She turned the teacup between her fingers, brow furrowed tight.
"Not marry him? Marry you instead?"
"Do you really have to force me to say something cruel?"
"He's the heir to the Northguard Marquessate. And you? A peasant who knows nothing but watering crops and tilling soil. How could you possibly be worthy of a Grand Chancellor's legitimate daughter?"
My face went white. I pressed on, unwilling to let go. "Do three years of what we had really have to be measured by status?"
A sharp, twisting pain tore through my lower abdomen. I clutched my stomach, but I still waited for her answer.
"In noble families, status and rank are everything. The line between legitimate and common is absolute."
She paused, and guilt crept across her face as she looked at me.
"The child I'm carrying might be his."
My mind went blank. I stared at her, unable to comprehend.
"Alaric, my child has to be recognized as the Marquessate's firstborn legitimate son. That's the only way you'll be safe."
The pain in my gut twisted like a knife. Cold sweat beaded across my forehead. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the box of pastries.
"Lola, you poisoned me for him? How could you bring yourself to do that?"