The coronation hall had long since quieted. Laughter and music drifted faintly through the stone corridors of Vargorath, muffled by distance and velvet-curtained doorways. But here, in their chambers, the world felt still.
Lara stood by the hearth, her golden coronation gown draped across a nearby chair, replaced by a soft robe of silk that clung to her like moonlight. Her bare feet shifted on the rug, nerves and joy woven into the tremble of her hands.
Thornak leaned against the door, watching her, the Queen of Vargorath now and the woman he loved, the fire and softness of her filling every corner of the room.
"You were beautiful today," he said, his voice low.
Lara glanced at him, shy and radiant. "You've told me that three times already."
"I'll tell you a hundred more."
He crossed to her, reaching for her hand. She let him take it, her fingers cool and small in his calloused palm. He raised it to his lips, kissed her knuckles.
"I've never been prouder of anyone than I am of you, my Queen," he said, his voice low with admiration.
She swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing. "Then take your queen to bed, my king."
Thornak needed no further urging.
Lara wrapped her legs around his waist the moment he lifted her, her breath already unsteady, her skin warm beneath his hands. Her fingers wove into the thick hair at the nape of his neck, tightening as she drew him down into a fierce, breath-stealing kiss.
"I want you, now," she whispered, her voice shaking with need and certainty.
As they tumbled unto the bed, she slid her hand between them, guiding him. The head of him pressed against her warmth, and then she took him in.
He entered her slowly, deeply, until he was fully sheathed inside her. A tremor rippled through her body as she arched beneath him, and the sound she made, a soft broken cry, rattled something loose in his chest. Her head fell back, hair fanned across the pillows like a crown of shadows, her lips parted and trembling.
Thornak watched her face like it was the most sacred thing he'd ever seen. Her brows drew tight in concentration and in pleasure. Her eyes fluttered open, wild and shining, and her hands gripped his back hard, fingers digging in, dragging across his skin like she needed to feel every inch of him.
He began to move, slow at first, deliberate, letting her feel the weight of each thrust. Lara met him eagerly, hips rising to meet his, her breath catching with every push. There was no distance left between them now, only heat, slick skin, and the wild rhythm of two people falling apart together.
She held onto him like he was the only thing anchoring her to the earth, her body rising with him, trembling, eyes locked to his like she was terrified and consumed all at once. He felt her starting to break, the tension rising in her like a tide cresting.
Then she whispered it, soft but fierce, "Don't stop. Don't you dare stop."
And Thornak didn't. He stayed with her, moved with her, until she shattered beneath him, gasping and writhing, her mouth open in a silent scream. And he followed her down, lost in the fierce wonder of her, until the world itself seemed to fade away.
As they lay tangled in each other's arms, Thornak brushed his fingers gently across her stomach.
"I think you're with child," he murmured.
She blinked, startled. "What?"
"A baby," he said with a quiet smile. "A little Thornak." He rested his hand over her belly.
She opened her mouth to speak once, then twice, but no sound came. Her eyes darted from his face to his hand resting warmly on her belly.
"I... how would you even know that?" she finally managed, voice a whisper.
Thornak chuckled low in his chest. "Jax knows. He's been restless around you all day. Protective in a way I can't explain."
Lara swallowed hard, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. "A baby," she repeated, as if tasting the word on her tongue.
He leaned forward, brushing a kiss to her cheek, then her temple. "Our baby," he corrected softly.
She blinked fast, then laughed, half joy, half disbelief. "Goddess above, what will we even name it?"
"Something fierce," Thornak said, grinning.
Lara laughed again, this time fuller, warmer. She curled into his chest, her hand finding his. Together they held the small space between them, already full of something more than just breath and quiet.
Hope. A future. A beginning.
....
The midday sun filtered gently through the tall windows of the palace solarium, casting golden light across the low table where platters of sliced fruit, warm bread, and herb-roasted meats lay untouched. It had been five moons since the coronation.
Lara reclined against a mound of cushions, one hand resting protectively on the small but unmistakable swell of her belly. She reached for a fig, only to stop halfway and groan softly.
"I can't," she said, laughing. "I'm stuffed."
Across from her, Maravelle arched a brow and gracefully slid the fig onto Lara's plate anyway. "You're eating for two now. And you're too skinny."
Lara let out a snort. "You've been saying that for months now."
"Because it's still true," Maravelle replied, folding her hands with mock primness. "You carry a royal heir and eat like a sparrow."
Lara laughed again, light and free. She had never imagined herself here, lounging in the Queen Mother's sunroom, laughing over lunch like old friends. But since the news of her pregnancy, something in Maravelle had softened, cracked open, let light in. They had grown close, exceptionally so.
And as she popped the fig into her mouth with exaggerated defiance, Maravelle gave a rare, fond smile. One that Lara now knew wasn't so rare after all.
The door flew open and in waltzed Iris and Jasmine like they owned the palace, which, according to Iris, they nearly did.
Jasmine sighed, plucking a piece of bread as she sat beside Lara.
Maravelle shot her a look. "You declared Iris the Princess of Rogue Negotiations after she tried to bribe a border scout with cupcakes."
Lara burst out laughing.
"You've all lost your minds."
"And yet you keep inviting us to lunch," Jasmine said, biting into the bread.
Maravelle sighed the sigh of a long-suffering queen mother. "Clearly, I need help."
Iris winked. "We brought cake."
"Cake?" Lara perked up. "Now that I might have room for."
"Of course you do," Maravelle muttered, "but not for the salad I asked the chef to prepare."
Lara gave a sheepish smile, ducking her head slightly.
Iris grinned and revealed a carefully wrapped bundle from behind her back, presenting it like a treasured relic. "Chocolate, with raspberry at its heart. Do not say we never bring you gifts."
Jasmine leaned in with a smirk. "We slipped it past three kitchen sentries and a most disagreeable steward."
Lara laughed, one hand resting on the swell of her belly. "This child already favors sweets and well-placed bribes. A promising future for a ruler, I'd say."
Maravelle sighed, pressing two fingers to her brow. "You will all give the council ulcers."
Iris dropped into her seat beside her. "They've endured wars, ancient curses, and Thornak on a bad morning. A little cake is mercy by comparison."
"Unless it's laced with poison," Jasmine added, neatly carving the first slice.
"Do not tempt me," Maravelle murmured, though her lips twitched with reluctant amusement.
Iris took a slow sip from her goblet, eyes dancing. "You've been looking rather radiant a lot lately, mother. Let me guess… too many late-night strategy meetings with the Starborn King?"
Lara nearly snorted her drink. Jasmine coughed into her napkin.
Maravelle didn't flinch. "Careful, child. I still outrank you."
"Not in romantic diplomacy," Iris said sweetly, swirling her cup. "You've been glowing since King Aurion left. I'm beginning to think he brought more than starlight to Vargorath."
Maravelle gave her a regal stare. "I will pretend I didn't hear that."
Jasmine leaned toward Lara, stage-whispering, "She totally heard it."
Lara was doubled over in laughter by then, her hand on her bump as she tried to catch her breath.
Maravelle merely sighed and reached for the cake. "I need stronger tea."
But as laughter bubbled around her like sunlight on water, and the scent of chocolate drifted through the air, she found herself smiling despite it all. They were loud, unruly, irreverent and hers.
What a maddening, marvelous blessing it was to be surrounded by family who bickered and bantered and barged into her quiet, like a storm of joy.
She was lucky. And she knew it.
And so the sunroom brimmed with soft laughter, the scent of sweet confections, and the clink of silver against porcelain, three generations of women, bound by blood and mischief.