Chapter Text
One of the things Jacaerys loved most was his dragon, Vermax. His mother had always told him how he used to boast about the creature at court, back when the dragon was still small and manageable enough for a child to ride without danger. Perhaps the best thing about possessing a dragon, aside from the power it conferred, was having a companion to fly with. Baela loved her dragon with the same devotion he did, so they would often train together in attack manoeuvres, in case they ever needed them.
They were in the dragon pit. Jacaerys unbuckled his saddle and dismounted with a leap. The dragon keepers were already waiting for him outside the cave.
"See to him well," he ordered them.
The keepers nodded and called for Vermax to enter.
"Go on, my friend. I'll be back."
Meanwhile, Baela was doing the same with her dragon, Moondancer.
"Do you think he'll get any bigger, Vermax?" she asked him, nudging his arm with feigned indifference.
She pulled a sour face, as if she wanted to spoil the moment. But in truth, she hoped he would grow even larger. At this rate, Vermax was already formidable, but Jacaerys had always yearned for greatness in everything around him.
"He'll get bigger," he replied with confidence. "I know it."
present baela
"Please, bring me a lighter shift," I asked one of my ladies, my voice already weary.
I was burning with heat. Again. I could feel the baby moving inside me with force, kicking as if he wanted to come out right this moment. I brought my hand to my swollen belly and sighed deeply, letting myself fall into the great armchair my husband had ordered made. The weight of my stomach pulled me down, but it was not just that: it was the inner fire, that constant heat that did not abandon me for a single second.
*Calm down, please*, I whispered to the baby, speaking directly to him with the soft voice that only he could hear. *Mummy needs to rest.*
If my son heard me, he did not care in the least. He kept kicking, stubborn, strong, as if he were impatient to meet the world. I rolled my eyes and could not help but smile with resignation. Of course it had to be this way. I, who had always been as stubborn as a mule, was now carrying a little one with the same temperament. *This has to be a joke from the gods*, I told myself. *Do they amuse themselves by watching me suffer with my own medicine?*
I sat there for a good while, stroking my belly in slow circles as I ate sweet grapes. I hummed softly to calm him, a song my mother used to sing to me when I was a child. Little by little, the movements softened, but the heat remained unbearable. Night at Dragonstone was approaching, and I already knew I would not be able to sleep well again. I decided to pace about my chambers; I could not go out like that, half-naked, even if it was my own castle.
*If my mother could see me now*, I thought, with a mixture of melancholy and humour, *she would surely laugh at me. She always said that Targaryen women gave birth to dragons. Literally.*
I remembered her laugh, clear and silvery as little bells. The way she tilted her head when something amused her. How she used to hold me at night when I had nightmares. And then the pain pierced my chest, as always, threatening to make me weep inconsolably. An old, familiar pain, but one that never lost its edge. *I miss you so much, Mother. So much that sometimes I do not know how to keep breathing without you.*
Luckily for me, the door knocked. I smiled with relief as I saw Lidia enter, my dear lady, carrying exactly what I needed. My current shift was soaked with sweat, clinging to my skin like an uncomfortable second skin. Months ago, Rhaenyra had sent me a rather descriptive letter.
>When I had Jacaerys, I had not realised that I was the only one who always felt hot all the time. With the heat of King's Landing, it was unbearable. My dear sweetness, the women of this family incubate little dragons in our wombs, so do not be alarmed when everything makes you feel hot. In the final months, you will feel very warm, as if you were carrying a dragon egg inside that needs to be kept warm.
"Bloody hell," I had thought then, almost choking on a piece of fruit as I read it. And now I thought the same: *Bloody hell, she was right.*
This baby was not letting me sleep at all. At night, I could only bear a light sheet over my naked body. That was why I had given strict orders to the guard: they could only open the door to Lidia or my husband. No one else.
"Here it is, my princess. Please, let me put it on for you," said Lidia, with that sweetness of hers.
