The physician's words lingered in the air. Tirian stood motionless, his thoughts struggling to catch up. "A child…?" he repeated under his breath, as if the words themselves might change if he said them again.
His heart pounded—too fast, too uneven—caught somewhere between something bright and something far more uncertain.
He looked back at the physician, still trying to ground himself.
"Wait… she's with child?" His voice steadied slightly. "Then what about her nightmares?" Is she safe? "Can she endure this… ?"
The physician offered a calm, reassuring smile. "Yes, Your Majesty. The nightmares should ease as her memory returns. It is unusual to forget a prophecy entirely, but the dreams suggest she is recalling it gradually—which is a good sign."
He paused briefly before adding, "And both the queen and the child appear perfectly healthy."
Relief hit Tirian almost instantly. His gaze shifted back to Orielle. She had pushed herself upright on the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, knuckles pale. But she wasn't looking at him.
There was something on her face. Guilt.
It twisted sharply in his chest. If she knew… Why didn't she tell me? "Orielle?" he asked, his voice softer now as he stepped back into the room. "did you... know?"
She hesitated before speaking, her voice quiet—but steady. "I… I mean, it makes sense," she admitted. "I knew there was a chance."
Her fingers tightened slightly. "I started remembering a few things from the prophecy...and well, I saw something that implied it..." A faint flush crept into her cheeks as she added, almost reluctantly, "And I've missed three of my monthly cycles."
Tirian nodded automatically. "I see…"
Then paused. His brow furrowed. "…Wait." He looked at her again, confusion settling in. "Your… what?"
Orielle blinked, a mixture of confession and embarrassment crossing her face. "My monthly cycle?," she repeated, a little more cautiously.
Tirian's frown deepened. "What cycle?" he asked, genuinely puzzled. "Is this… some kind of seasonal thing?"
She let out a surprised half-laugh, half-groan, dragging a hand down her face. "No, Tirian—gods, no. It's…" She hesitated, clearly regretting this already. "How do I even explain this…?"
She shifted slightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Every month, if a woman doesn't conceive… her body…" she gestured vaguely, searching for the least mortifying wording, "…well, it sort of cleans itself out."
Tirian blinked. "…Cleans itself… out?"
"Yes," she said, her face reddening further—though she did her best to remain composed.
He leaned in slightly, trying to follow. "But… I've seen you bathe more than once a month," he said slowly. "And you always smell fine, so I don't—"
Orielle groaned and covered her face. "With blood, Tirian!"
There was a beat of silence.
His expression shifted instantly. To pure horror. "…Blood?" he repeated. Then, louder— "You bathe in blood!? Why would you—whose blood is it!? Since when have you been do-"
"No!" she snapped, dropping her hands, completely exasperated now. "It comes out of me!"
He froze. "…Out?" His voice pitched upward, disbelief written plainly across his face. "Every month?"
She nodded, trying—failing—to keep a straight face now. "Yes. Every month."
He stared at her like she had just revealed something utterly impossible. "How are you not bleeding out?" he demanded.
"It's not like that!" she insisted, though laughter was clearly fighting its way through her embarrassment.
"For how long?" he pressed, as if trying to calculate the limits of human survival.
"A few days," she admitted, biting her lip.
Tirian's mouth slowly fell open. "Is there any… pain?"
Orielle smiled faintly this time. "Sometimes," she said. "But you get used to it."
That didn't help. His expression didn't change. "And you just… continue as if nothing's wrong?" he asked, still trying to process it.
She gave him a look. "Well, we can't exactly take a week off from existing." A small laugh slipped out despite herself.
Tirian moved closer to the bed, rubbing his temple before letting himself fall onto the bed, beside her with a quiet thud. This is madness… "Are you certain this is… normal?" he asked, turning his head slightly.
His gaze shifted toward the physician. The man, to his credit, was doing a very poor job of hiding his amusement. Still, he nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. Entirely normal."
Tirian stared at him in stunned silence. Then back at Orielle. Then back at the physician. Completely unconvinced.
Orielle let out a soft giggle, the last traces of her embarrassment beginning to fade. "Welcome to the realities of womanhood."
Tirian shook his head slowly, still staring at her as if she had just described something impossible. "You're certain you're not dying when that happens?" he asked, eyes wide with genuine concern.
"Positive," she said, her grin widening.
He leaned back slightly, exhaling in disbelief. "Gods… women are terrifying," he muttered, though there was a hint of awe beneath it.
Orielle's eyes sparkled with mischief. "And yet," she teased, "you survived one long enough to make a child."
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I didn't realize…" he muttered, still trying to recover—before something else struck him.
He paused. Then looked at her again, more seriously this time. "Wait… does that mean you see more blood than me?" A crease formed between his brows, concern slipping back in.
Orielle blinked—then laughed, the tension breaking completely. "Of course not," she said. "It's not actually that much that comes out at a time, it only seems so because it carries on for a few days."
Tirian let out a quiet breath, relief softening his features. Thank the gods…
The moment settled and something quieter took its place. His gaze lingered on her now, thoughtful. "Orielle…" he said gently. "May I ask you something?"
Her smile softened, her laughter fading as she met his eyes. "Of course."
He hesitated—just for a second. "Do you… want this child?" Can I really hope for something like this…?
She didn't hesitate. "Yes," she said, her voice certain. "I do!" A small breath followed, her gaze dropping briefly as her fingers traced the edge of the blanket.
"When I started remembering what I saw in the basin…" she admitted softly, "I was excited. But I didn't know if it was something real… or just something far in the future."
