The months passed, and Mariel's condition became more pronounced. Doctors from neighboring regions visited, offering advice and remedies, but Edric preferred the care of trusted midwives and the wisdom passed down from generations of Valemonts. The keep buzzed with preparations: a nursery was readied, toys and books acquired, and the children—now aware that a new sibling would join them—chattered endlessly about names and games.
Seraphine, in particular, took her role seriously. She would help her mother when she could, learning the delicate art of nurturing and care, preparing herself for responsibilities that would soon feel familiar. Liora, though younger, had her own ideas, wandering the gardens and imagining the adventures she would share with her soon-to-be brother or sister.
The night before the birth, Edric once again found Mariel alone in the chamber, the firelight reflecting in her eyes. "Tomorrow, our family grows," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Do you fear it?"
Mariel shook her head. "Fear is for those who doubt their strength. I do not. And we will face this together, as we always have."
Edric nodded, feeling the truth of her words. In the quiet of the keep, with the storm long gone and dawn awaiting, the Barons of Greyholt knew that history was about to turn another page.