2 WEEKS LATER..
Arthur and Rhyssand stood on one of the palace's balconies overlooking the bustling courtyard below. They took in the peace at least after the war. Repairs had been made to the city, and the people could not be happier. Especially with the upcoming nuptials. For the first time in history, the heavens and Earth would be one, at last. Took them a few wars and catastrophes, but it all worked out in the end.
Rhyssand leaned against the brick wall, his eyes fixed on Artizea. His future Wife and soon-to-be Mother of their child. For now, that second truth was their little secret and theirs alone. However, at the rate things were going, he wasn't sure how long he could keep it. Just yesterday, she took a cold shower after nearly fainting in the training yard. The night before that, she wore a corset so tight he swore he could hear his ribs cracking. The night she told him she was pregnant—something in him shifted. Like he'd grown a sixth sense. Now, she stood amidst a cluster of workers, issuing instructions for the final wedding preparations. Why wasn't he with her? He had promised to give her space, so this distance, half a courtyard away, was his compromise. But even from here, his wings twitched with every instinct to intervene—especially whenever she bent too far, or lifted something heavier than she should have.
Arthur, sipping from a goblet of wine, noticed Rhyand's subtle agitation and the way his gaze kept darting back to Artizea.
"She's so stubborn," Rhyssand muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.
Arthur raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You don't say. That's news to absolutely no one."
Rhyssand straightened slightly, but his wings fidgeted again as Artizea picked up a particularly large crate to hand off to a worker.
Arthur followed his gaze, his sharp eyes narrowing as he slowly pieced things together. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," he said quickly, a little too quickly.
Arthur set down his goblet, folding his arms and turning to face him fully.
"Cut the shit. you have been watching her like a hawk all day. Matter fact, all week—" His tone shifted, a teasing edge creeping in. "Wait a second…" his eyes widened, his smirk breaking into a full grin. "Is she pregnant?"
Rhyssand's gaze flickered to Arthur, "Don't be ridiculous," his expression carefully neutral, almost too neutral.
But then, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Artizea. Bending to retrieve something that had slipped from the table. He did not mean to look. He tried not to. Arthur, of course, noticed. Rhyssand glanced at him, then quickly back at her. She stretched her arms above her head, and something in him twitched. Arthur folded his arms, staring him down with growing amusement. Rhyssand bit down on his knuckle, pretending to cough into his fist. Don't react. Don't be obvious. Don't—But it was too late. The faint twitch of his wings gave him away.
"AHA," Arthur's grin widened."Seriously ?! Is it true that celestials are ridiculously fertile?"
Rhyssand raised a brow, completely caught off guard."Who told you that?"
"The grapevine." He said flatly. Aka Eugene. "I heard your lot has some anomaly shit, travels through dimensions or something—"
"Okay. First of all," Rhyssand injected, "Can we not talk about my celestial sperm and stay away from the library. Gods forbid some scholar comes poking around my manhood for confirmation."
Aka Eugene.
Arthur beamed. "Joke's on you, my winged brother from another mother—I've never been to the library, well, with the intention of reading ."
Rhyssand sighed, "That makes…a shit load of sense," running a hand through his hair. "And it wasn't exactly… planned."
Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, I wasn't either, neither were any of us were honestly. I popped out on Midwinter's Eve. Artizea showed up during a solar eclipse. We just sort of… happened."
"Did not need to know that," Rhyssand cracked a faint smile. "But good to know which holidays to fake sick on and that fate runs in the bloodline."
"Damn right it does." He laughed it off, "I shall tell you this much, if you think you have your hands full now, celestial, wait until father finds out."
"He won't."
Arthur clapped him on the back. "Bit of advice? He knows everything. The only question is: do you want him to come to you… Or are you going to walk in there, be a man about it, and confess your sins? Higher chance of survival."
Rhyssand muttered, "And what are my chances right now?"
A portal snapped open beside them. Eugene stepped out, smug and triumphant, having mastered portal spells withoutRhyssand's help. Eugene did not sugarcoat it, "Right now? Solid 5 out of 10—if the news itself doesn't send him into an early grave. Give him time to mellow? You are a dead man before sunrise."
"Why sunrise?" Rhyssand asked.
Arthur shrugged. "He likes to start the day with a bang."
Rhyssand groaned quietly. What have I agreed to marry into? He thought to himself. Still, he chuckled despite himself, his eyes softening as they rested on Artizea. "I am fine with that."
Arthur's grin tempered into something almost fond. "For what It is worth… I think you will be alright. He's got a soft spot for you now."
