Rewrite That Witch
CH1012 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1012: Olivia

The snow crunched under Olivia’s feet and the sound warmed her chest.

Every winter in the Northern Region she felt the sky descend—a grey stone ceiling pressing down from above while the ground turned white and featureless beneath it. Hunger and cold made the season long in a way that went beyond weeks or months. It simply accumulated, dark and heavy, until spring pried it apart.

But this winter she had found a new color in the grey world.

Brighter than a rainbow, burning through the snowstorms like a star that had decided the sky was not the right place for it. When she was near it she could barely contain the urge to get closer. It lived inside the small rented cottage she came home to each day, and if she had not needed to earn money she would never have left it at all.

Her baby. Gerald Wimbledon’s son.

Every time she held him she felt as though she was holding the entire world.

Thinking of him, her feet quickened. She turned into the last alley—and stopped.

Footprints in the snow. Many of them, converging from a separate lane and running directly into the courtyard ahead. The courtyard where she and her son lived.

All their neighbors were ordinary civilians. They almost never received visitors, not in summer, never in the Months of Demons. These prints had no explanation.

The realization arrived before she could name it, and with it, cold panic—the kind that empties the chest in a single heartbeat. She told herself: robbers, refugees, anything but this. Even robbers would have been a relief.

She entered the courtyard.

Patrol members stood in front of her cottage. Most wore soft armors. One was clearly a knight—different dress, bearing a badge she recognized: the Kant family, the ruling house of the Northern Region.

“No—!”

Something broke loose in her body. She dropped the baby food she had spent hours finding and ran, head down, straight for the door. She thought she was running to her death. She was ready to throw herself onto whatever blade rose to stop her—even if they did not mean to kill her outright, a blade would be faster than whatever came after.

No one moved to block her.

The patrol members stepped aside and let her through.

She hit the threshold wrong, stumbled, tore her dress. Her knees struck the cold grindstone floor. She didn’t stop. She crawled toward the bedroom on hands and knees, face wet, thinking only: one more look, just one more look at him.

When she pushed through the bedroom door, she went still.

A cyan-haired young woman sat at the head of the bed, coaxing the baby. The nanny Olivia had hired stood beside her with the quiet attentive deference of someone who had been given different instructions by a different employer.

The young woman looked up.

Beautiful—but the word landed wrong. Not mild. Not fragile. Not maternal, even now with a child in her arms. She held the baby the way someone handles a fascinating object, with careful attention and no warmth. The expression was not cruel. It was simply elsewhere.

“Nice to meet you,” the young woman said. “My name is Edith Kant. You should have heard it.”

The Pearl of the Northern Region. Olivia’s heart lurched. Duke Kant’s eldest daughter—the one who could personally lead knights in a charge. Gerald had mentioned her name more than once, always with a particular quality of caution. Some people said she was more dangerous than her father.

“Nice to meet you, your ladyship.” Olivia’s voice came out steadier than she expected. She bent into a kowtow. “Would you please tell me why you’ve come to my home?”

Edith waved at the nanny. The nanny bowed and left the room, closing the door behind her.

The certainty settled cold in Olivia’s stomach. The nanny had been planted here. Her child had been under their watch the entire time.

“To make it brief,” Edith said, “the king has ordered me to bring this Wimbledon heir to Neverwinter.”

“And then you’ll execute him quietly?” Olivia’s breath came hard.

“If I wanted him dead, I could have done it anywhere. I wouldn’t be here.” Edith unwound the cloth around the baby’s head, revealing soft grey hair. “His Majesty needs him to reassure the people. That is all.”

Olivia couldn’t parse it. “Your ladyship, I still don’t understand.”

“It’s less complicated than you think.” The Pearl of the Northern Region shrugged slightly. “Have you heard of witches?”

She heard the whole story. She sat with it for a long time after Edith finished.

Roland Wimbledon was marrying a witch. He needed Gerald’s son to quiet the objections of the public. It was not a complicated plan. It was—implausible felt like the wrong word. It felt like something that shouldn’t exist, like finding a door in the middle of a wall with no house on either side.

