The privy council of Swynden did not like being summoned, especially this late at night.

  That much was obvious in the way they sat stiffly in their high-backed chairs, their expressions ranging from irritation to open disdain. They were nobles and advisors, powerful figures who resented being called to an emergency meeting by a group of outsiders. At the head of the chamber, Adela Rummi and Onesta Geurla sat side by side, both equally reluctant but unable to ignore the situation that had been thrust upon them.

  The heavy doors swung open.

  Annemarie, Brandon, Melissa, Brenna, and Callista strode into the room, moving with sharp, deliberate purpose. The hush that followed their entrance was palpable, the tension thickening as they made their way to the center of the chamber.

  Then, with a dramatic flourish, Callista dropped the body.

  It hit the marble floor with a sickening thud. Gasps rippled through the assembled council members.

  She stepped forward smoothly as Annemarie dropped the stack of documents in front of Onesta and Adela. “Raziel Kaelor,” she said, voice cold and unyielding. “Council member of Lashaar. Infiltrator. Traitor.”

  Murmurs swept through the chamber, some shocked, some disbelieving.

  Onesta, ever the practical one, pinched the bridge of her nose. “Explain.”

  Brandon crossed his arms, eyes sharp. “He broke into the palace. He attacked one of our own.”

  Adela arched a brow, unimpressed. “And why, exactly, would a Lashaari noble do something so reckless?”

  Brenna stepped forward, flipping open one of the letters. “Because he wasn’t just a noble. He was working with Evadne Sharmure.”

  The murmurs grew louder. Some council members exchanged glances, uncertain, while others openly scoffed.

  Melissa rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, really? We have letters, actual documents with his name on them, and you’re still gonna act surprised?”

  Adela’s lip curled. “Do you have proof that this is Raziel Kaelor?”

  Callista’s eyes darkened. “Lady Sharmure does.”

  The tension in the room shifted. For the first time, uncertainty flickered across Adela’s face.

  Before anyone could say more, the doors at the far end of the chamber swung open again.

  Evadne Sharmure entered with the grace of a woman who already knew what had happened. She moved through the room with effortless poise, her black hair sleek against her shoulders, her expression unreadable but calm. “Now, now,” she murmured, coming to a stop near the edge of the council table. “Such accusations. And here I thought we were getting along.”

  Callista’s jaw tightened. “We know about Lashaar. We know about Lord Kaelor. We know everything.”

  Evadne tilted her head, smiling faintly. “Do you?” She took a slow step forward, then turned her gaze toward Annemarie. “And you,” she said smoothly. “Are you truly willing to declare war like this? In your condition?”

  Annemarie’s stomach dropped. A cold, sharp dread curled through her gut as her thoughts whirled, recalling dates, making calculations. “My condition?”

  Evadne blinked, all delicate innocence. “Oh, dear. You... didn’t know?”

  The entire room went silent.

  Melissa frowned. “Know what?”

  Evadne’s lips curled just slightly. “That Annemarie is pregnant.”

  Annemarie felt the air leave her lungs. Her heart pounded in her chest, a sickening, dizzying weight pressing against her ribs. No. No, she was just stressed. The bond, the Curse, everything they had been through— her body was out of sync, not this.

  She wasn’t—

  Brandon made a strangled sound beside her, his entire body going rigid.

  Annemarie barely registered the shock on Melissa’s face, the flicker of concern in Callista’s eyes, the way Brenna straightened as if bracing for an impact.

  Her own voice sounded distant when she finally managed to speak. “...You’re lying.”

  Evadne’s smile was almost gentle. “Am I?”

  Annemarie felt like the floor was tilting beneath her.

  Brandon took a slow, shaky step toward her. “Anne.”

  She couldn’t even look at him.

  Evadne sighed, as though truly regretful, then straightened. “Regardless, I see now that my presence and activities here have... complicated things.” She turned to Adela and Onesta, her voice carrying over the still-stunned chamber. “And so, in the interest of peace, I will take my leave.”

  Callista’s head snapped up. “You—”

  But she felt it before she could finish.

  The shift.

  It wasn’t a spell she could see. It wasn’t something tangible.

  It was inside her.

  Inside everyone.

  Callista’s breath caught as her thoughts blurred for a second, as something pressed against the edges of her mind. Not a command. A suggestion. A gentle push.

  And suddenly, leaving seemed like the most reasonable thing Evadne could do.

  Callista clenched her fists, fighting it, but the understanding was already there— of course Evadne should leave. Of course, it made sense. Of course, there was no reason to stop her.

  Brandon, still shaken, barely reacted.

  Brenna, her expression frozen, remained silent.

  Melissa opened her mouth, but the words never came.

