The morning started with a most imperial rush to the chamber pot.
Duchess Alexandra of Dreadful Timing was barely on time to throw back the sheets and stagger across the room. The maids, old and new, had learned long ago to knock, wait, and knock again on mornings like this one.
She detested it. The flavor. The powerlessness. The manner in which her whole body repudiated the ideals of chivalrous motherhood with the dignity of a tipsy hedgehog.
A discreet cough issued from the doorway.
"My lady?" It was Lora, the younger servant. Soft. Unpretentious. Excessively attached to ginger biscuits and keeping her slippers inside out. "Should I… make the tea again?"
"Don't you dare bring me that demon water," Alexandra growled from the floor. "If I get a whiff of lemon and mint one more time, I'll scream so loudly the baby will be born premature out of spite."
"Got it."
There was a lengthy silence.
Then: "Would you rather have the raspberry leaf mixture the apothecary recommended? The one with. bark?"
Alexandra raised her head grudgingly. "Tree bark? Are we advancing to chewing sticks now?"
Cassian selected that inopportune time to enter.
He froze in the doorway, regarding the duchess lying dramatically on the marble floor like a fainting opera ghost, her hair disheveled, eyes red, and one hand holding a half-battered lemon bun like a dagger.
".You're radiant," he noted tactfully.
She hurled the bun at him.
He caught it.
"I'm dying," she announced. "This child is killing me. Maybe because it heard about the prophecy. Or because it hates being born of two stunted nobles in a tower of secrets."
Cassian blinked. "That's… curiously specific."
Lora coughed again. "Shall I bring in the shady apothecary again, Your Grace?"
"You have a shady apothecary?" Cassian asked.
Alexandra shot him a glance. "How do you think I'm getting by, then? She feeds me crushed herbs, mild medication, and dubious advice on living. She may also be wanted in two kingdoms."
Cassian gazed. "I'm starting to fear I've built a monster."
"She calls herself a 'resourceful pregnant woman.'
He moved to help her up. She allowed it, mostly because she had no strength to fight—and because his hands were warm and steady, and she was tired of fighting everything alone.
"Next time," she muttered into his shoulder, "I expect a royal parade, six blessing ceremonies, and a contract from the gods promising a nausea-free pregnancy."
Cassian, mouth twitching, replied, "I'll talk to the pantheon."