In Alaric's Study
The scent of ink and parchment hung heavy in the air, mingled with the faint smoke of a dying fire.
Maps and reports sprawled across Alaric's desk.
He stood by the window, when Arin entered without announcement.
A very rare visit.
"Still working?" Arin's voice carried amusement, though his eyes scanned the mess of scrolls with faint exasperation.
"You'll wear yourself out before the baby is even born."
Alaric didn't turn immediately. "Better me than her," he muttered, his gaze fixed on the courtyard below. "She carries enough burden already."
Arin smiled faintly. "Katherine told me the news. Congratulations, brother. You'll make a fearsome father."
Alaric chuckled at his last words. "Thank you."
"Shall I announce it formally to the court?" Arin asked, lowering himself into one of the chairs.
Alaric turned, his expression sharp. "No. Not yet. The fewer targets on her, the better. Let the whispers starve before we give them truth to feed on."