I approached her, ready to remove the wet shift myself, but Lidia moved quickly ahead.
"Do not worry, princess, I shall take care of it."
I let her do it, as always. Her hands were soft and expert. Soon, she helped me into the new fabric, much lighter and cooler. Then, without my asking, she made me sit again in the great armchair and began to massage my swollen feet.
I closed my eyes and moaned with pure pleasure. The massage was divine. For a few minutes, I forgot the heat, the baby's kicks, the weight… and only felt relief. My muscles relaxed, and my breathing grew deeper.
I did not even notice that the new shift was so thin and transparent that my nipples were visible, hardened by the contrast with the cool air. But at that moment, I did not care. I was in my chambers, with someone I trusted, and for the first time in hours, I felt a little at peace.
*How strange this is*, I thought as Lidia continued working. *To carry a life inside me. To feel so much love and so much discomfort at the same time. So much heat… and so much fear too.* Because even though I loved him madly, sometimes I was frightened. Would I be a good mother? Could I give him everything he needed?
Lidia kept talking in that soft, warm voice of hers, telling me anecdotes about her family to distract me. I shifted into a more comfortable position, turning my body slightly to listen to her, letting my hand rest on my rounded belly in slow, soothing circles.
"Princess, if you wish to rest, I can take you to bed right now," Lidia said with concern, pausing her story.
I shook my head at once.
"I shall wait for my husband," I replied firmly. "He will not be long."
And it was true. I would stay there until that door opened and he appeared. He had managed to free himself from many of his duties over these past weeks to be by my side, but I could see in his eyes that he needed more. I noticed it when he had too much free time: he would pace about the chambers, looking for something to do. Now he was in a meeting about the kingdom's budgets, and strangely, that always put him in a good mood. *Numbers*, I thought, amused.
I knew perfectly well that Lidia was not pleased that I was staying up waiting, especially since my eyelids were already heavy and sleep was beginning to pull at me. But I knew my lady very well.
"Do you want me to tell you how I realised his feelings?" I asked suddenly, with a mischievous smile.
Lidia fell silent for a second. Besides being my faithful lady-in-waiting, she was an incurable romantic. I knew it from the way she always spoke of her husband with rosy cheeks and bright eyes, from the stories she told of her children and how they had met. I also knew she would say it was not necessary… but I knew her too well to let her escape.
"My lady, it is not necessary," she began, exactly as I had expected. "You are pregnant and need rest, not to entertain an old woman like me…"
I cut her off with a gentle wave of my hand, almost laughing.
"Nonsense, my dear. Please, sit down."
Lidia hesitated, but eventually pulled up a small stool and sat down in front of me, her hands clasped in her lap. Her eyes were already gleaming with curiosity.
*Good*, I thought, satisfied. *That way, we both win. I get distracted, and she gets a story.*
I shifted again, feeling the comforting weight of my belly. The baby gave a gentle kick, almost as if he wanted to listen too. I smiled and stroked the spot.
the past , baela
I was seated in the main gallery, surrounded by fluttering banners, but inside I felt as though I was about to spit fire. Several participants had already passed, and I had lost two bets in a row. Two. On riders in whom I had placed my complete faith, convinced they would sweep the field. The first fell in the third clash, the rival's lance striking his shield square on and sending him from his mount like a sack of grain. The second did not even manage to break a single decent lance.
*It is not that difficult*, I thought bitterly, gripping the edge of my seat. *A straight lance, a horse that knows how to run, and a bit of bloody determination. Is it really so complicated for these supposed knights?*
The dust from the field rose in golden clouds each time the chargers galloped. The crash of wood and metal rang out like distant thunder. The crowd applauded, shouted, and cursed. I could only fold my arms in my lap and hope that the rest of my bets would see the light of day.