"He does not," Rhyssand said flatly—but the warmth in his voice betrayed his amusement.
For a moment, the three stood in easy silence, watching Artizea as she worked—strong, focused, brilliant even in the quiet. Then Rhyssand turned slowly to Eugene. "You remember when you asked me for access to the celestial archives? In exchange for that favor?"
Eugene blinked. Completely unaware, "Yeah?"
Did one of those books… happen to be about male anatomy—specifically celestial… you know…"
Eugene flushed a deep red. " What?! No! I mean—yes! Maybe!"
"WHY?"
"Your lore is very detailed! By the way, why does it keep, like… growing depending on emotion —"
"Oh my god." Rhyssand groaned, plugging his ears as he walked away.
Eugene chased after him, still rambling. "It is a valid question! Is it anger-based? Or—?"
Arthur shook his head, a chuckle escaping him, then he saw him,
William was talking to his sister.
Hell no—
"Won't you stay for the wedding? …at least? I don't—" Artizea gave a short, breathy laugh, "I just liked the idea, I guess, of not being the eldest for once."
William smiled softly but shook his head. "I think it may do more harm than good. The rumors, you know…My mother always said my biological father was most likely from your mother's kingdom. Hence… this." His hand lifted almost absently to his hair, strands catching the light like spun blonde.
Artizea's gaze softened, and she nodded in quiet understanding.
"I shall make you a promise, and with a vow of a thousand stars," he continued, his voice careful, almost tentative. "I will write to you. I… I've no siblings. So we could pretend, maybe? If the first prince doesn't mind."
Her lips curved in a reluctant smile. "Arthur?" she quipped, turning her head slightly over her shoulder to where he pretended to be hiding, "He will be fine with it. He fancies himself a pen, you know. For someone who doesn't read, he thinks writing is a sport."
"A trait we share," he said warmly. "I write to him, too, your father. Sometimes… I wish he were my real father. But—I think he's done enough for me, hasn't he?"
Artizea did not answer, only stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. The hug lingered, wordless, heavy with what neither knew how to say. Then he turned to go, and the echo of his footsteps filled the hall.
Arthur appeared then, leaning on the wall with his arms crossed, a sulk written plain on his face. "What, he's your favorite brother now?"
Artizea lifted her chin, feigning scandal. "Don't be ridiculous. That would be treasonous." She swept past him, her chuckle trailing behind.
Arthur ahead, just in time to lock gazes with the departing lord, the most he mustered was a nod of acknowledgment from one surviving warrior to another.
William nodded back, then climbed into the carriage departing from the palace in Stelph.
The day had been an endless string of duties and meetings, each one demanding more of Artizea's time and energy. From the moment she had stepped into the council chamber that morning, she had been on her feet, directing, negotiating, and mediating without a single pause. fully reaching her chambers, she flung it open with excusion.
Rhyssand had watched her with growing concern, his eyes narrowing each time she pressed a hand to her lower back or leaned on the table for support. She had been stubbornly ignoring his pointed looks and subtle attempts to intervene, but his patience was wearing thin.
The physician gave a polite bow after his final check. "Your blood pressure seems fine, Your Highness. May I ask why you declined the prepared herbal tonic in favor of the dried leaves?"
Artizea, seated with her back straight, responded coolly, "I just have a taste for it lately. Thought I'd give it a fair shot, as my Mother suggested."
He nodded respectfully. "Very good, ma'am. I shall take my leave."
As he turned, he nearly bumped into Rhyssand just outside the door. He stiffened and bowed. "Your Highness. May I speak with you privately?"
They stepped into the hall.
"I hope I am not overstepping," the healer said cautiously, "But the Princess's blood pressure has dipped slightly. Not dangerous—yet. But I strongly recommend she rest and take her tea as instructed. Especially with… the weddingapproaching."
Rhyssand's eyes darkened slightly with concern. "I agree. I will get on top of it."
As the physician bowed and departed. Rhyssand stepped back inside. He closed the door softly behind him.
"Tizea," he said firmly. "Sit down. Now."
She turned to him, her eyes sparking with defiance. "I am fine, Rhys. There's no need for your dramatics."
"Dramatics?" he echoed, jaw tight. "You have been on your feet all day, lifting crates of all things. I told you I want to help, if only just let me."
"Rhys—" she clapped her hands together, "I love you to death, but I have been lifting crafts since I was only 4 as basic training. It won't kill me to merely transport them to—wait—" she frowned, "Have you been watching me, again?"
"…Yeah," he admitted. "Every second."
