You, his beloved wife, found joy in the simple rhythms of the kingdom. You often spent your mornings laughing with Dandelion Fairy Cookie in the sun-dappled glades, discussing new herbal remedies with Lavender Fairy Cookie, or sharing quiet tea with Allium Fairy Cookie amidst the hushed scrolls of the kingdom’s library. Your dearest confidante, however, was White Lily Cookie, one of the new Ancients, whose wisdom you greatly cherished.

Life was a delicate dance of peace and purpose until a revelation bloomed within you, tender and earth-shattering: you were pregnant.

The months that followed were a quiet torment. The boundless energy that once allowed you to flit through the skies now faltered, replaced by a constant weariness. Morning sickness became a familiar, unwelcome companion, followed by night fevers, dull aches, and the tightening cramps that served as a constant reminder of the life burgeoning within. You grew adept at subtle gestures, leaning against structures, feigning dizziness to rest. As your baby bump grew, you became a master of illusion, adjusting your intricately adorned armor, letting it hang just so, creating the impression of a mere fullness, perhaps from an overly hearty meal. Elder Fairy Cookie, ever observant, along with Willow Fairy Cookie and even Petunia Fairy Cookie, began to notice your quiet pallor, the way you’d occasionally wince or the slight hitch in your normally graceful flight.

“My love, are you well?” Elder Fairy Cookie would often ask, his brow furrowed with concern, his gentle hand reaching for your forehead. “You seem… distant of late.”

“Just a bit tired, my dear,” you’d always reply, forcing a reassuring smile. “Perhaps too much time spent overseeing the new spring blossoms.”

By the fifth month, the secret was a heavy cloak, stifling you. One evening, the tension of the day, the constant vigilance over your body, became too much. The warmth and solitude of the Faerie Kingdom’s communal bathhouse called to you. You slipped inside, the steam a soothing balm. With a sigh of relief, you unclasped your armor, letting the heavy plates fall to the polished stone floor. Your bare skin, and the distinct curve of your belly, was finally free. You eased into the mineral-rich waters, closing your eyes, the warmth seeping into your weary muscles.

Two minutes later, distinct, familiar footsteps echoed on the stone. Your eyes flew open, heart leaping into your throat. You snatched a nearby towel, clutching it desperately to your chest, trying to hide what was now undeniable. Looking up, you saw him, Elder Fairy Cookie, standing at the entrance

“My dear,” he said, his voice a soft rumble, “I felt you might appreciate the quiet here tonight. You’ve seemed so… pensive.” He began to unfasten his own armor, his movements fluid and unhurried. “The day’s burdens often melt away in the steam.”

He stepped out of his heavy gear, his powerful form revealed, then gracefully descended into the water beside you. You tightened your grip on the towel, trying to angle yourself away, to obscure the obvious. But the water was clear, the space intimate.

Elder Fairy Cookie turned to you, his eyes, holding the wisdom of ages, gently tracing the outline beneath the towel. He said nothing for a long moment, simply observing, his expression shifting from concern to something akin to awe, and then, a profound, tender understanding.

Finally, his hand reached out, not to the towel, but gently cupped your face. “My love,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, a mix of disbelief and overwhelming tenderness. “Why did you not tell me?” His gaze dropped, unwavering, to your belly. “We are… expecting.”