My grandmother Rhaenys had found me that very morning wandering through the castle gardens, my hair loose and my mood foul. As if by magic—or rather, by her will—within an hour I was surrounded by her handmaidens. Two of them practically locked me in my chamber while an entire chest of jewellery and new dresses appeared as if from nowhere.
"You are not going out like that, my dear," she had told me in that firm but affectionate voice, while gesturing for me to turn so she could adjust my collar. "You are the granddaughter of one of the richest men in the Seven Kingdoms. I will not have you looking like a wandering vagrant."
I loved that necklace. A large "B" of white gold at its centre, surrounded by perfect pearls and small emeralds that gleamed like dragon eyes. It had been kept for me since my birth, waiting for the moment I would be old enough to wear it with pride. My grandmother's pearls, an heirloom of House Velaryon, cascaded about my neck and felt cool against my warm skin. My long hair, with its silver highlights, fell in carefully arranged curls down my back. Rhaenys had been wise enough not to lace my corset too tightly; I could breathe, though every movement reminded me that I was dressed to be seen, not to feel comfortable.
"Ah, there we are, my dear. Look at yourself," she said at last, stepping back with satisfaction.
"Does my granddaughter not look beautiful?" asked my grandmother Rhaenys, a satisfied smile on her face.
The ladies around her nodded at once, as if none could conceive of a different response.
"She looks radiant, my lady."
"More beautiful than ever."
"Where is Rhaena?" I asked, searching for my sister with my gaze."Baela, Rhaena has been ready for hours. She is waiting for you in the gallery," my grandmother replied with a patient smile.
Now, seated beside her, I tried to concentrate on the spectacle. But every time a rider crashed spectacularly into the dust, my mind wandered elsewhere. Rhaena complaining to Lucerys about the suffocating heat, passing him some morsel of food to endure the wait while she moved her fan with elegance. She was serene as always, in her light-toned dress that seemed to absorb the sunlight, her hair braided with small pearls that gleamed like dewdrops. She glanced at me sidelong, and her lips curved into a knowing smile.
"Stop frowning, sister," she whispered, without taking her eyes off the joust.
"I cannot help it," I replied in a low voice, biting my lower lip in frustration. "I lost two bets. Two. And that last idiot did not even know how to hold his lance. A three-year-old with a stick would have done a better job."
Rhaena let out a soft little laugh, that laugh of hers that always managed to disarm me even in my worst moments.
"Not everything in life is about winning or losing, Baela."
"Of course not," I retorted, though my tone was not entirely convincing. "There is also the matter of not making a fool of oneself. And that man should take notes."
I turned my head to observe the few empty seats in the gallery. Most were occupied by nobles and courtiers laughing and applauding with enthusiasm, but there were some gaps that caught my attention. I could not help but wonder who would dare to miss their own tournament. A tournament organised for their enjoyment, no less.
Jacaerys had arrived for the first rounds. He had been among the crowd in his dark tunic and upright posture, watching with that intensity of his that always seemed to be calculating something. But then, without warning, he had made his excuses and left. He did not even stay to watch the finals.
*How strange*, I thought, frowning as my fingers drummed on the wooden armrest. *Since when does Jace miss a tournament? If there is one thing he loves more than flying on Vermax, it is watching others fight.*
Baela definitely suspected he was going to participate. That boy was far too predictable. I had known him since we were children, and I knew perfectly well how his mind worked. I would not be surprised if he suddenly appeared with gleaming armour and a lance in his hand, I mused, as my fingers drummed on the wooden armrest with an impatience I could barely conceal. A mixture of exasperation and affection swirled in my chest, as familiar as the warmth of the sun on my skin. It would be so typical of him. To act indifferent, absent, as if he had nothing to prove, and then appear at the most unexpected moment to steal all the attention. Probably not, I thought. Or perhaps yes.
I looked again at his empty seat and felt a pang of curiosity spread through my chest. Where could he have gone? It was not like him to miss a tournament, especially one he had helped organise and which was held in his honour for his nameday. He cannot have gone far, I mused, as my eyes scanned the gallery for any trace of him. Perhaps he is planning to take part.
