Epilogue Vesha - Six Months Later
The morning sun streams through the tall windows of the council chamber as I review the final trade agreements with the eastern settlements.
My expanded waistline makes the carved chair less comfortable than it used to be, but the satisfaction of successful negotiations more than compensates for the physical discomfort.
"The grain quotas are acceptable," Elder Thrakk says, studying the parchment spread before us. "But your idea to leverage our surplus to gain exclusive passage rights through the northern valley has already paid for itself twice over. The Ironjaws are furious they didn't think of it first."
"Honey catches more flies than vinegar," I reply, one hand settling automatically on the pronounced curve of my belly where our son grows strong and active. "Though the threat of withdrawing protection services certainly helped encourage their compliance."
The old warrior chuckles, his scarred face creasing with approval. "Six months ago, some questioned having a human queen. Now they brag about your political cunning to anyone who'll listen."
Through the chamber's windows, I can see the stronghold bustling with morning activity.
A familiar tap at the door pulls me back to the present, and Aino peeks around the door frame.
"Begging your pardon, my lady, but the little ones are asking for you.
Something about a very important matter that requires the Queen's immediate attention. "
I smile, recognizing the serious tone that usually means Lavi has organized some elaborate plan involving the other children. "Tell them I'll be there shortly."
"And Warlord Ghazrek is on his way to the great hall," Aino adds. "He requests your presence when you're finished with the children. He says there's something he wants to show you."
"Another surprise?" I ask, though my husband's recent tendency toward romantic gestures never fails to charm me.
"I couldn't say, my lady," Aino replies with the kind of knowing smile that suggests she knows exactly what awaits me.
I finish reviewing the trade documents and walk to the nursery, taking my time despite the children's impatience but hardly the delicate flower some might expect.
The pregnancy has been easier than I dared hope—no morning sickness to speak of, plenty of energy, and a body that seems designed for carrying orc children despite the obvious size difference.
"Queen Lady!" Lavi's voice rings out the moment I appear in the doorway. She's grown taller in the past months, her small tusks more pronounced, but her enthusiasm remains unchanged. "We have something very important to show you!"
"Very important," Jorik agrees with his characteristic seriousness, though I catch the excitement lurking beneath his formal demeanor. "We've been working on it for weeks."
The other children gather around, their faces bright with anticipation. Nessa stands nearby, her weathered face creased with fond amusement as she watches their barely contained excitement.
"They've been practicing in secret," she explains. "Wouldn't tell any of us what they were planning, just that it had to be perfect for the Queen and the baby."
"Show me," I say, settling carefully into one of the low chairs designed for storytelling.
What follows is a carefully choreographed performance that brings tears to my eyes. The children have created a welcoming ceremony for their future prince, complete with clan songs and traditional dances, and handmade gifts that speak of hours of careful work.
Lavi presents a tiny wooden sword, carved with painstaking detail and painted with silver to match my torque. "For when he's big enough to train," she explains seriously. "Every prince needs a proper weapon."
Jorik offers a small blanket woven from the softest wool, dyed in the deep blue that has become associated with my reign. "To keep him warm during the winter months. Mother taught me the pattern."
One by one, each child presents their offering—carved toys, painted stones, even a small crown braided from mountain flowers that will wilt but carries all the love in their young hearts.
"Thank you," I manage, my voice thick with emotion. "He's going to love these. And he'll grow up knowing how much his clan family cares for him."
"Will you tell him the story?" asks little Meva, barely five years old and already a born troublemaker. "Will you tell him how you got sick so the bad men would go away?"
"Every word," I promise, gathering as many of them as I can reach into a careful embrace. "He'll know that his brother and sister Lavi and Jorik were heroes, and that all of you welcomed him before he was even born."
The children beam at being included in the royal family narrative, and I realize this is part of what makes orc society so strong—the understanding that every child belongs to the whole clan, not just their biological parents.
After promising to return soon for another visit, I head for the great hall, curious about Ghazrek's mysterious summons.
The hall has been dressed for celebration again, though more subtly than for our claiming feast. Fresh flowers adorn the high table, and servants bustle about with an energy that suggests something special is planned.
I find Ghazrek standing near the center of the room, his expression mixing anticipation with something that might be nervousness. He's not a male who shows uncertainty often, which makes his current demeanor all the more intriguing. He stands beside a large object draped in a heavy cloth.
"You wanted to see me?" I ask, accepting his help settling into a nearby chair. The baby has been particularly active today, and I can feel him shifting restlessly as if he's eager to join the world.
"Korven says the ancestors have blessed us with a son," Ghazrek says, his voice soft with anticipation. "He feels a male's strength. And I have something for him."