She sighed, brushing a loose strand from her face. "I told you. There's too much to do. Sitting around is not an option; Neither is standing going to make anything happen."
He took a step closer, voice quieter now, but more intense. "Artizea. You are carrying our child. A child no one even knows about— Well… your brothers know. And the doctor suspects."
"My brothers?" she blinked.
"I meant to tell you," he sighed, "I gave it away with my dramatics. I am sorry."
She softened slightly. "I did not mean that. I am sorry."
"It is fine. Call me whatever you like, just—" he said, eyes not leaving hers. "The point is, you are not invincible. You may think you are. But you are not. The last child of our two worlds… was me. Your father. Before that, your grandmother, she did not make it. My mother barely did, so did yours—And it terrifies me, alright. I am afraid of losing you, do you understand?"
Her breath caught. She reached up, gently brushing his cheek with her hand. "You are correct," she whispered. "And we should probably talk about worst-case scenarios."
He took her hand, pressing her hand to his chest. "Don't make me choose between you and the child. Because I will always choose you, Tizea. I have no shame in that."
Her eyes filled with emotion. She cupped his face in both hands, their foreheads resting against each other. "I won't ask you to do the impossible, Rhys," she said quietly. "But I will ask you to stand by my decision… no matter what happens. I need you on my side, do you understand that?"
His arms wrapped around her, steady and sure. His voice was low, near her ear. "How good are you at lying, compared to Arthur ?"
She blinked, pulling back slightly to look at him. "Pretty good… why?"
"I need you to say you have caught the flu," he said quietly. "And stay on bedrest until the five-week mark."
But then she straightened, her defiance returning. "I fought an entire battle —" she stilled, then whispered, "Pregnant,Rhys. I can handle a few council meetings and basic administrative tasks—"
"That doesn't mean you should," he whispered back, his worry breaking through his calm exterior.
I want to—"
"I don't want you to."
"Are we really going to fight about this?"
"Are you going to make me use the husband card?"
She gasped. "You would not dare."
"I will."
"You won't."
"Won't I?" He crossed his arms, smugly. "As your husband, and the father of our child, it is my wish that you take it easy or—"
"Don't you dare!"
"I will tell… your father."
She stared at him. "I am not in any real danger; it is you He will hurt."
"Ah, but you love me," he countered, "So you would not wish to see your beloved hurt."
"You're not my husband yet," she snarled.
"I am in the future," he countered.
"And how would you know that?" she chuckled.
He leaned in, tapping her chin with maddening confidence. "Because there is no future where we're not husband and wife, entwined in a fated paradox…"
Artizea exhaled, defeated, not by him, never, but by how much he meant it.
"You have been through enough already," Rhyssand said, softer now, the teasing melting away. "You don't have to prove anything to anyone—not to me, not to the council, not to the people. You're allowed to take a break."
She exhaled sharply, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I am not trying to prove anything," she said quietly, her gaze softening. "I just… I don't know how to stop. When I do, I see…the people and how I've failed them, yet they still look to me like I am who I say I am."
Rhyssand's eyes locked onto hers with gentle determination. "Our people love their future queen, our child needs you to be healthy, and I need you alive with me." His hands rested lightly on her shoulders, "Please?' grounding her as she looked up at him, her defenses finally beginning to waver.
"Okay," she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Rhyssand's expression softened as he exhaled slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Thank you. Promise me you will take it easy," he said.
Artizea reached out, brushing a hand against his cheek. "I promise. But only if you stop hovering like a worried crow."
Rhyssand chuckled, "No deal, though you are welcome to ask for anything else."
She smiled, her hand lingering on his face. "Anything?"
"Anything but that." He said firmly.
She sighed. "Buzzkill," leaning into him again, her voice soft but certain. "You owe me a lot of strawberry tarts for this."
A small smile played at his lips. "I will bake however many you wish."
Then she paused, her eyes lighting up with mischief. "If I have to wait till the five-week mark," she said slowly, "It is not fair you should have to suffer too."
Rhyssand blinked. "Tizea…" He narrowed his eyes. "We've been over this. It is just one more week—I already have a Yellow card from Madeline—"
But she was already moving, her fingers sliding down his chest and then down, down, down.
"Tizea—" he breathed, his voice catching.
She wasn't listening.
She only smiled, "Bed rest goes both ways ."
He let out a choked laugh.
The moonlight filtered on Rhyssand and Artizea, lounging, his shirt unbuttoned, an easy smirk playing on his lips. He leaned back, one arm slung over the back of the bed head as he studied Artizea's profile.
