The ice had melted, leaving damp, icy patches on Soren's gloves and an aching void in his heart. As they moved from the magnificent, gold-trimmed halls of the palace to the grand, yet cramped space of the glass palanquin, the strong scent of jasmine hit Soren again. It was the scent he had become most familiar with since arriving in Arboris, the scent of sacrifice.
Soren seated himself in the velvet chair, his body feeling like a lead anchor. The triplets were wriggling around now, perhaps stimulated by the aftereffects of the magic that Lucian had used to create the ice flower, which was now quickly melting. They kicked his ribs with a rhythmic, insistent pressure, forcing him to lean back and leaving him slightly out of breath.
He rubbed his belly, which only made the triplets more active. As a knight commander, he had never imagined that he would be pregnant, let alone with triplets. This was more than he had ever imagined.