"Looking for someone?" asked Rhaena, in that innocent tone that fooled no one.
I shot her a warning look, but Rhaena had already turned back towards the arena, oblivious to my barely contained fury. I sighed and decided to focus on the spectacle. After all, it was a tournament. And no matter how much I worried about Jacaerys, I could not let that ruin my day.
I watched the knights: one in silver armour that gleamed under the sun, another with a roaring lion on his shield. Their horses were enormous beasts, draped in colourful caparisons. When they clashed, the impact was brutal; one could hear the crack of splintering wood, the neighing of the animals, the dull thud of a body falling onto the packed earth. Squires rushed to help the fallen. Some rose shakily to their feet, others lay still and had to be carried off amid cheers and laments.
There was something hypnotic about the controlled violence, the skill, the risk. A part of me enjoyed the spectacle. I sighed and settled more comfortably in my seat, feeling the cool pearls against my skin. The next bout was about to begin. Two new riders entered the field, lances raised, and the crowd roared once more.
*Come on, let this one be someone worth watching*, I thought, leaning forward slightly. *Or at least someone who will win me back my money.*
"Prince Jacaerys Velaryon of House Targaryen!"
The herald's voice boomed across the entire tournament field.
I turned my head towards the entrance of the lists almost by reflex.
My lips parted slightly in a small expression of surprise as I saw him appear among the crowd of squires and knights. All morning, I had been waiting for that moment.
He was certainly taking his time.
Beside me, Lucerys snorted.
"It is about time."
I could not help but smile.Jacaerys advanced on his black horse, his back straight and his head held high. He did not look nervous. And that was precisely what irritated me. The stands began to roar.
"Jace!"
"Jace!"I looked up towards one of the sections closest to the royal family. I was not surprised to find Aegon and Viserys practically standing on their seats. Both were waving small flags with such energy that it looked as if they were trying to knock someone over with them.
"Go on, Jace!"
"Make him fall!"
"Give him a good thrashing!"A laugh escaped my lips. Those two adored their older brother.
The sun caught flashes of silver from his armour. Even from a distance, I could appreciate the details. Engraved dragons ran across the polished metal. The pauldrons gleamed like fire in the afternoon light.
"This will be entertaining."
Rhaena's voice made me turn my head. I followed the direction of her gaze. And then I saw the other knight. My smile vanished.
"Oh."
Rhaena let out a small laugh.
"Yes. That was exactly my reaction."The man was enormous. There was no other word to describe him. His horse looked like a beast of war, and he himself seemed capable of tearing a door from its hinges with his bare hands. His dark armour made him look even more intimidating.
I swallowed.
"Who is that?"
"Ser Alaric Arryn."I frowned.
"He looks as though he eats small children for breakfast."
Luke let out such a loud laugh that several people turned to look at him.
"That explains why he is still so big."
I shot him a look.
"Luke."
"What?"
"I am not joking."My cousin watched me for a moment. Then he smiled.
"Jace will be fine."I wanted to believe him.
"Helmet!" he shouted, raising his right hand while remaining erect in the saddle.
A young squire, visibly nervous, ran towards him with the helmet in his hands. It was a piece of silver armour, probably the most elaborate I had ever seen. The engravings were intricate, with details that seemed to represent dragons coiled around the branches of an ancestral tree. Inlays of red gold gleamed at the edges, like small flames trapped in the metal.
Jacaerys placed the helmet on his head with a quick, precise movement. The visor lifted for an instant, and I could see his eyes: dark, focused.
"Shield!" he ordered again.
"Lance!" was the final cry.
Jacaerys's horse took a step forward, and his opponent, Lord Arryn, did the same. The crowd fell silent. The silence hung over the arena like a storm cloud. In the lists, the two riders prepared themselves. Lances pointed forward. The horses, restless, waited for the signal. The sun fell upon them like a dagger of gold, and the armour gleamed with a blinding radiance.