  And Annemarie— Annemarie, whose heart was still pounding, whose entire world had just shifted— was far too overwhelmed to even think to stop her.

  Evadne gave them all a knowing look. Then she turned smoothly, walking toward the doors with slow, unhurried steps.

  Just before she left, she glanced back over her shoulder. And then, as if it was the most casual thing in the world— “Congratulations, Annemarie,” she murmured. “The baby’s soul is a strong one.”

  The doors closed behind her, and the spell broke.

  Callista gasped as her thoughts snapped back into place, as the pressure in her skull lifted.

  Brandon’s entire body jerked, his breath shuddering out of him as if waking from a dream.

  Melissa staggered, shaking her head furiously. “What the fuck—”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Brenna cursed under her breath, shoving a hand through her hair. “She did something—”

  Annemarie ran for the door, hand covering her mouth. Brandon followed her with a final glance toward the chaos.

  Callista barely heard them. She turned, snapping toward Adela and Onesta— only to freeze. Because they were calm. No anger, no outrage. Just... acceptance.

  Evadne had manipulated them, too.

  Callista’s stomach twisted with something cold and sharp. Evadne knew. She had played them from the start, and now, she was gone.

  Annemarie retched into a potted plant, barely noticing as Brandon gathered her hair and held it to the side.

  “Anne,” he said, reaching for her arm as she stood and wiped her mouth. “Anne, we need to talk.”

  Annemarie pulled away, shaking her head. “Not now.”

  His grip faltered, his face a storm of emotions— shock, fear, frustration— but he didn’t try to stop her. “You can’t just ignore this.”

  “I won’t,” she said, voice sharp. “I just—” She swallowed. “I need time.”

  Brandon’s jaw tensed, but he nodded and stepped back.

  The gardens of the palace of Swynden were quiet this late in the evening, and the hedge maze at the center of them were quieter still. It wasn’t well-kept— overgrown in places, wild roses creeping through the tangled paths— but that suited Annemarie just fine. She needed the silence, the space.

  She was surprised to find Julia sitting at the center, her back to a weathered stone bench, one knee drawn up to her chest.

  Annemarie stopped a few feet away. “Didn’t think you’d be here.”

  Julia didn’t move. “Didn’t think you’d look.”

  A breeze moved through the maze, rustling the leaves, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant smoke.

  Annemarie exhaled, then sat down on the bench beside her. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

  “He told me how my father died,” Julia murmured, voice thin and stretched.

  Annemarie’s breath stilled.

  Julia’s fingers curled against her knee. “He described it like it was entertainment. Every cut. Every scream. Like it was art.” She swallowed hard, eyes dark and unreadable. “He wanted to see how I’d react.”

  Annemarie’s jaw clenched. “And Melissa killed him before he could tell you anything useful.”

  Julia exhaled. “Yeah. She did.”

  Silence stretched between them again.

  Then Annemarie leaned back, staring up at the dim, cloud-choked sky. “We announced his death.”

  Julia turned her head slightly. “What?”

  “His name was Raziel Kaelor. He was on the Council of Lashaar.” Annemarie forced herself to breathe evenly. “And he was working with Evadne.”

  Julia straightened. “He what?”

  Annemarie let out a hollow laugh. “It didn’t matter. She played us. She controlled our emotions— all of us. A dozen people, minimum, at the same time. And then she just... walked away.”

  Julia swore softly under her breath.

  Annemarie hesitated. Her thoughts spun again, skirting around the other thing she hadn’t said.

  Julia caught the shift immediately. “I run off once and you start a war. What else?”

  Annemarie inhaled, slow and steady. Then, before she could second-guess herself— “I’m pregnant.”

  Julia went completely still. “Oh.” Her voice was quiet, careful. Not panicked. Not excited. Just measured.

  Annemarie kept her gaze fixed on the sky. “I didn’t know.” She exhaled sharply. “Not for sure. I thought my body was just out of sync. The bond, the Curse— there was always a reason. I didn’t think—” She trailed off.

  Julia still didn’t speak.

  Annemarie clenched her hands in her lap. “I wanted to be a mother.” Her voice wavered slightly, just for a moment. “But not now. Not like this.”

  A beat.

  “You know things.” It wasn’t a question.

  Annemarie closed her eyes. “Yeah.” She had known from the moment Evadne had spoken the words. The moment her mind had caught up with the reality of it.

  Her daughter would be powerful. A force to be reckoned with, politically and magically. She would survive. She would thrive. No matter what happened to Annemarie and Brandon.

  And Annemarie was glad for it. She truly was. But she had not expected to have to deal with this now.

  Julia was still quiet. Then— softly, carefully— “Are you okay?”

  Annemarie laughed. Short, bitter. “No, I am not the fuck okay.”

