Chapter 22
The knock at the door made her flinch. Eliara entered first, holding the door wide. Behind her came a slender elven woman with olive skin and long, curly dark brown hair tied back, dressed in muted greens and browns.
“Princess Aeryn and Lord Khaeric,” Eliara said, “this is Arwen of the Court of the Greenwood. She serves as the midwife to the royal household.”
Arwen bowed before approaching, her gaze sweeping over Aeryn in clinical assessment, both invasive and reassuring. “Your Highness,” she said, voice gentle but firm. “Lady Eliara tells me you’ve been experiencing nausea and a fainting spell.”
“I didn’t faint,” Aeryn said, though her protest sounded weak. “I was dizzy.”
“Of course, Your Highness. Nevertheless, I’d like to examine you, if you’ll permit it,” Arwen said.
“Of course.” Aeryn straightened in her chair. The sooner this examination was done, the sooner everyone would stop hovering.
Arwen knelt beside the chair, one hand reaching for Aeryn’s wrist to check her pulse. Her fingers were cool against Aeryn’s skin, pressing gently where blood thrummed beneath the surface. The midwife’s brown eyes remained fixed on Aeryn’s face, watching, assessing.
What struck Aeryn most was Arwen’s utter disinterest in Khaeric’s presence; the courier had stared; the seamstress and her assistants had flinched and darted nervous glances.
But Arwen had barely glanced at Khaeric since entering the room.
Her focus remained entirely on Aeryn—checking her pulse, examining her skin’s color, studying the slight tremor in her fingers.
She retrieved a small leather case from the pouch at her belt, still without sparing Khaeric so much as a cursory look.
“Your pulse is elevated,” Arwen said. “But not dangerously so. May I examine your abdomen?”
Aeryn nodded. She shifted in the chair, smoothing the fabric of her gown over her stomach.
Arwen pressed gently at various points along Aeryn’s abdomen. The touch was clinical, impersonal, yet each press and probe felt intrusive.
“Any sharp pains?” Arwen asked. “Cramping or spotting?”
“No.” Aeryn’s voice came out steadier than she felt. “Just the nausea. And fatigue, though that’s improved since we arrived.”
Arwen nodded, expression thoughtful. “Normal for this stage.” Still pressing against Aeryn’s abdomen, her hands glowed blue as she quietly recited an incantation.
The magic seeped inward, searching, and Aeryn’s breath caught as it reached deeper, past skin and muscle, toward the small life growing inside her.
“Stop.”
The blue glow winked out instantly. Arwen’s hands jerked back from Aeryn’s stomach as she looked up at Khaeric.
Khaeric had risen to his full height, towering over both of them. “I didnae give ye permission to use yer magic on my mate or my child,” he said, each word clipped and precise.
Her expression remained calm, professional—utterly unfazed by the towering orc whose voice had dropped to that dangerous register.
“My apologies,” Arwen said. Her tone was respectful but not subservient. “I should have explained before beginning the diagnostic spell.”
No tremor, no fear. Just the same clinical authority Arwen had maintained since entering the chamber. Even the seamstress, focused on her craft, betrayed nervousness. Yet, Arwen simply straightened and faced Khaeric with the same composed neutrality.
“Explain what ye were doin’,” Khaeric demanded.
“The diagnostic spell allows me to assess the child’s development without invasive physical examination,” Arwen explained. “It allows me to sense the child’s heartbeat, positioning, and overall vitality. The spell poses no risk to either the mother or the child. It’s purely diagnostic.”
Khaeric’s hands had curled into fists at his sides. “How do I ken ye’re no’ secretly harmin’ my child?” The question came out flat, dangerous. “How do I ken this ‘diagnostic spell’ isnae somethin’ else entirely?”
Arwen’s brow furrowed, the first crack in her professional composure since entering the chamber.
“I would never harm an unborn child,” she said, genuine confusion coloring her tone.
“Let alone one of royal blood. My purpose is to protect both mother and child, to ensure a safe delivery and healthy development.”
“Maybe ye wouldnae harm a child of royal blood,” Khaeric said, his voice dropping even lower. “But what about an orc child?”
Arwen paused, her gaze moving between Khaeric and Aeryn.
“I wasn’t concerned about the child being of orcish blood,” she said, her voice quieter now.
“If you’re worried elven magic might harm an orc child, I can assure you the same diagnostic spells I use have been employed on children of mixed heritage and those not of mixed heritage.
The magic responds to life itself, not to ancestry. ”
The tension in Khaeric’s shoulders didn’t ease. If anything, his jaw hardened further, muscle jumping beneath gray skin. “That disnae answer my question.”
“Khaeric.” Aeryn reached for his hand, fingers closing around his clenched fist.
Arwen’s gaze followed the gesture, then lifted back to Khaeric’s face.
The midwife’s eyes widened as if she’d finally grasped the true source of his anger.
“I would never intentionally harm an unborn child,” she said.
“Regardless of their heritage. Whether they are fully elven, human, elf-blooded or—” she paused, meeting Khaeric’s eyes directly, “—an orc.”
“I understand your concern, Lord Khaeric,” Arwen said. “You don’t know me. You have no reason to trust me or my magic. But I give you my word I will do nothing to harm your child.”
“Words are cheap,” Khaeric said.
Arwen was quiet for a long moment. Then she tilted her head slightly, and when she spoke again, there was genuine curiosity. “In your culture,” she said, “how does one indicate to another that they are honorable?”