He pulls the cloth away, revealing the most beautiful cradle I have ever seen.
It is carved from a single piece of dark mountain wood, polished until it gleams like a river stone.
The rockers are shaped like sleeping mountain cats, and the high back is covered in intricate carvings that tell a story.
I can make out images of mountains and strongholds, warriors and queens, the history of the Stoneblood clan rendered in breathtaking detail.
"It's incredible," I breathe, tracing the delicate work with one finger. "The craftsmanship is extraordinary."
"Every Stoneblood heir has slept in this cradle," he explains, his hand resting on the carved wood. "But I had the clan's finest carver add a new panel. For him."
I study the cradle more carefully and gasp when I see what he means. Worked into the wood in perfect detail is the scene of my coronation—a figure in midnight blue receiving a crown while a massive warrior looks on. But beside it is another scene that makes my heart stop.
A woman drinking from a goblet while two small children watch from the shadows.
"You had them include my sacrifice," I whisper, overwhelmed by the implication.
"Your courage will be remembered for as long as the Stoneblood clan endures," he says simply. "Our son will sleep surrounded by the story of his mother's bravery, and someday he'll tell the tale to his own children."
The baby chooses that moment to deliver a particularly strong kick, as if he's already staking his claim on the world. I laugh, placing Ghazrek's massive hand on my belly so he can feel his son's enthusiastic response.
"He approves," I say, leaning into my husband's warmth. "Though I think he's getting impatient with waiting to make his appearance."
"Soon," Ghazrek murmurs. "Korven says it will be within the month, perhaps sooner."
"Are you ready to be a father?"
His smile is tender in a way reserved only for private moments between us. "I'm ready to see you hold our son. Ready to watch you teach him to be strong and wise and worthy of the crown he'll inherit."
The future stretches before us, bright with possibility. A son who will bridge the gap between human and orc, a clan that grows stronger with each passing season, a kingdom built on mutual respect rather than mere conquest.
"What are you thinking about?" Ghazrek asks, reading something in my expression.
"Just... all of this," I gesture around the hall, encompassing not just the physical space but everything it represents. "Six months ago, I thought my life was ending when I walked through those gates. Now I can't imagine being anywhere else."
"No regrets?"
"None," I say firmly, the same answer I gave him on our claiming night. "This is home. You are home. And soon..."
Another kick, stronger this time, makes us both laugh.
"Soon we'll have a prince to spoil and train and watch grow into everything we hope he can become."
The baby settles after his bout of activity, and I close my eyes, content to simply exist in this moment of perfect happiness.
Outside, I can hear the sounds of a thriving stronghold—children playing, warriors training, craftsmen working at their trades.
The rhythm of a community that has accepted me completely.
In a few weeks, our son will be born into this world of strength and tradition, raised by parents who love each other and a clan that will protect him with their lives.
He'll learn to walk on these ancient stones, play with the children who welcomed his mother, and someday rule over people who measure worth by courage rather than bloodline.
"I love you," I murmur against Ghazrek's shoulder, the words as natural as breathing now.
"And I love you," he replies, his arms tightening protectively around both me and our unborn child. "My queen, my heart, my home."
As afternoon fades to evening and the torches begin to flicker to life throughout the hall, I reflect on the journey that brought me here. From terrified tribute to willing queen, from hidden omega to proud mother-to-be, from stranger to the heart of a family I never knew I needed.
Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new joys, new opportunities to prove myself worthy of the trust these people have placed in me. But tonight, surrounded by love and anticipation, I am simply grateful.
Grateful for fate that brought me here, for courage that kept me alive, for choices that led to happiness I never dared imagine.
I am Vesha, Queen of the Stoneblood clan, and I am exactly where I belong.
Don’t miss the next book…
A feral Omega. A scarred orc scout. One scent that triggers his rut in enemy territory.
Calla hasn't spoken to another person in ten years. She survives in the bones of a dead village with nothing but traps, stolen knives, and a raven named Scar. She guards her mother's secret. She hides what she is.
Then a wounded Stoneblood scout bleeds into her territory — and his rut ignites the moment her scent hits his lungs.
Now Gorefang hunters are closing in. The ancient weapon beneath the ruins is waking. And Calla's heat is burning through every defense she's built.
Thokk doesn't wait. He kills his way through enemy patrols, survives her traps, and claims her against a watchtower wall with enemies still howling at the gates.
She wears his bite. She carries his scent. And the bond between them has awakened a power that could reshape the mountains — or destroy them both.
Calla survived a decade alone. Now she has to decide what's worth more — her independence, or the mate who'd burn down armies to keep her.