Aphrodite had secluded herself from view. The very thought sent a shiver through her. A scandal like that would ruin her entirely, and yet, it wasn't an impossibility, given the direction her mind had wandered of late.

She couldn't have her mother thinking such things.

And so, with a sigh as soft as the rustle of silk, Aphrodite stood, smoothing her skirts before making her way out of the library. The castle halls were dim and quiet as she moved with purpose, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor. It was a journey she had been putting off for days, but now, it seemed inevitable.

Reaching the drawing room, she hesitated for the briefest moment before entering. Queen Charlotte was seated by the window, ever regal as she sipped her tea with the grace upon her shoulders. Her dark eyes, sharp as a hawk's, flicked up the moment Aphrodite stepped inside, though her hand remained poised with the delicate porcelain teacup mid-air.

"Aphrodite," the queen greeted, her tone calm, yet laced with the subtle weight of expectation. She set the cup down with precision, her gaze not leaving her daughter's face. One brow lifted, a silent question embedded in the gesture.

Aphrodite dipped her head slightly, her throat tightening as she approached. "Mother," she replied softly, her voice betraying none of the turmoil swirling within her chest. She could already feel the conversation inching toward dangerous ground, though her mother had said nothing of it just yet.

"I am not with child," Aphrodite declared, her tone sharper than intended. "I am not wed, and therefore, I am not with child." She exhaled, frustration weighing down her words. "I merely sought solace, Mother. That is all."

Queen Charlotte's gaze remained fixed on her daughter, unreadable as ever. She placed her teacup down with deliberate grace, the faint clink of porcelain filling the silence. "Is that the grand point you've attempted to prove by abandoning your chambers? I know my daughter well. You would never so much as glance at a man inappropriately—married or not—let alone bring a bastard into this world. You are not your sisters or your brothers."

The queen's words, though calmly delivered, carried a certain cutting truth, the weight of her expectations ever present. She lifted her tea once more, sipping slowly before continuing. "No, you, my dear, are far too sensible for that."

Aphrodite raised a brow, more in skepticism than surprise.

Queen Charlotte's lips curved, just barely, as if she were amused by her daughter's reaction. "I merely wished to lure you out of hiding," she said, her tone matter-of-fact, though a glint of triumph flickered in her eyes. "It seems, in that at least, I have succeeded."

Aphrodite released a sigh, feeling the weight of the queen's ever-watchful gaze. "Mother, I simply needed a moment to think. Surely even you can understand the need for a bit of peace."

"Peace?" The queen echoed, a hint of disbelief in her voice. "And what, pray, have you found during your self-imposed exile? Has your mind been eased by these days of solitude, or have you merely given it room to fester?"

Aphrodite pressed her lips together, unsure of how to answer. It was true—her thoughts had not stilled in the quiet of her chambers. If anything, they had grown louder, more chaotic.

"I find that hiding often complicates matters, rather than resolving them," Queen Charlotte continued, ever the strategist, her gaze never wavering. "So, tell me, Aphrodite—what is it that truly plagues you?"

Aphrodite shook her head. "I only wished for peace." She murmured. She did not plan on telling her mother of her actions from the past few days she'd actually refused. She also had not seen Prince Edward in those few days either. After what happened—it seemed they both took the same route of cowarding away.

"Peace? Away from me? The public? Prince Edward?" Her mother mentioned, "Is there a reason the boy has not been to see us?" Her mother looked down at her teacup. Aphrodite stood there quietly like a kid who was in trouble, her hands were tucked in front of her, fiddling while her head stayed down in silence. "Aphrodite." Charlotte warned.

"Mother it's nothing of your matter. Truly." Aphrodite spoke.

"Everything about you is my matter. You're my daughter dear, not my prisoner. I'd wish you know if something is wrong." Charlotte spoke, her voice a bit softer than before.

   "I am aware, Mother," Aphrodite murmured, her voice delicate yet composed, the picture of ladylike restraint. She inhaled deeply, steadying herself before continuing with a polite assurance. "Rest assured, I shall be making my way into society before long." Her tone was carefully measured, as though to pacify her mother's ever-watchful gaze.

She exhaled softly, her eyes cast momentarily downward as she considered her next words. "Might I take my leave now?" she inquired, tilting her head with a gentle poise that belied the impatience bubbling beneath her calm exterior.

Her mother, seated with the bearing of one accustomed to deference, inclined her head in silent permission. Aphrodite dipped into a graceful curtsey, the faint rustle of her skirts whispering through the still air, before turning on her heel with an elegance befitting her station.

