The estate made its decision swiftly and in quiet unity: no announcement would be made about the pregnancy until after the wedding.
It wasn't up for debate.
To speak too soon would be to paint a target on Elena's back, and worse—on the unborn child's. The Church's power loomed like a vulture, watching for any sign of vulnerability. Even whispers could become nooses in this age.
Instead, the household became a well-oiled, secretive machine. Aurora. Cheri. The Behike. Elena. Together, they moved like shadows through the halls, preparing a wedding at near-impossible speed.
The private chapel on the estate grounds—barely touched since Seamus's uncle Niegal passed—was swept, blessed, polished, and repurposed for what would be one of the most significant political and spiritual unions in decades.
Tradition dictated that a priest of the Church be invited to officiate.
But this would be a Muerte Juju ceremony.
And that changed everything.
Though similar in structure, Muerte Juju weddings held deeper ancestral weight. The officiant was not some distant, power-hungry cleric, but rather a matriarchal figure of spiritual and emotional significance. There had never been a question about who that would be.
Lady Aurora Matteo.
She took the task with poise and fire, as only she could.
Invitations were withdrawn and redelivered. Nobility of the surrounding territories, merchant guild leaders, the Governor himself—elected to Parliament by popular vote, including commoners—all were re-invited to a far more intimate and secretive affair. The only ones not informed?
The Church.
And that was deliberate.
Seamus, ever the perfectionist, inserted himself into the planning whenever possible—especially when it came to the layout, seating arrangements, and the decor. "It must be perfect," he insisted, multiple times, despite being up to his neck in political meetings. He was vain, but Elena found herself comforted by his attention to detail. It was his way of showing love.
But the night before the wedding, Elena fell ill.
Her morning sickness had worsened, her small bump only just beginning to show beneath her corsets and dresses. The room spun. Her body, overwhelmed with nerves and exhaustion, refused to cooperate.
Lady Aurora swept in like a storm of silk and steel. "You rest. That's all I'll allow from you tonight," she said sternly, brushing the damp curls from Elena's brow and pulling the velvet blankets up to her chin.
Elena whispered a tired, "Thank you," as she drifted in and out of sleep.
But even as her body slowed, her mind spun with fear.
Why does everything feel so wrong?
She prayed silently to the Saintess, wrapping her hands over her belly. A desperate plea: Please… protect us.
That's when the door burst open.
"My ladies! We must hide—especially you, Lady Elena!"
Cheri's panicked voice tore through the room like a sword. The younger woman stood at the door, breathless and pale, her skirts tangled from running.
"Cheri, slow down, dear!" Aurora rushed to the girl, guiding her toward the hearth, her voice calm despite the urgency rising in her chest.
"There's no time!" Cheri choked out, shaking her head. "The Inquisition is here. They're at the gate. They're asking for Lady Elena by name!"
The room fell into instant silence.
Elena sat upright with a groan, her stomach churning from both nausea and dread. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
"Where is Seamus?" she asked hoarsely, eyes wide.
Aurora's face twisted with rage. "He's at a Parliament meeting with the Governor. Blast it all!"
Elena slid out of bed, teeth clenched, slipping her bare feet into the boots beside her bed.
"Cheri," she commanded, her voice calm but shaking, "find Kenneth. Tell him we're heading to the alcove—we must make haste—"
But it was already too late.
The door flew open, slammed against the wall.