Gods have mercy on the child they produce if it has her eyes. Speaking of which —
"I've been thinking about names," he said, whispering suddenly, breaking the silence. "
And there they were, Artizea's gaze flicked toward him, "Fine. Let's hear your suggestions, Ambassador. Enlighten me with your celestial wisdom."
Rhyssand tilted his head, "For a boy… What about Helios? Strong, radiant. Very fitting."
Artizea wrinkled her nose. "Helios? No, you are not naming our child after a warhorse."
He chuckled, "Alright, what about Cassian?"
Artizea rolled her eyes. "Sounds like someone who spends his days picking fights in taverns."
Rhyssand snorted. "Have you ever even been to a tavern, princess?"
"No… but it sounds like one."
"Fine," he said, feigning deep offense. "What would you suggest, oh wise and all-knowing?"
"Evelyn," she declared, folding her arms. "For a girl. It is elegant."
Rhyssand raised a brow. "Evelyn? Sounds too… old."
"That was my grandmother's name!"
"You hear that? Grandmother." He nodded solemnly.
She punched his shoulder. "Take that back."
"Alright, alright…" He rubbed the spot dramatically. "How about something with more strength? Like Athena."
"Athena?" Artizea gave him an incredulous look—then grudging approval. "That's… not bad. I shall add it to the list."
He laughed, the sound warm and teasing.
She paused, her expression softening. "Callisto, for a boy," she said quietly. "It means 'most beautiful.'"
Rhyssand's smirk faded, replaced by a gentle smile. "Callisto Pendragon," he echoed, the name rolling off his tongue. "It has a nice ring to it."
For a moment, they stood in comfortable silence, the weight of their secret unspoken but shared between them.
Then Rhyssand leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You know," he said, his tone lighter, "If It is a boy, he'll inherit my charm, then you will have your hands full."
Artizea rolled her eyes but could not suppress a laugh. "If It is a girl, she'll inherit my temper. Then you will have your hands full—I was going to ask if we wait to see what fate brought us."
"Fair enough," Rhyssand said, his grin returning. He reached out, catching her hand and pulling her toward him. "Either way, they'll be perfect, just like their mother." He rested a hand against her abdomen, where a tiny life was just beginning to grow. His fingers tightened slightly, a fleeting moment of worry passing through him, before pushing it back to the abyss."I have to go, Princess," he said, sulking.
"Where?'
His eyes narrowed playfully. "My super secret bachelor party, when your brothers found out, they said I needed to do a traditional ritual or something—"
Artizea laughed, the sound genuine as she shook her head. "Ah—I know exactly what it is and you are in for a treat."
Rhyssand grinned. "Aren't I always?" he rose,
"Have fun," she warned, poking his chest. "And beware of Arthur. He acts dumb, but he is very smart…and sly as a fox."
"Noted." He bent over to kiss her stomach, only for the chamber doors to burst open.
"SISTERRRR!"
Artizea jolted upright, causing Rhyssand to topple over.
Elaine stepped into the sitting room, only to be met with a whump as a pillow smacked her square in the shoulder.
"Elaine—!" she hissed.
"Be careful," her mother, Arthuria, warned from her seat, delicately sipping tea. "We don't want her face swelling tomorrow."
"I have that covered," Maddie, her friend and maid, chimed in, appearing at Artizea's side with a small tray. "Drink this, and take this."
Artizea eyed the items suspiciously. "What is this?"
"For your flu," Maddie said softly.
"You have the flu??" Elaine blurted.
"Why did you not tell us?" Arthuria added, brows knitting. "And what happened to Rhyssand?"
"It is not that serious," Artizea said, waving him off as he scrambled gracefully to his feet.
"Ladies," he nodded while fleeing away.
"BYE RHYS!" Elaine chirped after him.
Artizea sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before giving her sister a tired smile.
"So!" she clapped her hands. "What are we doing?"
"Bye, Rhys!" Elaine chirmed.
"So! What are we doing?" Artizea asked.
Arthuria set her teacup down with deliberate grace. "Maddie, bring forth the cutlery."
Maddie smiled knowingly. "Here, Your Majesty."
Arthuria unfolded the long velvet case, revealing rows of throwing knives polished to a mirror shine.
"Perfect!" Elaine beamed.
Artizea smirked. "Predator and prey game? I thought you hated getting your hands dirty."
"I also told you," Arthuria said coolly, selecting a blade, "If you are going to get your hands dirty, make sure they're unaware."
Out in the field beyond the balcony, a flock of birds was released into the crisp air. The game was simple: aim, throw, and bring one down. From the garden, a flurry of wings erupted.