She glided out of the drawing room, her footsteps a soft staccato against the polished wood floor. The faint scent of lavender clung to her, trailing like a delicate ghost in her wake. The light from the chandelier above caught in the fine silk of her gown, creating the illusion of liquid moonlight rippling across her figure as she disappeared into the quiet corridors beyond.

. . .

Princess Aphrodite perched delicately upon the wrought-iron bench, her gaze wandering across the sprawling expanse of the royal garden. The vibrant blooms, carefully tended and blooming in their full splendor, seemed to echo the quiet turmoil within her. The distant chirp of birds and the soft rustle of leaves did little to soothe the ache that lingered between them. Prince Edward, his presence as steadfast as ever, seated himself beside her, his silhouette cast in the golden light of the late afternoon sun.

   It had been some time—far too long—since their last meeting, and even longer since their... less proper rendezvous. The memory of their shared indiscretions hung in the air like a forbidden fragrance, something they both felt but were too polite to acknowledge. The silence stretched between them, thick and laden with unspoken words.

   At last, it was Prince Edward who broke the quiet, his voice low and careful, as though treading upon fragile ground. "Tell me, was it I who made you so... cautious?" His words were a soft murmur, barely louder than the rustling of the trees, but they carried weight nonetheless.

   Aphrodite's gaze flickered to him, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of tenderness and resolve. She hesitated for a moment before responding, her tone gentle but firm. "Of course, not," she assured him, her words swift, as though to quell any lingering doubt. "It is not your doing, Edward. I have simply had much to contemplate."

   Her voice was soft, yet there was an unmistakable finality to her words, as though she had come to terms with matters that she would not divulge. Her hands, clasped neatly in her lap, trembled ever so slightly—a subtle indication that even the most composed princess could feel the weight of their shared history.

   "I must ask..." Prince Edward's voice was low, a hint of uncertainty threading through his words as he turned toward her, his eyes searching her face. "Are you entirely sure of yourself, Aphrodite?" His gaze lingered, a quiet question laced with concern.

   Aphrodite glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly, though her expression remained composed. "What do you mean?" Her voice was smooth but edged with a trace of confusion.

   He studied her in silence for a moment, his eyes tracing the subtle changes in her appearance. Her hair, usually bound with careful precision, now tumbled in loose, voluminous curls around her shoulders, soft and free. She was as beautifully dressed as ever—her gown a graceful cascade of silk—but there was a weariness in her gaze, an exhaustion that clung to her like a shadow. Her lips were set in a straight line, devoid of the usual gentle smile that often graced her face.

    He could not ignore the shift in her presence. It was as if something deep within her had changed. The light that had once sparkled in her eyes now appeared muted, gentler, more guarded. "I would not like to be a burden," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with remorse. "I fear my actions may have... confused you—sent you into a frenzy."

   Aphrodite's eyes softened as she turned to meet his gaze, her voice calm but firm. "I've sent myself into a frenzy." The words were almost detached, as though the turmoil within her had become a familiar companion.

   Edward winced at her response, guilt tugging at him. "I've worsened it," he admitted quietly, his tone laden with regret. He hesitated, searching her face for any sign of clarity before he asked, "Is there... Is there something going on, then?"

   Aphrodite's brow arched slightly in silent question. "Hm?" she murmured, the simple sound conveying a quiet invitation for him to elaborate.

   Edward inhaled sharply, his breath hesitant as he steeled himself to speak. "With the Bridgerton..." He paused, watching her intently, his words hanging in the air between them.

   At the mention of the Bridgerton name, Aphrodite's composure faltered just slightly, her lips parting as if to respond but finding no words to follow. She fell silent, her gaze turning distant, as though she were weighing the question against some unspoken truth.

   "Before we know it, our parents will expect us to marry," Aphrodite remarked, her voice calm and measured, betraying none of the storm that brewed beneath her composed exterior. She gazed across the garden, the golden light of the setting sun catching the edges of her delicate features. She did not meet Edward's eyes, choosing instead to fixate on the distant horizon.

   "Yes, that is true..." Prince Edward replied, his voice trailing off as he considered the weight of her words. He turned to her, his expression somber, searching for something more in her gaze.

   "So, what are we doing?" Aphrodite continued, her words cutting through the tension between them like a blade. "Why shall we speak of... this?" She swallowed, and her voice softened, almost imperceptibly. "Benedict was merely a friend."

