A Husband for Deva

Finery for Midwinter

All through the evening meal, Deva struggled with the urge to look for Jenia. Has she said anything to anyone? Is she still planning to hurt me somehow? But since the royal family sat at the high table on the dais, and the ladies' side of the table faced the great tapestry on the back wall, any squirming or over-shoulder looks risked drawing the attention of her mother beside her. It's foolish to think I'd be able to read anything from a glimpse of that sour face, anyway.

Deva did succeed in dropping a spoon, once, and turned her head to scan the lower tables as she angled herself to lean down and retrieve it without putting pressure on her belly.

"Don't be unwise," said the Queen, gesturing for an attendant to bring another spoon. "You shouldn't bend over like that; it isn't good for the baby. Do keep in mind that he'll be heir to the Ilujavit throne until Hal and Ashlen are blessed, so some care is in order." This drew fatuous smiles from the aunts and uncles down the table, and some sharp looks from cousins in the line of succession.

"Yes, Mother." No good would come of disagreeing, so Deva pasted on a compliant expression. They're all obsessed with heirs, so sure this baby is male. I wish... Then she saw the not-quite-masked pain on Ashlen's face, and the resigned patience on Hal's. No. I don't wish for that. She rubbed her belly, grateful for the baby's answering kick and squirm.

Brialach's wry grin told her he was thinking something similar. For all that the baby was unexpected, it was a gift. They'd never have to face curious stares at a too-flat belly. No one would whisper that they must be cursed for the Lord of Light to withhold his blessing. If the baby was a girl, they'd just... try again. The warmth in his eyes – was he thinking of that too? – made her skin tingle as though he'd touched her, right across the dining table.

"... for Midwinter, my dear?" The Queen's words broke in on her thoughts, and she realized that they were all looking expectantly at her, while she hadn't the faintest idea of what she'd just been asked. Something about Midwinter? Mother doesn't like it when we don't listen.

Ashlen saved her. "Aren't you lucky that your mother saved her Midwinter smock and maternity skirts all these years, caila! There's no doubt you'll want to wear them!"

"Oh. Yes. That would be lovely. Thank you."

The Queen inclined her head in gracious acknowledgement. "I'll have Bekra bring them up for you to try on tomorrow morning."

And that was the other benefit of bearing a potential heir to the throne: a measure of safety. No matter what Jenia might dream up to make trouble, Deva was established as the favored royal daughter now – married, her blessed state legitimized. She looked up and down the top table, where those who claimed even the least drop of royal blood must sit. My kin. What chance could Jenia have, against that?

                         ♥     ♥     ♥

In the morning, the usual smell of chocolate and pastries woke Deva; her stomach gurgled in anticipation, and she sleepily gathered the blankets around herself to muffle the sound. It's ridiculous to be so hungry all the time.

Ordinarily Bekra carried the morning tray, with Jaiad behind her hauling the copper hot water can. But this time, Jaiad had come into the suite alone, with the tray balanced on one hand and the steaming can gripped in the other. Setting his burdens down, he knelt at the hearth to light the fire. "Where's Bekra?" Deva asked, struggling to sit up in the bed, just as the lady-in-waiting edged her way through the door, arms laden with linen-wrapped bundles.

"It's your finery for Midwinter, Princess Deva," Bekra said. "From Her Majesty's memory chest. I'm told you're to try it on this morning – had you forgotten?"