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Carefully brushing back the stray hairs from her face, Varkas traced the smooth line from her ear to her shoulder with his fingertips.
Beneath her fine skin, slick with a faint sheen of sweat, he could feel the fragile shape of her bones.
An unsettling dread rose in his chest at the sight of her frail body—so delicate it seemed it might snap under the slightest pressure.
She was so thin that it looked like an effort just to hold her own flesh and blood together. It was hard to believe a new life might be resting within her.
With an anxious gaze, Varkas eased himself upright, then drew the sleeping princess onto his lap, resting her head against his chest.
“Talia, eat a little dinner before you sleep.”
“I don't want to. I just want to sleep.”
She whined like a fretful child and pushed against him. Ignoring her weak resistance, Varkas wrapped an arm securely around her back and lifted the soup bowl from the bedside tray.
“You must eat something. It is the only way you will regain your strength.”
Supporting her with one hand while holding the bowl, he raised the spoon with the other.
A faint wisp of steam drifted from the mild soup, made with clear chicken broth, soft barley, and mild herbs. Once he had cooled it, he brought it to her lips. Wrinkling her nose, Talia parted her lips with clear reluctance.
He fed her with measured care, watching her expression. Fortunately, the taste seemed agreeable enough; her lips, small and pink as a rosebud, worked as she chewed, and she swallowed without protest.
Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, he scooped up another spoonful of the clear broth.
“One more bite.”
Leaning heavy against his chest, nodding off, she opened her mouth again. She looked for all the world like a fledgeling stretching its beak for food.
A heavy, quiet warmth welled up from the bottom of his heart, and he kept the spoon moving at a steady pace.
Under normal circumstances, she would have thrown a petulant fit and refused to take another bite, but tonight she finished every drop of the porridge.
Looking down at the empty bowl with quiet satisfaction, Varkas brushed his thumb across her lips and asked, “Would you like more?”
“No. I'm full.”
Curling her body inward, she knitted her brows.
He set the empty bowl aside and gently rubbed her stomach.
Was this what it felt like to be full? His own belly remained empty, yet an unfamiliar sense of fullness settled deep in his chest.
Intoxicated by that strange sensation, he let out a slow, long breath.
For more than a decade, he had never truly experienced hunger. Naturally, he had never gorged himself either, and the feeling of satiety was a distant memory. He had only ever eaten the bare necessities when duty required it.
Yet he felt that if any appetite remained in him, this lingering warmth would be much like the satisfaction of eating one's fill of something cherished.
Resting his cheek against her hair, which carried the faint fragrance of rose oil, he steadily stroked the quiet rise and fall of her spine.
The sound of her gentle, even breathing blended into the quiet evening. Listening to that quiet rhythm, he stared for a long while at her face, peaceful as an infant's.
Perhaps this overwhelming feeling was merely a natural impulse common to any man.
Was it not carved into the blood of every male to feed his mate and keep her safe and warm?
Framing it in such terms made this unfamiliar stirring seem entirely ordinary.
Having settled his thoughts, Varkas gathered her closer into his arms and slowly closed his eyes.
“Congratulations, Your Highness. It is certain that you have conceived.”
The priestess completed her examination and offered a bright smile.
Talia could only blink blankly. It was not until the Nanny's ecstatic cry rang out that she snapped back to reality.
“Oh, my lady! Praise the heavens! You have done so well!”
The Nanny threw her arms around her, thumping her back with broad, heavy palms. Over the Nanny's rounded shoulder, Talia caught sight of the Head Maid, whose face had settled into a rigid, severe mask.
Does she resent the news of my pregnancy? Just as Talia's eyes narrowed with sharp suspicion, the Head Maid firmly caught the Nanny by the shoulder and barked in a sharp, cold voice.
“How can you handle a pregnant woman so roughly? What if you harm the child!”
The Nanny's face flared crimson at the sudden reprimand.
Pouting indignantly, she snapped back, “Who are you calling rough? I have cared for our lady since she was in swaddling clothes! I know her body better than anyone!”
“You speak quite boldly for someone who failed to realize she was with child until now.”
At the Head Maid's cutting remark, the Nanny fell completely silent, struck dumb. With good reason—despite constantly prattling on about an heir, she had missed every change taking place in Talia's body until this very hour.
Talia was no different. Though quite some time had passed since her monthly flow had ceased, she had never once linked that absence to a child. In some dark corner of her mind, she had likely believed she could never conceive.
She looked down at her lower belly, her thoughts in disarray. Even now, the truth seemed completely unreal. Was there truly a life growing in there?
As she laid a hesitant hand over her flat stomach, a sharp, unyielding voice cut through the quiet by the bed.
“We have deferred to Your Highness's wishes until now, but henceforth, you must accept the attendance of the Grand Duke's maids.”
Talia fixed her with a guarded glare. Instantly, her fingers tightened protectively over her abdomen.
“Why should I? I am perfectly content as I am.”
“Your Highness is no longer carrying only yourself. We cannot leave the well-being of the unborn child, the future heir to this Grand Duchy, in the hands of clumsy servants.”
Her words brooked no argument.
Talia clutched the Nanny's sleeve, anxiety clouding her pale face.
“And what will you do if I refuse? How dare a mere maid presume to order me—!”
“Your Highness, please think of the child you carry.”
The priestess, quiet until now, broke in softly. Talia turned toward her, her features drawn tight.
Jotting something down onto a sheet of parchment, the priestess continued in an even, measured tone.
“As matters stand, carrying this child poses an immense strain upon Your Highness's body. If you wish to deliver safely, you must have skilled, dedicated care.”
Talia went deathly pale.
“Is my health truly that poor?”
“At present, it is precarious enough that carrying the child to term will be difficult.”
At the blunt, measured answer, Talia's heart dropped like a stone.
Looking down as though apologetic, the priestess added cautiously, “Fortunately, the fetus is quite strong, but Your Highness's constitution is severely weakened. As the child grows, the toll upon you will mount, and that strain will pass directly to the infant. To see these ten months through safely, you must submit to strict care from this day forward.”
“…What must I do?”
“Take ample nourishment and keep your mind and body at peace. You must be exceptionally cautious with your movements during these early months.”
Biting her lip until it lost all color, Talia asked in a trembling voice, “…If I do all that you say, will it truly be fine?”
A gentle smile softened the priestess's lips, satisfied by the patient's sudden submission.
“Of course. If you take proper care from now on, you will bring this child safely into the world.”
Talia studied her face with lingering distrust before slowly nodding.
The priestess rose, gathering her tools into her bag. She handed the parchment of instructions to the Head Maid, explaining in meticulous detail the precautions required during early pregnancy.
Out of the corner of her eye, Talia saw the Nanny sulking, displaced from her role as primary caregiver, but she pretended not to notice. It was true that the Nanny was often careless and clumsy.
Were it only her own life at stake, she would not have cared, but for the child inside her, skilled hands were necessary.
The child in my womb….
She lowered her gaze back to her stomach.
Varkas's child was in there.
Chewing over that staggering reality, she reached out and caught the Head Maid by the wrist.
“Do not tell Varkas.”
The Head Maid looked taken aback for a fleeting second, but her expression soon hardened into solemn disapproval.
“I cannot agree to that. Naturally, His Grace must be informed…”
“I will tell him myself,” Talia cut in sharply. “So keep your mouth shut until then.”
When she arched her brows and delivered the warning with icy steel, the maids filling the room exchanged uneasy, hesitant looks.
One of them spoke up in a timid whisper.
“Your Highness, His Grace already…”
“Understood. We shall hold our tongues until Your Highness speaks with him today.”
END