   "Was?" Edward asked, his voice sharp with curiosity. Aphrodite did not respond. His eyes narrowed slightly as he observed her with growing suspicion. "Well, perhaps he was more? If you had to leave him at short notice, solely for your appearance... it must have been something serious." His words came with a quiet, probing force, but Aphrodite merely shook her head, dismissing his suggestion with a subtle motion.

   Edward stood abruptly, his frame stiffening as he moved away. Aphrodite watched him with a mixture of uncertainty and concern, her eyes flickering up to meet his as he stood tall before her. Without a word, he dropped to one knee, his movements deliberate and slow, the action as grand as it was unexpected.

   Aphrodite's heart raced in her chest, and she sprang from her seat in shock. "Prince Edward—" she began, her voice frantic, her breath quickening. She placed her hands on her lap, as though to steady herself, though she could feel the trembling beneath her fingers.

   "If that is true," Edward said, his voice low but urgent, "you would not find any trouble in marrying me, would you?" His words were almost breathless as he quickly pulled a ring from his coat pocket, its polished surface catching the fading light of the day.

   "Prince Edward—" Aphrodite protested, her tone rising in both alarm and confusion.

   "If it would do you no good to linger on such a man," Edward continued, his voice overriding hers, "then perhaps you could linger on me?" His eyes bore into hers with an intensity that left little room for hesitation.

   "Seriously, Edward—" Aphrodite began, but he pressed on, not allowing her the chance to finish.

   "If you mustn't find any enjoyment in a man who clearly reflects what you desire, you wouldn't mind settling for less, would you?" Edward's voice became more insistent, his words laced with desperation. "It wouldn't bother you, year after year, waking up beside someone who could never fulfill your heart's true wishes? Would you not dread the thought of dealing with the longing you've suppressed for everyone's sake but your own?" His tone was thick with emotion, and Aphrodite felt the sting of each word, like a quiet accusation.

   Her eyes began to water as his words continued to crash over her, each sentence a weight she could not escape. "Or perhaps..." He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper, "Perhaps you will give in to your desires. Perhaps you'll leave me one day in our home, to find the artist who painted your heart more truly than I ever could."

   Aphrodite's voice cracked slightly as she whispered, "What are you saying?"

   Edward's gaze softened, but there was a certain finality to his words as he closed the ring box with a decisive click. "I am saying, Princess, that you are the saddest princess I know. And I am not willing to make you any sadder by taking you from the very man who would give his own life for you." He paused, steadying himself before continuing, his voice tinged with sorrow. "I cannot compete with him. He made that clear. And yet, you allowed him to leave, regardless of it all. While you sat in your sorrow, pulling at your nails, waiting for the day when your mother will finally offer you to me instead of the man you truly desire."

   The garden, once alive with the sounds of nature, seemed to fall utterly silent as Edward's words hung in the air, a heavy burden between them. Aphrodite sat still, her heart racing, her breath caught somewhere between anguish and understanding. She had never felt so torn, so exposed, and yet, she could not find the words to voice the tumult that swirled within her chest.

   Edward rose to his feet, his movements deliberate and restrained, though his voice carried a quiet tremor of emotion. "As much as I find you endearing, as much as I would love nothing more than to have you for myself, I cannot take someone who is not mentally willing to be taken," he said softly, his gaze fixed upon her with a mixture of longing and resignation.

   Aphrodite's lashes fluttered as her gaze shifted to the ground, her voice a hushed murmur, barely audible over the rustle of the wind through the garden. "Do you have a choice?" she asked, her words laced with melancholy. She knew the futility of it all. Even with Edward's noble sacrifice, even with his willingness to step aside, their parents' ambitions would ensure that this union was inescapable.

   Edward exhaled, a sound both heavy and resolute. "I will force the choice if I must," he said firmly, his tone a stark contrast to hers. "As long as it means you do not have to wallow in sorrow any longer because of it." His words, though decisive, were tinged with a gentleness that belied the strength of his conviction.

   His hand fell slowly, deliberately, until it hovered near hers, before gently enclosing her trembling fingers. "There are plenty of princesses my father has paraded before me, countless ladies he has urged me to court. And no doubt, there will be many more. But at this very moment..." He paused, his voice softening as he looked at her with unguarded tenderness. "The one I am staring at needs to get her way. Just this once. And I am willing to make that sacrifice."

