The words unfurl in elegant, spare script, but there is nothing elegant about their content.
Thorne,
Jules is unwell. The healers at the Eyrie are… concerned. They request a second opinion.
Your viyella spoke of emergency response and maternal care. If she will come—if you will come—I would be in your debt.
The winds are restless. I do not like it.
– A.
My jaw grinds.
Alaric almost never asks for help. Not like this. Not bare and stripped of his usual arrogant polish.
Jules.
His viyella.
The one carrying the first Lord’s child Nightfall has seen in an age.
I do not waste another second on the ministers—they have their orders. They know what will happen if they fail.
“You will continue implementing the response units we discussed,” I say, rising from the throne in one fluid motion. “If any of you require clarification, go through Xavier to notify me. Understood?”
A chorus of “Yes, my Lord,” follows me as I stride from the hall, flames trailing in my wake like a cloak.
I do not slow.
My steps eat the distance between the throne room and our chambers. The closer I get, the more the bond hums—low and steady, like an ember-fed heartbeat calling me home.
I round the corner to our private hall—and stop dead.
She is just stepping out of our bedroom with Masha on her heels.
“My Lady, are you sure?”
“Yes, Masha, thank you,” she says, then stops and finds me with her piercing gaze.
My Shula.
She is dressed in one of the white tunics and leggings I had Masha and the seamstresses line her closet with. The fabric skims her curves, pure and bright against her bronze skin, catching the light like she’s carved from starlight and smoke.
Her dark hair is loose around her shoulders, the sides pulled back and braided neatly.
Her lips are pink from where she’s bitten them.
There’s a faint, pink blush spreading across both cheeks.
She looks beautiful.
Utterly, painfully beautiful.
For a breath, the Lord of Fire is useless.
“Good morning,” she whispers when she sees me, shy and soft in a way that spears straight through my ribcage.
“Good morning,” I manage, my voice coming out rougher than I intend.
