Mira turned. "Military?"
"It does not feel like they are here for a diplomatic gesture," Olivia said, her hand finding her belly. She rubbed it — the same unconscious gesture Mira had made. The women were all doing it. Touching the life inside them, seeking comfort from the children of a man who wasn't there to protect them. "It is more like a small territorial dispute."
Mira's blood went cold.
"Is civil war going to start by engulfing our territory?" she asked.
The question wasn't rhetorical. The political landscape of the region was unstable — weaker territories were being absorbed by stronger ones, border disputes were escalating, and Millbrook sat on the edge of everything. Rich. Resource-heavy. Defended by a dungeon that attracted adventurers like flies to honey. And its lord was absent.
Before anyone could answer, a boy entered the room. Young — eleven, maybe twelve. Black hair, green eyes. Mira's son. He was breathing hard, his face flushed from running.