  Julia nodded once. “Okay.”

  Annemarie exhaled slowly, rubbing her hands over her face. “Brandon doesn’t even know what to say. I barely know what to think. And—”

  Movement. A shadow at the edge of the clearing.

  Annemarie stiffened, instincts screaming just before masked figures burst from the hedges.

  Julia moved first, a blade already in her hand as she twisted, dodging a strike and slamming her knife into the nearest attacker’s ribs. “Evadne,” she spat.

  Annemarie turned, magic crackling to life at her fingertips— raw, furious power that exploded outward. The ground shook as she lashed out, sending one of them flying into the hedge wall, his body hitting the stone path with a sickening crunch.

  Another figure lunged. Annemarie snapped her fingers and fire roared to life, engulfing the assassin in a blast of heat.

  Julia dodged low, spun, drove another knife through soft flesh.

  It was over in seconds. The masked figures lay sprawled in the dirt, unmoving.

  Annemarie was breathing hard, magic still coiled around her fingers, her pulse a roar in her ears. She turned, fists clenched, and spat, “This is exactly why pregnancy is a bad idea right now.”

  Julia let out a breath, surveying the bodies. “Is the fetus okay?”

  Annemarie froze. She turned toward Julia, who was wiping her blades clean with steady hands, her expression unreadable.

  “Because if the fetus is okay,” Julia continued, voice even, “and you’re okay, then that’s what matters.”

  Annemarie inhaled slowly. The magic in her veins began to settle. “She’s fine,” she said at last.

  Julia nodded once. “Good.”

  The words were simple. The weight behind them was not.

  Annemarie exhaled, tension slowly unwinding from her shoulders.

  They stood in the ruined maze, bodies cooling at their feet, blood seeping into the dirt. And, for the first time since she’d learned the truth, Annemarie didn’t feel entirely alone.

  Brandon hadn’t stopped thinking since Annemarie had left.

  He’d sat in their chambers, his thoughts an endless, tangled mess, replaying the night over and over. The weight of everything— the court, the Curse, Evadne— had been suffocating, but this... this was something else entirely.

  The door creaked open.

  Annemarie stepped inside. She was still covered in the dust of the gardens, her clothes slightly disheveled, a streak of blood smeared along her forearm. There was tension in the line of her shoulders, exhaustion dragging at her, but her eyes— God, her eyes— held something raw, something too heavy for words.

  She closed the door behind her and leaned against it. “It’s a girl.”

  Brandon inhaled sharply. For a long moment, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. The words hung between them, fragile and real in a way that nothing else had been since this nightmare had started.

  A girl.

  A daughter.

  His voice was hoarse when he finally managed, “You’re sure?”

  Annemarie let out a shaky breath, rubbing at her temples. “Yeah.” She pushed off the door, moving to the center of the room before stopping again, as if she didn’t know what to do with herself. She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “I—I know things, Bran.”

  Brandon nodded slowly, standing. “I know.”

  She let out a hollow laugh. “It was one thing when it was just a possibility. But now that I know, now that I feel her—” Her breath hitched. “It’s real.”

  Brandon stepped toward her, but she wasn’t done.

  “She’s going to be powerful,” Annemarie continued, her voice almost frantic now. “Politically, magically— she’s going to survive. She’s going to have a happy life.” Her hands clenched at her sides. “No matter what happens to us.”

  Brandon’s chest ached.

  Her voice cracked on the last word.

  And then— without warning— she burst into tears.

  Brandon reached for her without thinking, wrapping her in his arms. She clung to him, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt as sobs wracked through her. “I’m scared, Bran,” she choked out. “I’m so fucking scared.”

  Brandon pressed his face into her hair, his own breath shuddering. “I know.” His voice wavered. He hadn’t let himself feel it, hadn’t let the fear in. But hearing her say it— he felt his own eyes burn, his throat tighten, the weight of the unknown finally breaking him. “I’m scared, too,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

  She gripped him tighter.

  They stood like that for what felt like forever, clinging to each other as if letting go would mean losing everything.

  Eventually, Annemarie pulled back just enough to cup his face in her hands, her fingers cool against his flushed skin. Her eyes were still red, still glistening with unshed tears, but her voice was steady when she spoke. “We’re going to figure it out.”

  Brandon swallowed hard.

  “We’re going to survive this,” she continued, her grip firm, grounding. “We’re going

  to go back to Ismay’s Landing. We’re going to raise our daughter.” Her breath hitched, but she pushed through it. “And everything will be alright.”

  Brandon exhaled shakily. “Is that...?” He swallowed. “Is that the future you see?”

  A silence stretched between them.

  Annemarie didn’t answer.

  Brandon felt his stomach drop, his breath catch. But she only pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes.

  And he held her tighter.