"What? Why?"
Aurora didn't respond at first. She turned and began pacing, her fingers delicately touching her lips in deep thought. The quiet shuffle of her silk skirts and the crackling hearth were the only sounds in the room.
"I… I don't understand," Elena whispered. "Why would I need a—"
"My child…" Aurora turned. "You are with one."
The world seemed to stop.
Elena stared at her. "I'm a what?"
Aurora didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stepped forward again, her movements slow, deliberate, as if afraid of scaring off a bird.
She placed her hand over Elena's abdomen and closed her eyes.
A quiet stillness settled over them. The light in the room dimmed, just slightly, as if the house itself was holding its breath.
And then—
"Yes," Aurora whispered. "I can feel it."
Elena could not move.
The scrolls fell forgotten at her sides. Her teacup sat untouched. Her breathing slowed, then caught in her throat. It felt like something ancient had just shifted inside her.
"I…" she rasped, "I don't know what to do. Or how to react. My lady…"
Aurora's face softened, and without a word, she drew Elena into an embrace.
She wept—quiet, dignified tears that soaked into the curls at Elena's temple. Elena, however, remained still. Her heart raced. Her mind was chaos.
Because somewhere, in the distant corners of her memory, she could hear her mother's cruel laughter echoing like wind through broken rafters.
You'll never be anything. You'll never raise anything. You'll break them the way I broke you.
How can I possibly be a mother, she thought, when I come from such a broken place?
Her arms slowly wrapped around Lady Aurora. She was trembling.
And then, the next thought came.
How in hell are we going to tell Seamus?
They had never spoken of heirs. Never said aloud what kind of family they wanted—if they wanted one at all.
They were still unwed.
But now…
Now there was no hiding from the life blooming inside her.
And no more time to delay.
They would have to move fast before the Church were to find out.