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, beef soup and milk lay untouched.
It had been five months since she was coronated.
Pregnancy was harder than she had imagined, but she was never alone. Everyone fussed over her — maids following her every step, and her mother and Maravelle insisting she rest even when she felt fine.
Bert, her new maid, tried hard to do everything perfectly, while Mira, back in her service, never left her side.
Lara lay back on a pile of cushions, one hand resting protectively on the small but unmistakable swell of her belly. She reached for a fig, then paused halfway and let out a soft groan.
"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."
