“Why?” My voice came out a whisper.
He blinked again, more rapidly this time. “Someone will find out. About the baby.”
Two sets of eyes snapped to mine as a beat of shock filtered through the bond, and I shook my head rapidly back and forth.
“I take the tonic,” I hissed. Not to mention I had just had my moontime, but I felt no need to add that when I already thoroughly wanted to die at the topic of conversation.
Draven and I had never outright discussed heirs, and I had no plan to until we were past this shards-damned war.
My father only looked more alarmed at my denial, his voice rising. “Mire, we’ve been over this. The child will havewings. You have to go, and I have to stay.”
The room seemed to tilt all at once.
Amias swept back into the room on my father’s last word, crossing to him in two short strides. He put his hands on my father’s head, the vine tattoos writhing around his fingers and up his arms as he probed for something we couldn’t see.
“His brain is hemorrhaging,” he said shortly without looking our way. “I’m sorry, Your Majesties, Lady Noerwyn, but you should leave before he becomes more agitated. I’ll send word.”
It was only when Wynnie tugged on my arm that I realized I still hadn’t moved. Slowly, I turned to follow her out the door, leaving my father without saying goodbye.
Just as he taught us to do.
Chapter 20
Everly
Wynnie requested a bottle of icewine the moment she reached the rooms, several minutes after Draven icewalked me here.
Lumen padded in behind her, silent as snowfall, settling near the hearth with his ears pricked toward the door like he expected trouble to follow.
Mirelda only raised her eyebrows at my sister, but Wynnie stared her down. “No, none of that one glass per person rule today. That rule does not apply when one’s whoremonger of a father shows up like the shards-damned village hero after months without a single word and then talks about making babies.”
My stoic maid looked as unfazed as ever while Batty squeaked from my shoulder in what I could only assume was support. I couldn’t help but notice that Wynnie had left out the most important detail, the whole,probably dyingthing.
“Have you had dinner yet, My Lady?” Mirelda asked pointedly.
Wynnie turned to my husband, a mix between a demand and a plea playing out on her features. “Tell her we deserve wine without judgment today.”
An unexpected laugh escaped me, only a little edged with hysteria. Asking Mirelda to reserve her judgment was like asking the snow not to be cold.
“Don’t worry about it,” I directed my words at Wynnie. “We can always just go ask Soren for his stash of Emberkiss.”
It was a mostly empty threat, but Draven let out a long-suffering sigh.
“We will take a bottle of wine with our dinner tonight, please,” he said to Mirelda, who smiled at him like he was responsible for the sun and moon and the auroras themselves, just as she always did.
I had come to suspect she had been something of a grandmother to him, the way she beamed with pride at his barest attempt at civility.
Wynnie looked at him after Mirelda left, giving him an approving nod.
“I knew you couldn’t possibly be a shartwyrm all of the time, unlike other males who have recently entered the palace.” It was as close to a thank you as she would come where Draven was concerned.
He blinked, then seemed to make a choice not to acknowledge her at all. Instead he turned to me, surveying me in that too-observant way of his. I tried to show some semblance of strength, but my limbs felt heavy, my pulse a little too loud in my ears. Batty nudged her head beneath my jaw, sensing my exhaustion instantly.
He looked between me and my sister, then at Batty, who was standing sentry on my shoulder like a frost-furred gargoyle.
“I’m going to shower before dinner,” he announced after a beat.
I nodded, grateful for the way that, in spite of his generally overprotective nature, he always seemed to sense when I needed a moment with my sister. It was moments like this I could almost see our future coming together, could see the ways we intrinsically understood one another in between all the ways we intrinsically didn’t.
