Chapter 167: A Good News Confirmed
The sun dipped low, casting long, golden shadows across the garden. The air had begun to turn sharp with the chill of approaching evening, and Lorraine wrapped a silk shawl tightly around her shoulders. The delicate fabric fluttered in the soft breeze, carrying the faint scent of roses mingled with the crispness of autumn air.
Aralyn joined her, stepping beside her in quiet solidarity, and Lorraine offered the second shawl without a word. The garden, once vibrant and lush in daylight, now seemed subdued, its colors dimming to muted tones, the flowers drooping slightly as if weighed down by the approaching night.
Ahead, the Ashwood tree stood solemn and bare, its gnarled branches etched against the amber sky. Lorraine’s eyes lingered there, and a burst of happiness filled her heart as she remembered the small moment of intimacy she had stolen from Leroy that other day while he had fallen asleep sleeping under that tree.
That happiness only lingered for a short moment as a chill ran deeper than the autumn air itself. Her mind drifted back to the "dream", or whatever it was, a vision of Leroy marching into war, his figure resolute, and then consumed in a sudden blaze. The memory of it was visceral, more real than dreamlike.
Her entire body trembled as the image returned, as if the tree itself bore witness to a fate that had already been written.
She didn’t want war.
It wasn’t the gold that would be lost, or the reserves strained beyond limit. Nor the long, grinding campaigns the Vaelorian Emperor already demanded of their people. It wasn;t even the countless human lives that would be lost.
It was the thought of Leroy, her husband, leaving, bound to the battlefield, risking everything, his life foremost among them.
Her plans, every careful calculation she had made, pointed to the same inescapable conclusion: avoid war at all costs. The tributary contributions of the vassal states could sustain the peace only so long, and any spark would ignite a conflagration too vast to contain. Just like he did before, the Vaelorian Emperor would distract people by announcing new wars, just to keep himself longer on the throne.
Even if part of her longed to see her husband victorious, standing tall in the chaos of war, she knew it wasn’t worth the price.
She swallowed the tremor in her throat, her hand unconsciously pressing against her belly, a silent prayer lingering in the air, hoping, praying, that no war would come.
"Your Highness," Sylvia’s gentle voice broke the fragile silence, her hand soft on Lorraine’s shoulder. "Is something ailing you? You look pale."
Lorraine blinked, startled, as if waking from a haze. Her stomach churned violently. She barely had time to step aside before the sickness overtook her, and she doubled over, retching onto the grass.
Sylvia was immediately at her side, steadying her with soothing pats on her back, while Aralyn pressed her hand gently against Lorraine’s forehead, her presence steady and calm, an unspoken pillar of support as Lorraine emptied her pain into the earth.
Water was brought, soft cloths tenderly cleaning her face, her feverish cheeks now damp and flushed. When Lorraine finally found a place to sink onto a nearby bench, her body felt impossibly heavy, as if the weight of the world pressed into her chest.
Aralyn sat down beside her, a steady hand resting lightly on her arm. Lorraine’s eyes moved slowly, almost curiously, to where Aralyn’s fingers touched the pulse at her wrist. Could she read that way?
After a brief silence, Aralyn’s face brightened, her amber eyes shimmering with quiet joy. "You are with child," she said softly, her smile full of gentle certainty.
A slow smile curved on Lorraine’s lips, fragile yet undeniable, as a quiet glow of happiness unfurled in her chest. She nodded, her heart fluttering, this confirmation lifting a burden she hadn’t dared admit aloud. For ten long years, the word "barren" had followed her like a shadow.
And now...the truth settled over her like the first light of dawn breaking through endless darkness.
She could feel it, not just the knowledge, but the profound shift deep in her soul, as if the years of longing and guilt were melting away, replaced by a blossoming certainty. A child—her child—growing within her, a living testament to love that endured despite silence, despite despair.
Tears began to well, not of sorrow, but of overwhelming relief. The future, once so shadowed by fear, now shimmered with the promise of life, of hope, of renewal. She felt simply whole as she looked down at her belly, her hand resting gently on it, her tears drying as her lips curved to a smile.
Sylvia, who had been tense and worried moments before, suddenly leapt in joyous relief, unable to contain her glee. She wasn’t certain it could be discovered so early, but she chose to believe it nonetheless.
Finally, the princess was to have the happiness she so deserved.
Aralyn smiled softly, her voice steady and kind, carrying the wisdom of hard-earned experience.
"You must take it slow, Your Highness," she said. "Rest often. The body is not to be burdened now, but nurtured."
Her hands moved with graceful assurance, as if each word was a balm for Lorraine’s fragile hope.
"Eat well. Fresh fruits, nourishing broths... Do not let worry steal your appetite. The child needs your strength."
She placed a gentle hand over Lorraine’s, warm and grounding.
"And be patient. The first months are delicate. Fear and doubt will try to take root, but they must not."
Lorraine nodded, absorbing every word as though they were lifelines.
She looked at her belly as if she could see the little life inside her. She had been feeling him for a long time now, but this confirmation... made it all so real.
I’ll do anything for you, my boy...
Lorraine vowed to herself. This was Leroy’s child. Leroy’s and hers. A symbol of their love and union. She would protect him with all of her strength.
She looked at Aralyn now looking at the distance as if she was recalling something. She had been with her mother for so long and that explained her competence in detecting pregnancy. But there was sadness on her face.
Lorraine placed her hand over Aralyn’s to garner her attention and then, she signed carefully, her fingers trembling slightly: Did you have children of your own?
Aralyn’s face darkened the moment the question was clear. Her gaze drifted away, shadowed, her body shivering slightly as she wrapped her arms around herself, an invisible wall of sorrow growing between them.