Jacaerys's horse launched into a gallop.
The sound of hooves against the earth was like distant thunder drawing nearer, growing louder, more urgent with every beat. Baela felt the air catch in her throat as she watched Jacaerys lean forward over his charger's neck, his lance steady in his right hand, his shield guarding his left flank. The silver armour blazed under the afternoon sun, and the engravings seemed to come alive with each movement, as though the dragons etched into the metal were writhing in silent flight.
The man was enormous, a wall of flesh and dark armour mounted upon an equally imposing steed. His lance looked like a tree torn up by its roots, and his shield concealed almost his entire torso. Baela clenched her teeth.
The first charge was swift, almost too swift to follow with the naked eye. The two riders met in the centre of the arena, and the impact of lances against shields rang out like a crack of thunder. Lord Arryn managed to deflect Jacaerys's lance with a brusque movement, but the prince, with an agility that belied his youth, twisted his body and evaded his opponent's strike. Both continued their trajectory, separating at the far end of the lists.
"He didn't get him!" shouted Lucerys, leaping from his seat.
"He didn't get him, but he didn't get hit either," replied Rhaena, with a calm that Baela did not share. "That is good."
"It is not enough," Baela muttered between her teeth, her fingers gripping the armrest with white-knuckled force.
Rhaena looked at her with curiosity.
"Since when do you care so much whether he wins or loses?"
In the arena, Jacaerys and Lord Arryn prepared for the second assault. The prince wheeled his horse in a short circle, and Baela could see him adjusting his shield, tilting his head slightly to ensure his helmet was properly seated. Lord Arryn, for his part, seemed to be smiling from behind his visor. A confident smile. Arrogant.
The second charge was more violent than the first. The horses thundered forward like two arrows loosed from opposing bows. Baela felt her heart stop for an instant as the lances met in the centre. This time, Jacaerys managed to strike Lord Arryn's shield with a dry, resounding blow, but the impact deflected him just enough for his opponent's lance to find its mark as well. The strike landed on his left shoulder, precisely where the armour was thinnest. Baela saw Jacaerys's body jolt with the impact, saw his horse veer slightly off course.
"Jace!" she cried out involuntarily, rising to her feet.
The crowd roared. Aegon and Viserys, their little banners waving in the air, cheered with all their might from the stands.
"Jace, Jace, Jace!" they chanted, their childish voices barely audible above the din of the multitude.
Jacaerys managed to stay in the saddle, but Baela could see his left arm hanging slightly. The impact had been hard. Too hard.
*That bloody Arryn is not holding back.*
Lord Arryn turned towards the crowd, raising his lance in a gesture of triumph. The crowd responded with cheers mixed with whistles. The man was popular, that much was evident. She hated him for that arrogant smile she could discern behind his visor.
"It is not good," said Rhaena, concern creeping into her voice. "His arm…"
"I know," Baela replied, without taking her eyes off the field. "But he is not going to yield."
And she was right. In the centre of the arena, Jacaerys was already wheeling his horse to prepare for the third assault. He shook his left arm, as if trying to restore feeling to it, and Baela could see him clench his jaw beneath his helmet.
In the final round, Lord Arryn seemed determined to end the fight. His horse launched into a gallop with a ferocity it had not shown before, and his lance aimed directly at Jacaerys's chest. Baela felt time slow down. She saw the charger advancing, saw the lance drawing closer, saw the dark armour looming over Jacaerys like a storm cloud.
And then it happened.
The blow was brutal. Lord Arryn struck Jacaerys square in the centre of his chest, and the prince was thrown backwards across his horse. Baela saw his arms fling open in the air, saw him trying to cling to the reins as his body tilted dangerously to one side. The crowd held its breath.
"JACAERYS!" shouted Rhaenyra, rising from her seat so violently that her chair toppled backwards.
