Chapter 27
The next morning brought rain. Not the gentle mist Aeryn remembered from childhood, but a steady downpour that struck the windows, leeching all color from the garden beyond.
Aeryn picked at the breakfast Khaeric had insisted she eat—soft bread with honey, sliced pears, and more of that gentle broth.
Each bite sat heavily in her stomach, though she forced herself to swallow.
Outside, the rain continued its assault on the windows, turning the world beyond into a blur of grey and green.
A sharp knock interrupted the quiet rhythm of the rain. Aeryn’s hand froze halfway to her mouth, the bread suddenly tasteless on her tongue.
Khaeric rose from his seat by the window, crossing to the door in three long strides. When he pulled it open, Envoy Thalion stood in the corridor, his silver robes somehow immaculate despite the weather. Water dripped from the hem, leaving dark spots on the polished floor.
“Lord Khaeric, Princess Aeryn.” Thalion’s bow was perfunctory. “The Council of Memory has reconvened. They request your presence at the Hall of Memories within the hour.”
Aeryn set the bread down, her appetite vanishing. Another summons. Another opportunity for humiliation, for impossible choices wrapped in the language of compromise.
“Tell the Council,” Khaeric said, his voice carrying that edge that made even seasoned warriors reconsider their positions, “that we’ll arrive when the Princess has finished her meal.”
Thalion’s composure fractured, his lips pressed together in a thin line before smoothing back into practiced neutrality. “The Council expects—”
“The Council can wait.” Khaeric didn’t move from the doorway, his massive frame filling the space entirely. “My mate is eatin’. When she’s finished, we’ll come.”
The envoy’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the smooth skin as his gaze shifted past Khaeric to where Aeryn sat at the small table, the plate of half-eaten food before her.
“The princess requires proper nourishment,” Khaeric said. “Surely the Council understands that a woman in her condition cannae be rushed through her meals.”
Thalion’s mouth opened, then closed. His fingers twitched at his sides—the first genuine crack in his composure Aeryn had witnessed since meeting him. “Very well,” he said finally, the words emerging stiff and formal. “I will inform the Council of your... delay.”
The door closed with more force than was necessary. Khaeric turned back to her, his expression unchanging. “Eat, lass.”
Aeryn stared at the bread on her plate, her stomach churning for reasons that had nothing to do with morning sickness. “You just told an envoy of the Council to wait.”
“Aye, I did.” Khaeric returned to his seat by the window, settling into the chair with a creak of wood. “They can wait until ye’ve eaten properly.”
The bread turned to paste in Aeryn’s mouth as she forced herself to chew.
Her fingers trembled against the plate’s edge—whether from nerves or the lingering weakness from yesterday’s collapse, she couldn’t say.
The rain hammered against the windows with renewed intensity, as if the sky itself shared her agitation.
She managed three more bites of bread, a few slices of pear that sat like stones in her belly, and half the broth before pushing the plate away. “I can’t eat any more.”
Khaeric’s gaze swept over the plate, assessing what remained. His jaw worked for a moment before he nodded. “Aye. That’ll do.” He rose, moving to the wardrobe where their formal attire hung. “Time to get ready, then.”
The formal gown—midnight blue silk with silver embroidery—weighed on Aeryn’s shoulders as she smoothed it over her belly.
Khaeric finished fastening the last of his formal attire, the deep blue tunic that matched her gown.
His hair had been braided again, the small gemstones woven through the dark strands glinting dully in the dim morning light.
He looked every inch the Clanlord, powerful and composed despite the tension she could see in the set of his shoulders.
A knock came at the door. Eliara’s voice carried through, carefully neutral. “Princess, the carriage is ready.”
Aeryn drew in a slow breath. Her hands moved to smooth her gown again, though the fabric lay perfectly flat.
“We’re coming,” she called back.
The carriage waited in the courtyard, water streaming off its curved roof. A servant held an oiled cloth umbrella, though the wind drove rain sideways beneath it. Aeryn gathered her skirts and climbed inside before Khaeric followed.
The door closed with a solid thunk, muffling the rain. Through the window, Béalimhe passed in streaks of grey and white, the usual pristine beauty of the elven capital rendered dreary by the downpour. Water ran in rivulets down the glass, distorting the buildings beyond into abstract shapes.
