I sat by the fireplace in the reception room, nervously toying with a loose thread on my sleeve. The clock had just struck midnight, and Alaric still hadn't returned. The crackling fire provided little comfort as worry gnawed at me.
"Your Grace, you really should rest," Alistair said gently, entering the room with a cup of warm milk. "This isn't good for you or the baby."
I accepted the cup with a grateful smile. "I know, Alistair. But how can I sleep when Alaric is out there dealing with that monster Fairchild?"
Alistair sighed and took a seat across from me. "His Grace is more than capable of handling himself. He's faced far more dangerous situations."
"That doesn't make me worry any less," I replied, sipping the milk. "Besides, you're still awake too."
"It's my duty to wait for His Grace," Alistair said simply.
I placed a protective hand over my barely-showing stomach. "Do you think Alaric will be a good father?"
