Seven months.
Elysia could barely believe it.
Each morning, the weight of her child was a little heavier. Her balance had shifted, her steps slower, her breath shorter.
And yet, somehow, she didn't feel weaker—just… transformed. Changed in quiet, invisible ways.
The kind of change that only became real when she looked down and saw her belly rising beneath her gown, felt the flutter of a tiny foot against her ribs, or caught Malvoria watching her like she was the sun and moon wrapped in one fragile body.
But today?
Today was anything but quiet.
She had barely made it down the hallway without someone attempting to fuss over her posture, fetch her a cushion, or whisper news of some minor incident, before a formal herald had burst into the corridor.
"A celestial delegation has arrived!" he'd announced with far too much enthusiasm for someone who clearly hadn't been awake half the night with an aching spine and a child doing pirouettes in her womb.
