Chapter 126: Qazaethel Changed The Law of Tradition

The news spread like wildfire, racing through the palace corridors and across the kingdom with a speed that nothing could match. Servants whispered it to each other as they hurried through the halls, their faces pale with worry and excitement in equal measure.

Guards murmured it to their comrades at their posts, their voices low and urgent. Messengers were dispatched on swift horses, carrying the word to every corner of the land. Lady Eiravelle was in labor. The sovereign’s child was coming. And nothing would ever be the same again.

Ruthina was in the church when she heard. She had been kneeling in the quiet of the sanctuary, her hands clasped before her, her lips moving in a silent prayer for the safety of the realm and the people she served. The church was cold and still, the tall windows letting in thin shafts of pale winter light, and the only sound was the soft echo of her own breathing.

She had come here to find peace, to seek guidance, to quiet the restless thoughts that had been plaguing her for weeks. But peace was not to be found. A servant burst through the doors, his face flushed, his breath coming in panicked gasps, and Ruthina’s prayer died on her lips.

"Lady Ruthina! Lady Eiravelle—she’s giving birth! The sovereign has taken her to the eastern palace, and—" The servant could not finish. Ruthina was already on her feet, her robes billowing behind her as she rushed toward the doors. She did not stop to gather her things.

She did not stop to offer a final prayer. She simply ran, her heart pounding in her chest, her mind racing with a thousand fears and hopes and desperate pleas to gods she had devoted her life to serving. She had known this day would come. She had known, from the moment she had learned of Eiravelle’s pregnancy, that there would be a day when the child would arrive and everything would change. But knowing did not make it easier.

Knowing did not calm the terror that gripped her heart as she hurried through the streets toward the eastern palace.

Arielle was in her study when the news reached her. She had been reading thousands of royal affair scrolls, her eyes tired and her mind weary from hours of poring over reports and petitions and correspondence.

The scrolls were piled high on her desk, their edges curling and their ink fading with age, and she had been working through them methodically, one by one, trying to bring order to the chaos of the kingdom’s affairs. But the news jolted her out of her work like a bolt of lightning. A servant entered without knocking, her face white, her hands trembling, and Arielle knew before the woman even spoke that something had happened.

"My lady—Lady Eiravelle—she’s in labor. The sovereign has taken her to the eastern palace." The words hit Arielle like a physical blow. She was on her feet in an instant, the scrolls forgotten, the petitions abandoned. She did not bother with the door. She did not bother with the stairs.

She simply called upon her magic, the blue light flaring around her, and launched herself into the air, flying through the open window of her study and into the cold winter sky. The wind tore at her hair and her clothes, the cold bit at her face, but she did not feel any of it. She felt only the desperate, clawing need to get to her sister, to be there for her, to protect her.

Eiravelle was her little sister. Eiravelle was the one she had sworn to protect, the one she had held in her arms when she was just a baby, the one she had watched grow into a woman. And now Eiravelle was about to become a mother, and Arielle would be damned if she let her go through it alone.

Dawn had just woken up in Liv’s arms when the news came. She had been sleeping deeply, her body curled against Liv’s warmth, her breathing slow and even. The exhaustion of the past weeks had finally caught up with her, and she had slept longer than she had in months, her dreams peaceful and undisturbed.

But the peace did not last. A servant burst into the room, her voice high and urgent, and Dawn was awake in an instant, her heart pounding, her mind already racing.

"Your majesty—Lady Eiravelle—the eastern palace—she’s giving birth!" The servant gasped, and Dawn was already moving, throwing off the blankets and reaching for her robes. Liv was beside her, steady and calm, her hands helping Dawn dress even as her own face showed the worry she was trying to hide.

"We need to go. Now," Dawn said, and Liv nodded, her jaw tight.

"I know. I’m right behind you." They rushed out of the palace together, their guards scrambling to keep up, and Dawn did not slow down. She could not slow down. Eiravelle was her friend, her confidante, the omega who had stood beside her through everything. Eiravelle was about to give birth, and Dawn would be there for her, no matter what.

A black raven sent the message to Xelvyn and Yvaine. The bird appeared at the window of their chambers, its feathers gleaming darkly in the winter light, and Xelvyn took the small scroll from its leg with hands that were steady but her eyes widened in shock as she read the words.

"We have to get there. Eiravelle is going to give birth," she said, and her voice was tight with urgency. Yvaine got excited, her eyes lighting up with a joy that was almost childlike.