Does a king really have to do this?

She clenched her teeth. “Your ladyship—forgive me for being bold. I find it difficult to believe this decision is permanent. His Majesty may need the baby now. But what if he changes his mind later? What becomes of Schelo?”

“Schelo?” Edith raised an eyebrow. “Is that his name?”

“It is.”

“You still don’t understand your position.” The Pearl’s tone didn’t sharpen—it simply clarified. “It is the king’s command. You cannot disobey it. You have two choices. First: a large sum of hush money, after which you leave the kingdom and never return. Second: you accompany him to Neverwinter, but you conceal your identity and present yourself as a maid from a noble household.”

Tears blurred Olivia’s eyes. She had no status. She could never be part of the royal family. She had known that from the beginning. “Who would take care of him, if I left?”

“Nobody,” Edith said.

Olivia’s head came up.

“His Majesty is not so cruel. If you choose to stay with the child, you simply cannot reveal that you are his real mother. Everything else remains as it is—you may still care for him, watch him grow. The story is already prepared: a noble family destroyed by the Church, Gerald’s widow entrusted her son to you. That is your history.” Edith paused. “The king has already spread this story throughout the kingdom. In two or three days it will reach even here. If he truly wished you harm, why would he go to such lengths to explain your existence to his subjects?”

He is trying to guarantee our safety.

Olivia touched her chest. She remembered the night she had gone to Prince Roland in despair, believing she had nowhere else to turn. He had helped her—she had never been entirely certain why, but he had. And if not for that, the tavern owner would have beaten her to death long before now.

She breathed in slowly. Her legs had gone numb from kneeling. She managed to rise.

“Your ladyship—” She chose her words with care, the way a woman who owns nothing learns to choose each thing she touches. “Does this child have any chance of becoming king?”

“No.” Something unreadable passed through Edith’s eyes—there, then gone. “His Majesty asked me to tell you specifically: do not harbor any illusions about the throne. You will only be disappointed. This is between us.”

“I have no illusions about the throne,” Olivia said. “I want only for my son to grow up safely. But bringing him to Neverwinter does not solve everything. If someday His Majesty changes his mind—if he decides to make his own child the legitimate heir—Schelo becomes a threat. A thorn.” She held Edith’s gaze and put her whole remaining strength into each word. “I know I cannot change anything. But if you cannot give me a reason to believe otherwise, please kill me now.”

Edith went still.

It was a bloodthirsty stillness. Olivia stood before it like a lamb before a blade—and did not back down.

“If you cannot,” she continued, “then what I fear will happen. And I will not set Gerald Wimbledon’s only son on that path, your ladyship.”

She had not expected an answer. Women of her station did not receive answers from women of Edith’s station. But there was nothing else left she could do, so she had asked. She closed her eyes. I’m sorry, Gerald. I can’t change anything.

The baby woke and cried—as if he could feel her preparing to leave him.

She kept her eyes shut. If she looked at him she would not be able to hold the resolve together.

The blade did not come.

After a long silence, Edith said, quietly: “I can.”

Olivia opened her eyes.

The Pearl of the Northern Region held her gaze and spoke without sound—lips only, the words offered in silence like something fragile that would break if given voice. Impossible. Impossible in every way Olivia knew the world to work.

And yet.

She believed it at once—the way a drowning person doesn’t argue with the rope, simply holds on.

I persuaded myself, she thought. She only provided the words.

Edith turned toward the door, leaving the crying baby to Olivia’s arms. “We leave in three days. Pack for the journey.”

“Your ladyship—” Olivia’s voice stopped her. “The tavern owner, and one of Gerald’s guards—they know the truth about me and the child.”

“I’ll handle it,” Edith said without turning back.

When she was gone, Olivia pulled her son close and held him with both arms, as though afraid he would dissolve at any moment. He quieted, turned his face into her chest.

Her heart was racing. She kept turning the words over, looking for the seam where it fell apart. There was no seam.

Eternal life.

That was what the king had said. That was his answer.

Simple. Fascinating. And enough—barely, barely enough—to hold.

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