Aeryn’s hands twisted in her lap, fingers knotting together until her knuckles went white.
The carriage wheels splashed through puddles, each jolt sending fresh waves of anxiety.
What would the Council say? Would they present another impossible compromise, another way to erase half of her son’s identity while pretending to honor him?
Khaeric’s hand covered both of hers, stopping the restless motion. His thumb traced slow circles over her knuckles, anchoring her.
“Whatever they say,” Khaeric murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear it over the rain and carriage wheels, “we ken where we stand.”
Aeryn nodded, though the movement felt mechanical. Her throat had tightened, words trapped somewhere behind the lump that had formed there. The warmth of his hand kept her from spiraling into the endless loop of the worst possibilities that wanted to consume her thoughts.
The Hall of Memories loomed ahead through the rain-streaked window, its dark stone towers rising against grey sky.
Water poured from the crystalline spires, turning them into cascading fountains that caught what little light penetrated the clouds.
The carriage rolled to a stop before the wide stairs, and Aeryn’s stomach clenched as a servant hurried forward with an umbrella.
The door opened, and cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of rain-soaked stone.
Khaeric descended first, turning to offer his hand.
Aeryn took it, her fingers slipping slightly against his palm as she stepped down onto wet cobblestones.
The umbrella appeared above her head, though wind-driven rain still found ways beneath it, spattering against her cheeks and the silk of her gown.
The great doors swung open as they approached, revealing the entrance hall beyond.
The corridor stretched ahead, and Aeryn’s heart hammered with each step.
Her slippers made soft squelching sounds—she’d stepped in a puddle on the stairs, and now cold water seeped between her toes with every footfall.
The discomfort was almost welcome, something tangible to focus on besides the tightness in her chest.
They reached the ornate doors of the Council chamber. The same doors she’d walked through two days ago, when everything had still seemed possible. When she’d believed that presenting her marriage treaty and speaking the truth would be enough.
The doors swung inward.
The seven chairs stood arranged in their semicircle on the dais, each occupied. Queen Elindra sat in the center chair, her posture rigid beneath her formal robes. The other councilors flanked her, their expressions carefully neutral in that way that meant everything and nothing at once.
“Princess Aeryn of the Silver Bough and the Unified Crown,” Envoy Thalion announced from beside them, his voice carrying through the chamber. “And Lord Khaeric, Clanlord of Clan Druin of the Mountain Realm of Beinn Ork.”
Queen Elindra rose from her chair, the movement fluid despite the weight of her formal robes. The silver and blue fabric caught the light from the crystals overhead, making her seem almost ethereal. Almost untouchable.
“Niece,” the Queen said, and something in her tone made Aeryn’s stomach clench. “Lord Khaeric. The Council has deliberated at length regarding your petition.”
“The Council,” Queen Elindra continued, “has reviewed the statutes governing lineage recording. We have examined historical precedents. We have consulted the records of similar... situations.” The slight pause before the final word made Aeryn’s jaw tighten.
Similar situations. As if her marriage were something that could be catalogued and filed away alongside other inconvenient aberrations.
“And we have concluded,” the Queen said, her fingers tightening almost imperceptibly on the arms of her chair, “that the law is indeed clear. Unambiguous, in fact.”
Aeryn’s fingernails dug into her palms as she waited for the inevitable rejection.
“All legal unions involving a member of an elven bloodline must be recorded in the ancestral registry,” Queen Elindra said, her voice carrying through the chamber with careful precision. “There are no provisions for exceptions based on the spouse’s heritage.”
Aeryn’s breath caught, her mind struggling to process what she was hearing. The law is clear. No exceptions.
“Therefore,” the Queen continued, and for a moment, the polish of her composure cracked to reveal quiet resignation, “the Council has determined that your marriage to Lord Khaeric must be recorded in the full registry of the Silver Bough.” Her gaze met Aeryn’s directly for the first time since they’d entered the chamber.
“And your child—” the Queen’s voice tightened almost imperceptibly, “—will be recorded as the child of Princess Aeryn of the Silver Bough and Lord Khaeric of Clan Druin, bearing both elven and orcish heritage.”
Her knees threatened to give out, and only Khaeric’s steadying hand at her back kept her upright. They were acknowledging it. All of it. Not hiding her son’s heritage behind careful omissions or diplomatic language, but recording the truth in their sacred lineage.