A faint blush touched her cheeks as she looked back up at him. "And… it's a beautiful thought that the baby would be half you and half me."
Her voice warmed, something almost shy but full of wonder. "We made a life together." A small smile formed. "What better way is there to share a life than that?"
Tirian didn't respond right away. He simply looked at her. As if seeing her differently now. Half me… half her… A life we created… Something in his chest shifted. "Then…" he said slowly, almost cautiously, "can I be happy about it?"
Her brows drew together slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I've never thought about having children," he admitted. "I never thought it was something meant for me."
His voice softened, more vulnerable now. "But knowing it's… ours…" His gaze held hers "Half you. Half me." A faint, uncertain smile touched his lips. "I think I want that." A breath. "I think… that would make me happy."
Tears welled in Orielle's eyes, spilling over before she could stop them—but she was smiling. "Then let's be happy," she whispered.
Tirian reached for her without hesitation, pulling her into a firm, steady embrace. A child… Our child…
"I'll…" he started, a hint of humor returning to his voice, "try to learn more about these 'cycles,' I suppose."
Orielle pulled back slightly, laughing through her tears as she wiped them away. "Please don't," she said quickly. "You looked pale enough already, darling."
He laughed. "Good," he muttered. "Because I don't think I could survive knowing much more."
One month later.
The afternoon sun poured softly through the chamber windows, bathing the room in warm gold.
Orielle lounged across the couch, a book in one hand and a half-eaten tart in the other. Flakes of pastry crumbled with every bite, scattering across her lap like tiny golden petals, some catching against the slight curve of her belly, still small, but no longer unnoticeable.
Across the room, Tirian glanced up from the map he had been unsuccessfully trying to focus on.
A quiet chuckle escaped him. "You're terribly messy," he said, rising from his chair and crossing the room.
He leaned against the arm of the couch, reaching out to brush a bit of sugar from her cheek with his thumb, his touch light, almost absentminded. What a sight…
Orielle pouted, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. "It's the baby's fault."
"Oh?" Tirian raised a brow, clearly entertained.
"Yes," she said with full confidence. "The baby likes tarts... obviously." "And tarts," she added, gesturing vaguely at the crumbs, "are messy."
He huffed a quiet laugh and knelt beside her. "Ah of course... And we only want the best for our little crumb hmm?" Crumbs clung stubbornly to the fabric of her dress, and he began brushing them away—only to pause, pick one up, and pop it into his mouth with exaggerated thoughtfulness.
"…Not bad."
Orielle stared at him in disbelief. "That's disgusting."
"Is it not romantic?" he asked, glancing up at her with a grin.
"Not even a little," she shot back, turning a page in her book with unnecessary emphasis.
He only smiled, watching her for a moment longer than needed as she tried to focus—her pout lingering, though softer now. "You're reading the wrong books if you that is romantic…" she muttered under her breath.
Then her gaze flickered toward him again, something more curious creeping in. "…Have you ever thought I was interesting?" she asked, trying—and failing—to sound casual.
Tirian frowned slightly, caught off guard. "Interesting?" he repeated.
She lowered the book to her chest, watching him carefully now. "I mean… when we first met," she clarified. "Did you ever think—'she's different' or 'strange'… and that's what drew you to me?"
There was a pause. Tirian tilted his head slightly, actually considering it. She's always been more than I expected…
The silence stretched longer than she liked. Orielle shifted, already regretting asking. "Is it really that hard to answ—"
"Well," he said, cutting in thoughtfully, "I would be lying if I said you were normal."
Her mouth dropped open. She sat up slightly, scandalized. "I'd be lying if I said you were normal," she muttered, snatching her book back up and glaring at the page.
He didn't seem to notice the offense. "I meant it as a compliment," he said simply, returning to his chair. "You're anything but ordinary."
Orielle peeked over the edge of her book, pretending not to listen.
He continued, still focused on the map in front of him. "Though I wouldn't say that's what drew me to you…"
That caught her attention. Her eyes flicked up again.
"It was…" he paused briefly, searching for the right words, "…the way you speak to me or act towards me."
She blinked.
He leaned back slightly, thoughtful now. "You have this way of saying things bold, unfiltered without even realizing it," he continued. "You put me in positions that catch me off guard… without trying to."
A faint smile touched his lips. "And somehow, you manage to do it with complete innocence."
Orielle's expression shifted—caught between confusion and embarrassment. "You just… why are you so clueless and good at being romantic?... such a paradox..." she muttered, dropping her gaze back to her book with a small huff.
Tirian only smiled faintly, returning his attention to the map, unbothered.
A quiet moment passed. Then suddenly. Orielle's head snapped up. "Wait." She pushed herself more upright, eyes narrowing slightly. "Did you… just give our child a nickname?"
Tirian glanced up, confused. "Hm?"
"You said little crumb," she pointed out, her expression already beginning to brighten.
He paused, thinking back. "…Ah. Yes," he said simply. "If you don't like it, we can—"
"No!" she cut in quickly, her face lighting up completely. "I like it," she said, softer now, something warm settling into her voice. "It feels right." Her hand moved instinctively to her stomach, resting there gently.
"Our little crumb…" A small, quiet giggle escaped her.
Tirian watched her, something in his expression softening in a way he didn't quite notice himself.
"I suppose," she added, glancing up at him with a teasing smile, "it's that cluelessness that drew me to you… " She giggled, more to herself, settling back into the coach to continue reading her book.