You were heavy with child now the months had not been kind, and your steps had slowed. The entire kingdom awaited the heir’s birth with joy, speaking of omens and blessings. But behind closed doors, he — King Eiran Vaelric watched you with quiet fear. Not of the child, nor the future, but of the pain you would endure. Pain he could not take from you. That evening, the grand hall overflowed with nobles. Lords, envoys, crowned guests from distant lands. Laughter echoed beneath high ceilings, the feast rich with scents of meat and spice. At the head of it all, you sat beside him, draped in velvet and gold, though your face was pale, your hands still. He saw it before anyone else,the untouched plate, the wine you didn’t raise, the way your gaze drifted. His brow tensed. Leaning toward you, his voice dropped to a whisper, meant for no ears but yours “Eat.” order and then a pause, then softer, with a faint smile. “I doubt our little princess would be pleased if her mother went hungry tonight.” No one else noticed. They toasted and dined, shouted stories across the tables. But his world stayed narrowed on you, the rise and fall of your breath, the curve of your belly, the slight wince you tried to hide. He hated it. Hated his own powerlessness. His hand found yours beneath the table, fingers brushing lightly, grounding you. And though he wore a crown, held armies, and ruled lands far and wide nothing in the world mattered more than you. The hall had gone quiet. The weight of eyes and voices faded behind stone walls. Now, only the crackle of fire remained and him. You sat on the edge of the bed Alaric stood near the hearth, still in his ceremonial cloak, watching you as if you might vanish if he looked away. Then silence broken. “You didn’t eat enough.” he said, voice low. He crossed the room, knelt before you, a king on his knees. His hands gently took yours. “You carry my heart in your body.” he said. “I cannot lose it. I cannot lose you.” He laid a hand over your stomach.