"Really? That sounds exciting!" She said, and Xelvyn could not help but smile despite the worry that was gnawing at her. Yvaine’s enthusiasm was infectious, and for a moment, Xelvyn allowed herself to feel a flicker of hope. Eiravelle was strong. She would be okay. She had to be.

Xelvyn wrapped a black pelt around Yvaine, the fur soft and warm, and she pulled it close around the other woman’s shoulders. "The air in Solkanaia is getting colder. Their winter is coming, and the last thing I want for you is to freeze to death," she said gently, and Yvaine immediately melted at Xelvyn’s gesture, her expression softening, her eyes going warm.

"You’re so sweet," Yvaine murmured, and she leaned into Xelvyn’s touch, her hand coming up to rest on the alpha’s arm. "We should get going before I let you ravish me on our bed again." Xelvyn couldn’t help but chuckle lowly in pure happiness, the sound rumbling in her chest.

Everyone who would hear Lordess Xelvyn chuckle affectionately like that would freeze to death as they wouldn’t believe that only Lady Yvaine could make her smile and happy like this. Only Yvaine could break through the cold, hard shell that Xelvyn had built around herself, and only Yvaine could make her feel like the world was not such a terrible place after all.

They left the Vartuahry together, Yvaine wrapped in the black pelt and Xelvyn’s arm around her shoulders, and they flew toward Solkanaia with all the speed they could muster. The wind was cold and sharp, the winter clouds heavy and grey, but they did not stop. They did not rest.

They flew and their wings are beating against the darkness, and they did not slow down until they saw the lights of the eastern palace glowing in the distance.

In the eastern palace, the female omega midwife, a young woman with experience, was the one to assist Eiravelle throughout the delivery. She was calm and steady, her hands sure and her voice gentle, and she had delivered hundreds of babies before. But none of them had been the sovereign’s child.

None of them had been this important. The room was warm and dim, the curtains drawn against the winter cold, and the air was thick with the scent of herbs and sweat and the sharp, primal smell of labor. Eiravelle lay on the bed, her body wracked with pain, her face pale and slick with sweat, and she screamed.

"AHHHH!" The sound tore from her throat, raw and desperate, and the midwife leaned over her, her hands steady. "Push! Push, Lady Eiravelle!" she guided, and Eiravelle screamed again as she followed the instruction, her body arching, her fingers gripping the hands that held hers.

She held onto Gale and Ana’s hands, their fingers intertwined with hers, their faces pale but determined. Baley, Jily, and Saye were assisting the midwife, changing the water in the basin, providing more towels and tools, their movements quick and efficient despite the fear in their eyes. They had been trained for this, but training could not prepare you for the reality of watching someone you loved in so much pain.

The female omega physician administered a heavy magical, medicinal potion to help through the intense pain, the liquid glowing faintly in the cup, its scent sharp and medicinal. Eiravelle drank it without complaint, her face twisted with pain, and the potion began to work almost immediately, dulling the worst of the agony but not the fear, never the fear.

Qazaethel was pacing back and forth outside the room, her boots leaving marks on the marble floor, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She didn’t know why, but this was the first time she had felt an intense dread wash over her, a cold, creeping terror that settled in her chest and refused to leave.

She had faced armies, had fought demons and monsters, had stared down death itself without flinching. But this—this was different. This was the one thing she could not control, the one thing she could not fight, the one thing that could take everything from her in a single, terrible moment.

"Your majesty, calm down. Eiravelle is strong," Dawn said, her voice gentle but firm. She had arrived with Liv just minutes ago, and she had been standing beside the door ever since, her face pale, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Qazaethel shook her head and stopped in her tracks, turning to face her.

"That is the problem. She was always strong, she was the one who suffered, who carried our child, and the one feeling all the pain!" Qazaethel didn’t mean to raise her voice at Dawn, but everyone could understand that she was just stressed.

The words came out sharp and raw, and she immediately regretted them, but Dawn did not flinch. She simply looked at Qazaethel with understanding and sympathy, and she did not take offense.

"I know. But she is strong, and she has you. She will get through this," Dawn said, and her voice was quiet but steady, a calm anchor in the storm of Qazaethel’s fear. Qazaethel wanted to believe her.

She wanted to believe that everything would be okay, that Eiravelle would be fine, that their child would be born healthy and whole. But the dread would not leave her, and she could not stop pacing, could not stop the frantic, clawing need to be in that room, to be beside Eiravelle, to hold her hand and share her pain.

The physician came out, her face serious, her robes stained with blood and sweat. "Your majesty, the pain was intense. The stress really got into Lady Eiravelle, making it hard for her to deliver the baby. Especially she was seven and two weeks away from the original date she’ll give birth," she explained, and Qazaethel’s eyes widened in fear. Seven and two weeks early. The baby was coming too soon, and Eiravelle’s body was not ready, and the stress of the dowager’s attack had made everything worse.

