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Stiorra's breath hitched in her throat, chest straining against the leather of her armor as her husband's hands tightened the strings then the belt that held the garment flush to her chest. The adjustments Sigtryggr made were usually minor, just tightening the bodice a thread more, a gesture that would hardly have an affect on whether she lived or died if she met a blade. But nevertheless, it was their little pre-battle ritual; something that had to be done before they departed. And even if the adjustments were obsolete, her husband's shoulders and jaw always relaxed after he finished, so she would hold her tongue, not willing to take the one thing that grounded him away when the threat of violence loomed like a dark grey storm cloud on the horizon.
“There, that should hold,” said Sigtryggr, lips brushing against her nose. “The men are ready.”
Her hand skimmed across her belly, tongue brushing over her lips as her voice strained. “Sigtryggr-“
Her husband turned on the stairs, bright blue eyes like the sky on a clear day blinking back at her as he hovered, waiting for her to continue.
That moment had felt like the time she should have shared the good news, and yet the words Stiorra wanted to say had stuck to her tongue like bees trapped in their own honey, unwilling to make themselves known.
She had only realized it herself the previous afternoon, the past few weeks pushing it into the far corners of her mind. She should have told Sigtryggr; she had wanted to tell Sigtryggr. They had waited years for this blessing. Yet, if Stiorra had told her husband then, he would have fallen back on his word to his people. Something that Stiorra could not have allowed to happen, not when their people had needed her husband more, seeking Sigtryggr's validation that he would protect them from Edward and anyone else who sought to destroy the peace established in Eoferwic, even if it would come to war.
So instead, Stiorra swallowed her words, certain a better time would come. “I’ll be down shortly.”
Sigtryggr nodded, flashing that soft just barely-there smile that always weakened her before the stairs creaked, leaving her in their bedchamber alone.
Stiorra brushed her thumb across her abdomen again, just barely swollen as she took a steadying inhale. Her husband was cunning and tender; they would all make it home. They still had time left.