Baela could not breathe. Could not speak. She could only watch as Jacaerys's body swayed upon his horse, his left arm hanging useless while his right hand clung desperately to his charger's mane. For an instant, she thought he would fall. She thought his body would strike the dust, that his armour would ring against the earth like a funeral bell.
But he did not fall.
With a superhuman effort, Jacaerys managed to right himself. His body trembled, and Baela could see him breathing with difficulty, could see the pain reflected in every one of his movements. But he was upright. Still mounted.
The crowd erupted in a deafening roar. Aegon and Viserys were jumping and shouting, their banners forgotten on the ground. Rhaenyra remained standing, one hand pressed to her chest, her eyes fixed upon her son.
"He has to stop," Lucerys murmured, his voice breaking. "His arm is not right."
Lord Arryn, confident, prepared for the final assault. His horse circled at the far end of the lists, and Baela could see the man laughing. Actually laughing.
Jacaerys, with his left arm hanging limp, took the lance in his right hand. It was an awkward movement, uncharacteristic for him, who had always been right-handed. But he was determined. Baela could see it in the rigidity of his back, in the way he gripped the lance as if it were his only tether to the world.
"He will not be able to hold it," said Rhaena, her voice trembling.
The final assault began. Lord Arryn charged with all his might, his lance aimed directly at the most exposed part of Jacaerys's armour. It was a brutal move, almost cruel, designed to unseat an already wounded opponent.
At the very last moment, as Lord Arryn's lance was about to strike him, Jacaerys veered his horse slightly to the left. The blow grazed him, scraping against his armour with a metallic shriek, but it did not unseat him. And then, with a movement that seemed to defy all laws of physics, Jacaerys raised his lance with his right hand and drove it with all the strength he had left into the centre of Lord Arryn's shield.
The impact was brutal. The lance splintered, and Lord Arryn was thrown backwards across his horse, his arms flinging open in the air like the wings of a wounded bird. His body crashed to the ground with a dull thud, and dust rose around him in a golden cloud.
The crowd roared.
Baela did not know whether she was shouting with joy or relief. She did not even know if she was shouting at all. She only knew that she was on her feet, that her hands were clapping uncontrollably, that her eyes were fixed on the figure of Jacaerys, still mounted.
"JACE!" she cried, her voice mingling with the clamour of the crowd.
Lord Arryn lay on the ground, dazed, his armour covered in dust. Several squires ran to help him up, but the man could only shake his head, confused, defeated.
Jacaerys, for his part, made a slow circuit on his horse. His left arm hung inert, and Baela could see it trembling. But his back was straight. His head held high. And when he raised his broken lance in a gesture of victory, the crowd went wild.
Baela could not stop smiling. Her cheeks ached from smiling, but she could not help herself.
"He did it," Rhaena whispered, incredulous. "He did it."
"He is a madman," Baela replied, her voice choked with emotion.
Rhaenyra remained standing, one hand pressed to her chest. Her lips trembled, and Baela could see tears glistening in her eyes. But she was also smiling. Proud. Immensely proud.
"That boy," said the princess, her voice barely audible. "That bloody boy is going to give me a heart attack."
The crowd continued cheering as Jacaerys rode to the edge of the arena, directly in front of the royal gallery. He halted before Baela, and for an instant, he looked at her. Even through his helmet, even through the dust and sweat, Baela felt his eyes find hers.
And then, with a slow, pained movement, he raised his right hand and placed it over his chest, in a gesture that only she could interpret.
Baela felt her cheeks flush, and for a moment, she forgot there were thousands of people watching. She forgot she was a princess, that she was the daughter of Daemon Targaryen, that she was at a tournament.
"How gallant," Rhaena murmured, though her smile said otherwise.
Baela did not respond. She only kept watching Jacaerys as he withdrew from the arena, his left arm hanging, his broken lance in his right hand, his figure bathed in the setting sun.
