Rohannes nodded slowly. “Then keep doing so. The king listens to no one. But he…” He gave a small, rueful smile. “He listens to you.”
With the midwife chosen,Val-Theris became a man filled with worry. Every time Jesenia moved, he looked at her with fear that she might break in half.
One day, during a long council session, Val-Theris observed Jesenia from the corner of his eye looking like she might be sick at any second. It was likely the cigars, or maybe even the scent of wine wafting toward her in the chamber.
He knew he was unable to ban those things from the chamber without rousing suspicion, so he sat helplessly throughout the session, physically restraining himself from reaching for his delicate wife by clenching his fists under the table.
When the session ended and the council chamber had finally emptied, Jesenia leaned against one of the carved columns, her hand pressed lightly against the curve of her stomach as she tried to steady her breathing. It had been just a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea, the kind that passed as quickly as it came—but the world still tilted faintly when she blinked.
“Jesenia.”
She looked up, startled to find Val-Theris striding toward her, his cloak trailing across the marble. His wings were half-furled, feathers shifting as though unsettled by the change in the air itself.
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, forcing a faint smile.
He stopped short in front of her, his gaze sharp, pale eyes searching her face as if reading something beneath her skin. Hishand came up, cupping the side of her jaw gently, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone.
“You’re pale,” he murmured. “And your breath?—”
“Val-Theris,” she said softly, catching his wrist before his worry could spiral into command. “I just stood too quickly after we adjourned, that’s all.”
But he didn’t seem to hear her. Without another word, he turned sharply toward Rohannes, posted near the archway. “Fetch the midwife. Now.”
“My king?—”
“Now.”
The word cracked like struck steel, leaving no room for hesitation. Jesenia exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a moment as Val-Theris turned back to her, his hand hovering near her elbow but not touching, as though afraid she might splinter beneath his fingers.
“It isn’t necessary,” she murmured. “I just need to sit?—”
He was already lowering her into one of the benches lining the chamber wall, his movements deliberate but unsteady with restrained panic. Kneeling in front of her, he pressed his palm against the curve of her stomach, gentle and reverent, his forehead lowering close enough that his hair brushed against her shawl.
“Please,” he whispered, so soft she barely heard it. “Please don’t do this to me.”
Her breath caught at the sound—the naked fear, stripped of the king Seraveth demanded, the god he was born, and leaving only the man with a human heart and mortal fears beneath. She reached for him, her hand sliding into his hair, grounding him where he knelt before her.
“I’m not leaving you,” Jesenia said softly, thumb brushing over his temple. “I am just tired.”
His lashes lowered, the tension in his jaw intense enough to ache. “You don’t know that.”
When the midwife finally arrived, Val-Theris didn’t move from Jesenia’s side, his hand locked around hers as though she might vanish into the silence if he let go. The examination was brief—Jesenia’s pulse steady, her breathing calm, the child unharmed.
“It’s normal, my king,” the midwife said gently, bowing low. “Carrying takes its toll, and we cannot be sure if the child is more god than human. She needs rest, food, and less exhaustion from her councilor duties.”
Jesenia gave him a small, faintly amused glance at that, but Val-Theris’s expression remained unreadable, his gaze locked instead on the hand he still held in his.
When Marise left, Jesenia turned her free hand over to brush her fingertips against his knuckles. “See?” she said softly. “We’re both fine.”
Val-Theris lifted his head slowly, pale eyes burning with something deeper than worry now—something like defiance carved beneath quiet restraint.
“You are not fine,” he murmured. “You’re exhausted, surrounded by people who would rather see you gone, carrying the one thing in this world I cannot lose. I will not sit idle while you falter in front of them.”
Her smile faded slightly at the weight in his voice, her thumb tracing over his hand in steady circles. “Then trust me to tell you when I need help,” she whispered.
For a long moment, he didn’t answer, his jaw still tight, shoulders drawn as though holding the world on his back. But when he finally leaned forward, pressing his lips softly to her forehead, the fight in him eased just enough to let her see the man beneath the king again.
“I will protect you whether you ask for it or not,” he said quietly. “Even from the smallest breath of harm.”
