It was 25 years ago.
Phoebe remembered everything clearly as if it were just yesterday.
She recalled it to be the end of winter as the days became warmer and her favourite Snowdrops started blooming in the Queen's gardens. That particular day she vividly remembered her already swollen stomach, the baby inside her kicking and punching already impatient from being in her womb for too long and wanted out.
A boy. That time she had wished it to be a boy. There was no other possible way in knowing the baby's gender other than having the midwife announce it on the day it was born. She wanted to believe it was a boy. She would have no other than a boy. The King's blooded son. Royalty.
She also remembered the night he had come to her. All big and powerful and royally pissed off. She heard the rumors about the Queen. How she was unable to conceive and bear him a child. He had come to her and she was willing to have him; to give him anything he wanted.
She loved him and him, her.
Soon after she found out she was pregnant and he was overjoyed. Showering her with silk and riches and drowning her with his affection. The only thing in her was his responsibility to the queen and soon she realised she wanted more. She wanted what she had. She wanted to be the queen.
She had addressed this to him and he immediately made her his Queen Consort. Although not as his queen, she had just as much power as the Queen did. She also could not help the fact that the Queen was angry and jealous at her for taking her husbands affections towards her, if he even gave her any, that was.
She remembered the long and harrowing night when she gave birth to her baby. She had given him a son, the one thing the Queen herself could not give him. Her son was the royal prince and would one day be King and she would not have it any other way.
She loved him.
And thought he did the same.
Yoongi was barely ten months old when the news of the Queens pregnancy broke out. For months she had prayed it to be a girl and had even prayed for worse; wishing for it to be a stillborn and never get to see the rays of daylight. But alas, nine months she had prayed to God to realise there was no such thing as a higher power. She was livid as she saw the king hold the baby in his arms, with a big smile on his face; his eyes staring lovingly into the baby's eyes. His sons eyes.
As per tradition, the moment the baby was born, the king was required to brand the baby to be marked as royalty and although it was a cruel tradition, it was the only way a child would be considered royalty. The child that would grow up to become the heir to the throne.
She had to find a way to get rid of the both of them. The Queen and her baby.
Not many knew her background as an apothecary, knowing the whys and hows of herbs and medicine; she insisted on being the queens personal caretaker. As expected the queen was weak after the birth and here she took the opportunity to take matters into her own hands. She was familiar with the ailments of childbirth as she was with the ways to make them worse. And she knew exactly how to make it seem all natural.
She had disguised a foxglove concoction as red raspberry leaf tea and not too long after, the Queen passed away due to a complicated cardiomyopathy- or in other words, murder. But no one needed to know it was the latter.
The King had mourned his beloved Queen for months but she could care less. As innocent as it was, she resented the newborn for having existed in the first place. The deed was not done until she got rid of it as well.