The tournament continued, but Baela barely paid it any attention.
Later, as the sun began to set and the crowd dispersed, Baela slipped away from the gallery. She needed to see him. Needed to make sure his arm was not truly damaged.
She found him in the knights' tents, seated on a bench while a squire removed his armour. His left arm was bandaged, and a stain of blood spread across the white linen. But when he saw her enter, he smiled.
"I knew you would come," he said, in that voice of his that always managed to disarm her.
"You are so predictable," she replied, crossing her arms.
"And you are such a worrier."
"I am not a worrier. I am simply a realist."
Jacaerys laughed, and the sound of his laughter filled the tent like a warm light.
"Did you see my final charge?" he asked, with pride. "It was magnificent."
"It was foolish," Baela retorted, though she could not help but smile. "You could have been killed."
They fell silent for a moment, looking at one another. Baela felt the words catch in her throat. There were so many things she wanted to say, and none of them seemed enough.
"Jace," she said at last. "Why did you do it? You could have enjoyed the tournament held in your honour."
Jacaerys looked at her, and for an instant, his smile softened.
"Because I wanted to prove I could do it. Because…" He hesitated, and Baela saw his eyes darken with something she could not name. "I wanted you to see it."
Jace
]]I was so tired after a long day of tax declarations, budget reviews and endless discussions about harvests, maritime trade and the costs of maintaining the fleets. The only thing I wanted was to hear those words. Without a moment's hesitation, I replied:
"Thank you very much, my lords," I said, rising to my feet. "This session is concluded."
The councillors began to stand.
The words left my mouth almost automatically as I rose. My shoulders felt as heavy as if I were wearing full armour. I walked through the corridors of Dragonstone with firm but slow steps, a guard's torch illuminating the dark stone pathway.
I thought of my wife with every step. I felt guilty. The waves of heat that consumed her, the sleepless nights, the kicks that left her breathless… all of it because of me. Because of us. How could I ask her to stay awake waiting when her body was already doing more than any warrior on the battlefield?
I pushed the door to our chambers open carefully, slowly, hoping not to wake her.
"Oh," I murmured, surprised but pleased.
Lidia rose at once upon seeing me.
"My prince," she said, with a small bow. "I shall take my leave."
I stopped her before she could slip away entirely.
"Thank you for looking after my wife, Lidia. Truly."
She nodded with a warm smile and withdrew into the corridor, closing the doors gently behind her. The sound of her footsteps faded, and at last we were alone.
I walked to the settle by the window and sat down, stretching my legs with a long sigh. Weariness seeped into my bones, but seeing Baela there, waiting for me, filled me with a warmth that surpassed any exhaustion.
"You did not have to wait up for me, my love," I said softly, meeting her eyes. "You know it is not necessary. Especially now."
The baby tired her more than she would ever admit. I could see it in the faint shadows beneath her eyes, in the way she moved more slowly.
Baela reached out her hand, and I moved closer at once, sitting on the edge of the settle to intertwine our fingers. Her skin was warm, almost hot, as it always was these months.
"I am not going to sleep without you," she replied, squeezing my fingers.
I felt a pang in my chest. Guilt, love, admiration… all of it mingled together. I felt wretched with myself. How could I do this to the woman who was my best friend? She was suffering because she was carrying our child.
"Forgive me for putting you through this, Baela… I…"
She interrupted me with that stubborn smile of hers.
"Jace, you say it as though you are the only one involved in this… it takes two to make a baby, you know."
I smiled despite everything, but the guilt would not quite leave me.
"Yes, but… you should not have to bear this alone, my love. I only want you to rest."
I remained looking at her, absorbing every detail. The way the thin shift clung to her changed curves, her nipples visible from the contrast with the cool air, her majestic belly that housed our future bloodline. Gods, how beautiful she is. Even like this, tired and overheated, she is the most breathtaking creature I have ever seen.