   Aphrodite's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her composure faltering under the weight of his words. For a moment, she could not speak, could not summon the strength to respond. Instead, she rose to her feet, her movements uncharacteristically hurried and unrefined. Before she could stop herself, she crossed the space between them and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

   The action was entirely improper, scandalous even, yet Aphrodite found herself uncaring of decorum or consequence. Edward, stunned for only a moment, hesitated before his arms came to rest lightly around her. He held her as though she were a fragile thing, something he longed to protect but knew he could never truly keep.

   The scent of roses and jasmine filled the air around them, mingling with the faint hum of the wind. For a fleeting moment, the world outside the garden seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them, locked in an embrace that felt as necessary as it was impossible.

. . .

Princess Aphrodite sat in the dimly lit room, the glow of candlelight flickering against her porcelain skin, her face obscured behind an ornate mask. The faint sounds of revelry echoed around her—laughter, music, the clinking of glasses—but she remained still, lost in her thoughts. She lifted a delicate glass of amber liquor to her lips and downed it in a single motion, her throat burning as the drink slid down.

   Another recluse, another hidden artist. The guests around her were far from proper—unwed couples entwined in heated embraces, carefree souls indulging in forbidden herbs and intoxicants. They danced with abandon, their movements wild and unrestrained, as if their hearts might stop with every spin.

   But not Aphrodite. No, she was not part of the raucous crowd tonight. She was a princess, yes, but that title seemed meaningless in this moment.

   Another drink, perhaps? She barely noticed as her hand reached for another glass. The familiar burn of alcohol soothed the ache inside her, though it did little to quiet her mind. She had needed this—needed to numb herself after the conversation with her mother that morning, so full of demands, so full of expectations. A princess could only take so much. One drink turned to two, then three... or was it four?

   She didn't know. Didn't care.

   The art before her no longer held any appeal. The painted portraits, the sculptures, the whispers of creativity—they were hollow, empty. All she could think of was him. Benedict Bridgerton, the artist who had once filled her mind with wonder. She remembered the way paint had covered his hands as he worked, the way his eyes had sparkled with passion and mischief. The memory of him haunted her, and she wondered if he, too, had grown bored of his time at the royal schools.

   Perhaps he had already forgotten her, moved on with his life as if their fleeting moments had been nothing more than a fantasy.

   But for Aphrodite, they were everything.

   The thought of Benedict made her heart ache with longing, and soon the alcohol was no longer enough to drown the feeling. She drank more, far more than she should have, until her head spun, and everything blurred into a haze. Regret flooded her chest, but it was too late to stop now. She stumbled out of the room, barely managing to find her way back home, her body betraying her, her heart heavy with all the words left unsaid.

   Once inside her chambers, her servants came to her aid. Anne, ever the steady presence, guided her to her desk, though Aphrodite could barely hold herself upright. She collapsed into the chair, quill in hand, her handwriting a messy scrawl. She wrote one letter, then another—one for the royal schools, the other for Benedict Bridgerton. She barely remembered what she had written, only that she had to send them.

   "Anne," she slurred, her voice thick with exhaustion. "You must send these out. One to the royal schools. And the other..." She paused, her vision swimming, before lifting the second letter with a smile that was both mischievous and regretful. "To that uncharming delinquent, Benedict Bridgerton."

   Anne took the letters from her hands, her gaze soft but knowing. "Very well, Your Highness," she said, her tone a mix of gentle concern and quiet amusement. "But you must rest now."

   Aphrodite allowed herself to be led to her bed, the weight of the night pressing heavily on her. Her eyes fluttered shut, though her thoughts still lingered on him—the artist, the boy, the memory of a brief, burning connection that felt more real than anything in her carefully constructed world.

   As Anne tucked the blankets around her, Aphrodite whispered, her voice barely a breath, "I do hope he misses me, Anne. Just a little. Does he?"

   Anne smiled softly, a knowing look in her eyes. "Rest now, Princess. Tomorrow will tell."

   Anne was right. She must rest. As tomorrow she'd more than likely wake up to her shouting, unhappy mother.

authors note: guys it's actually been so long since i've released a chapter i'm sorry 😪. this was another one of my written chapters i never published but im back better than ever now because i have to get to it.

I actually realize now that the bridgerton episodes have gone back so quickly i didn't even realize that this chapter is like episode 5 or 6 or wtv so im back and im gonna try to get to it.

you guys might be surprised by the ending of season 2 😝😝

hope you guys enjoyed!