Chapter 91: Esperanza

The tent was quiet, the kind of sacred silence that only came after a storm.

Its walls were canvas, but the flooring had been reinforced with smooth wood planks. One wall—solid stone—had been hauled piece by piece from the desert crags, sun-worn and ancient. It smelled of sage and wind.

Within the dim cocoon of this simple refuge, Niegal and Elena lay side by side, curled inward like two halves of a prayer.

One of his hands cupped her cheek, the other rested gently on her swollen belly. Elena mirrored him, fingertips tracing the lines of his face, her own hand splayed protectively over her womb. Between them, the child stirred beneath their touch—kicking softly, a flutter like wings beneath skin.

Their eyes met. Soft. Exhausted. Grateful.

They whispered.

Not about war. Not about survival.

But about the ridiculous herd of goats they'd seen on the road, and how one had tried to scale a vendor's cart for dried fruit. How Elena had laughed so hard she cried, how her belly had jumped with each hiccup of breath.

They talked about the awful inn food, the kind that made your soul question your taste in life partners. They'd shared a single roasted yuca and called it a "culinary war crime."

And they laughed about the time Elena, sensing danger in the bushes, had let off a pulse of magic that evaporated the entire shrub, only to find it had been a frightened lizard rustling the leaves.

She blushed recalling it. Niegal had nearly doubled over from laughing; and that had hurt, given his ribs.

But now?

Now they were here.

They kissed over and over again. Slowly. Tenderly. Like the world hadn't allowed them this before.

It was the first time they'd been alone in a room since, well, the before times. Before the war. Before the camps. Before the chase across half the kingdom.

Niegal's lips brushed hers once more. She sighed into him, their foreheads touching.

And then, finally, just as sleep threatened to carry them into a quiet, dreamless dark…

"Esperanza," Elena murmured.

His eyes opened slowly. "That's the one?"

She nodded. "If she's a girl. I think she is."

He repeated it softly, like a blessing.

"Esperanza… Our little Hope."

Wrapped in one another, light spilling in gently through the flap of the tent, they let sleep take them. Safe, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.