The silence didn't last long.
Elysia had barely managed to whisper that she was going to be sick before the maids descended upon her like an emotional tidal wave wrapped in lace and squeals.
"You're pregnant!" Tilda cried, grabbing her hands and bouncing slightly. "You're really pregnant! With a baby!"
"I—yes—I guess I am—" Elysia stammered.
"Oh my stars!" Arna exclaimed, fanning herself with a silk napkin. "A royal heir! A little one with your eyes and Malvoria's glare!"
"I'm going to throw up," Elysia whispered again, eyes wide, still clutching the glowing crystal like it might vanish if she blinked.
She wasn't ready for this.
Not emotionally. Not existentially. She'd just wanted a tart and some scandalous tea gossip.
Now she had a glowing magical stick confirming that her womb was the battleground for the next phase of diplomatic history.
She stumbled backward, sitting down hard on the edge of her bed, the test still in her hand.