"Let me see her," Qazaethel said, and her voice was firm, brooking no argument. But the bishop of the church suddenly stepped forward, his face pale, his hands raised.

"Your majesty! You must not!" he said, and Qazaethel glanced back at him with eyes that could have killed, which made the bishop gulp in fear. "Who are you to order me around?!" Qazaethel yelled as she fully faced the bishop, her tall figure easily towering over him, making him feel small. The bishop trembled, but he did not back down.

"Y-Your majesty, you know it is forbidden for alphas to get inside when an omega is giving birth! It will taint you with impurity!" he reminded her, and the air in the hallway turned heavy as they sniffed Qazaethel’s heavy pheromones of anger. The bishop’s face went pale, and he took a step back, but he did not stop talking. "The church has always taught that the birth is a sacred mystery, that only the omega and the midwife may witness it. For an alpha to enter—especially one of your power—would be to invite corruption into the sacred space and—"

"And who made the rules?" Qazaethel asked, her voice turning cold. The bishop trembled and kept his head down.

"The church, the philosophers, and high—" He wasn’t able to finish when Qazaethel gripped his neck and pinned him to the wall. Her fingers closed around his throat, her grip tight and unyielding, and the bishop’s eyes went wide with terror as he struggled to breathe.

Everyone gasped because no one had seen Qazaethel get violent like this. The servants, the guards, the courtiers who had gathered in the corridor—they all stared in shock as their sovereign, their calm, controlled, always-composed sovereign, pinned the bishop of the church to the wall like he was nothing more than a common criminal.

"Have I agreed that those rules are correct?! Have you forgotten? I am the law! My authority is law alone in this land, and if I ever hear you teach everyone about the filth you are telling me now, I will personally ensure to burn the church before you and have your head rolling off in front of the highest priest." Her eyes were burning with gold fury again, and the bishop was turning blue as he tried to gasp for air.

"You don’t have the right to call it impure when you also came from the womb!" She yelled, and the bishop almost lost his breath before Qazaethel let go of him. He slumped against the wall, gasping, his hands flying to his throat, and he did not dare to speak again.

"Liv," Qazaethel called out, and Liv stepped forward immediately.

"Yes, your majesty," Liv answered, her voice steady, her hand on the hilt of her sword.

"From now on, burn all those books they are trying to teach everyone! Everything that focuses on the comfort of these alphas! From now on, philosophers will only write everything that is about the comfort of omegas! Especially the pregnant ones! And if they don’t obey... Torture them for treason and disobedience!" Qazaethel commanded, and then she entered the room, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

They got silent, but Liv still carried out the order. This was clearly Qazaethel’s undying devotion and intense love for Eiravelle, that she was changing everything that was written. She was not just passing a law.

She was rewriting the very fabric of their society, tearing down the old rules and building something new in their place. And she was doing it for Eiravelle. All of it was for Eiravelle.

"Before... The Sovereign cared less about that and just passed the law for Omegas rights. But now... She was fully changing it," Arielle smiled widely when she realized that they were witnessing another change of law. She had arrived just in time to hear Qazaethel’s decree, and her heart swelled with pride and love for her sister.

Eiravelle had changed Qazaethel. Eiravelle had made the sovereign into someone who would tear down the world for love, who would rewrite the laws of the land, who would stand against the church itself to protect the people she cared about. And Arielle could not have been prouder.

Xelvyn smiled and nodded. "Then I shall have this kind of law too in my ruling," she agreed, and Yvaine felt an intense excitement and love for Xelvyn. She had always known that Xelvyn was different from the other demon lords, that she had a heart beneath her cold exterior, that she cared about justice and fairness in ways that the others did not. But hearing her say it, hearing her pledge to make the same changes in her own kingdom, made Yvaine’s heart swell with love and pride.

"Then we’ll do it together," Yvaine said, and Xelvyn turned to look at her, her expression soft.

"Together," she agreed, and for a moment, the worry and the fear and the tension of the day faded, replaced by something warmer, something that felt almost like hope.

And inside the room, Qazaethel knelt beside Eiravelle’s bed, her hand wrapped around her omega’s, her forehead pressed against Eiravelle’s sweaty skin. "I’m here. I’m here, my love. I’m not going anywhere," she whispered, and Eiravelle looked up at her with eyes that were full of pain and fear and love, and she squeezed Qazaethel’s hand.