Khaeric’s fingers relaxed against Aeryn’s hand. “Among orcs,” he said slowly, “honor is proven through action, no’ words. Ye swear an oath before witnesses. Ye bind yerself to the consequences if ye break it.”
Arwen nodded. “Then I will swear an oath before you,” she said.
“Witnessed by Princess Aeryn and Eliara.” She squared her shoulders.
“I, Arwen of the Court of the Greenwood, midwife in service to the royal household of Béalimhe, swear upon my honor and my craft that I will do no harm to Princess Aeryn or to the child she carries. I will use my skills and my magic only to protect and preserve their health, regardless of the child’s heritage.
Should I break this oath, may my gift be stripped from me, my name be struck from the rolls of my order, and may I present myself before the Clanlords to answer for it in the Orkish Highlands. ”
Khaeric’s expression didn’t soften, exactly, but the dangerous edge in his posture eased by a fraction. He studied Arwen for a long moment, amber eyes searching her face for any hint of insincerity.
“Ye understand what ye’re swearin’ to?” he asked. “Among my people, an oath like that binds ye. If ye break it, ye’d stand before the Clanlords and answer for it. They’d decide what must be done to restore balance.”
“I understand,” Arwen said. Her voice carried the same steady certainty it had held throughout the entire exchange. “And I accept those terms.”
Finally, Khaeric gave a single, sharp nod. “Then I accept yer oath.” His voice was still rough, but the dangerous edge had dulled. “Ye may continue yer examination.”
Arwen returned to her position beside Aeryn’s chair, settling into the same crouch as before. “May I?” she asked, hands hovering near Aeryn’s abdomen.
Aeryn nodded, glancing at Khaeric, who had positioned himself at her shoulder.
The midwife’s hands returned to Aeryn’s abdomen.
The incantation began again, and the blue glow returned, pulsing gently against Aeryn’s skin, spreading warmth through her abdomen.
The sensation traveled deeper, past the surface of her body, past muscle and the protective curve of her womb, until it reached the small life nestled within.
For a moment, everything stilled. Arwen’s brows drew together, lips moving silently.
Then the tension in her features eased. “The child is healthy,” Arwen said.
“Strong heartbeat, proper positioning for this stage of development.” She paused, hands still glowing against Aeryn’s abdomen.
“The increased heart rate I’m detecting appears to be a response to maternal stress rather than any inherent complication. ”
Aeryn exhaled slowly. “So the baby is fine?”
“Yes. Though I would recommend rest and avoiding unnecessary stress.” Arwen withdrew her hands and rose. “The nausea should ease within the next few weeks as your body adjusts. In the meantime, I recommend small, frequent meals. Ginger and mint tea can help.”
“I’ll have the kitchens send up appropriate foods,” Eliara said from her position near the door. “And I’ll ensure the Princess has time to rest.”
Arwen gathered her leather case, tucking it back into the pouch at her belt.
“Thank you, Arwen,” Aeryn said. “For your help. And for your oath.”
Arwen inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Princess, Lord Khaeric. If you have any other concerns, Lady Eliara knows how to reach me,” she said before bowing.
Eliara opened the door for Arwen, who stepped into the corridor with the same quiet efficiency she’d shown throughout the examination. The door closed behind them with a soft click, and the chamber fell into silence.
“She didnae flinch,” he said quietly.
Aeryn turned her head to look at him fully. “What?”
“The midwife.” His gaze remained fixed on the closed door. “She didnae flinch. Didnae stare. Didnae look at me like I was about to tear her throat out.”
Arwen had treated him like any other concerned father. Had met his challenge with steady professionalism rather than fear. Had sworn an oath in orcish custom without hesitation, without the condescending tolerance that characterized so many of the interactions they’d endured since arriving.
“Why do ye think she didnae?” Khaeric asked, turning his attention back to Aeryn.
“Didn’t what?”
“Flinch.” His amber eyes searched her face. “Why d’ye think the midwife didnae react like all the others?”
Aeryn opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I don’t know,” she admitted finally. “Though she’s from the Court of the Greenwood.”
Khaeric’s brow furrowed. “What’s that got to do wi’ it?”
The four courts of Thiarra weren’t just geographical divisions; they represented centuries of cultural divergence, philosophical differences that had shaped how each branch of elven society viewed the world.
“The Courts aren’t simply territories,” she began, pressing her fingers together in her lap. “They’re… distinct philosophies, I suppose. Ways of understanding what it means to be elven.”
Khaeric’s expression remained guarded, but he tilted his head slightly—the same gesture he made when listening to clan members. Waiting for her to continue.
“The Court of the Silver Bough, my mother’s court, values tradition above all else.
” The words came easier now, falling into familiar patterns she’d learned as a child.
“Memory, lineage, the preservation of what came before. They see themselves as guardians of our oldest traditions, the keepers of what makes us elven.” She paused, aware of how those words must sound to him—to someone whose people had been cast out by those very guardians.
“They’re the most… conservative of the four courts. ”
“The Court of the Greenwood is perhaps the most… practical of the four. They’re healers, herbalists, those who work with the land.
They value skill and results over bloodline or theory.
” The memory of Arwen’s steady hands came back to her, the way the midwife had moved with quiet efficiency.
“They care less about who your ancestors were and more about what you can do. What you can contribute.”
Khaeric’s posture shifted—not relaxing, exactly, but some of the rigid tension in his shoulders eased. “So they judge by merit, no’ by blood.”
“In theory.” Aeryn turned her gaze to the window, watching the afternoon light slant through the garden. “Though I’m sure they have their prejudices. But they’re… less rigid about them, perhaps?”