"Very important," Jorik agrees with his characteristic seriousness, though I catch the excitement lurking beneath his formal demeanor. "We've been working on it for weeks."
The other children gather around, their faces bright with anticipation. Nessa stands nearby, her weathered face creased with fond amusement as she watches their barely contained excitement.
"They've been practicing in secret," she explains. "Wouldn't tell any of us what they were planning, just that it had to be perfect for the Queen and the baby."
"Show me," I say, settling carefully into one of the low chairs designed for storytelling.
What follows is a carefully choreographed performance that brings tears to my eyes. The children have created a welcoming ceremony for their future prince, complete with clan songs and traditional dances, and handmade gifts that speak of hours of careful work.
Lavi presents a tiny wooden sword, carved with painstaking detail and painted with silver to match my torque. "For when he's big enough to train," she explains seriously. "Every prince needs a proper weapon."
Jorik offers a small blanket woven from the softest wool, dyed in the deep blue that has become associated with my reign. "To keep him warm during the winter months. Mother taught me the pattern."
One by one, each child presents their offering—carved toys, painted stones, even a small crown braided from mountain flowers that will wilt but carries all the love in their young hearts.
"Thank you," I manage, my voice thick with emotion. "He's going to love these. And he'll grow up knowing how much his clan family cares for him."
"Will you tell him the story?" asks little Meva, barely five years old and already a born troublemaker. "Will you tell him how you got sick so the bad men would go away?"
"Every word," I promise, gathering as many of them as I can reach into a careful embrace. "He'll know that his brother and sister Lavi and Jorik were heroes, and that all of you welcomed him before he was even born."
The children beam at being included in the royal family narrative, and I realize this is part of what makes orc society sostrong—the understanding that every child belongs to the whole clan, not just their biological parents.
After promising to return soon for another visit, I head for the great hall, curious about Ghazrek's mysterious summons. The hall has been dressed for celebration again, though more subtly than for our claiming feast. Fresh flowers adorn the high table, and servants bustle about with an energy that suggests something special is planned.
I find Ghazrek standing near the center of the room, his expression mixing anticipation with something that might be nervousness. He's not a male who shows uncertainty often, which makes his current demeanor all the more intriguing. He stands beside a large object draped in a heavy cloth.
"You wanted to see me?" I ask, accepting his help settling into a nearby chair. The baby has been particularly active today, and I can feel him shifting restlessly as if he's eager to join the world.
"Korven says the ancestors have blessed us with a son," Ghazrek says, his voice soft with anticipation. "He feels a male's strength. And I have something for him."
He pulls the cloth away, revealing the most beautiful cradle I have ever seen. It is carved from a single piece of dark mountain wood, polished until it gleams like a river stone. The rockers are shaped like sleeping mountain cats, and the high back is covered in intricate carvings that tell a story. I can make out images of mountains and strongholds, warriors and queens, the history of the Stoneblood clan rendered in breathtaking detail.
"It's incredible," I breathe, tracing the delicate work with one finger. "The craftsmanship is extraordinary."
"Every Stoneblood heir has slept in this cradle," he explains, his hand resting on the carved wood. "But I had the clan's finest carver add a new panel. For him."
I study the cradle more carefully and gasp when I see what he means. Worked into the wood in perfect detail is the scene of my coronation—a figure in midnight blue receiving a crown while a massive warrior looks on. But beside it is another scene that makes my heart stop.
A woman drinking from a goblet while two small children watch from the shadows.
"You had them include my sacrifice," I whisper, overwhelmed by the implication.
"Your courage will be remembered for as long as the Stoneblood clan endures," he says simply. "Our son will sleep surrounded by the story of his mother's bravery, and someday he'll tell the tale to his own children."
The baby chooses that moment to deliver a particularly strong kick, as if he's already staking his claim on the world. I laugh, placing Ghazrek's massive hand on my belly so he can feel his son's enthusiastic response.
"He approves," I say, leaning into my husband's warmth. "Though I think he's getting impatient with waiting to make his appearance."
"Soon," Ghazrek murmurs. "Korven says it will be within the month, perhaps sooner."
"Are you ready to be a father?"
His smile is tender in a way reserved only for private moments between us. "I'm ready to see you hold our son. Ready to watch you teach him to be strong and wise and worthy of the crown he'll inherit."
The future stretches before us, bright with possibility. A son who will bridge the gap between human and orc, a clan that grows stronger with each passing season, a kingdom built on mutual respect rather than mere conquest.
"What are you thinking about?" Ghazrek asks, reading something in my expression.
