Chapter 130: I Love You, Eiravelle

There was an upcoming royal trial for the princesses and princes of the Solkanaia kingdom. This trial was called the Crown Trial, an ancient tradition that had been passed down through generations of the royal family, a test of worth that had been designed to ensure that only the strongest, the wisest, the most capable heir would sit upon the throne.

For nearly two thousand years, this was the first time Qazaethel had held it for so many years. Solkanaia had never had a crown heir for so long. Everyone thought that the sovereign would never choose one. They had grown comfortable in their assumption that Qazaethel would rule forever, that she was eternal, that the question of succession was a distant concern that would never need to be answered.

But now the trial was coming, and the palace was buzzing with a nervous, frantic energy that seemed to permeate every corridor and every room. New court officials filled the court of the Solkanaia palace, their faces pale with anxiety as they scrambled to learn the protocols and procedures that had been dormant for centuries.

The moment they became the new assigned ministers, they were dreaded by the upcoming event immediately. They had heard the stories, the legends of the Crown Trial, of the brutal tests and the impossible challenges that had been designed to push the heirs to their absolute limits.

And now they were responsible for organizing it, for ensuring that everything went smoothly, for making sure that no one died in the process.

While they were busy with the event, murmurs started circulating through the palace like a creeping fog, insidious and impossible to contain. The whispers said that Qazaethel wanted to retire now as the Sovereign because she wanted to give her full attention to raising her newborn daughter, Qazaevelle, a female alpha.

The gossip traveled fast, faster than any messenger, faster than any official decree. It reached the concubines, the princesses, and the princes with bated breath, leaving a trail of hurt and confusion and anger in its wake.

"How come Ama loves her newborn child and not even looked at us for once?!" One of the princesses demanded, her voice trembling with a mixture of fury and grief. She was young, but a century old, and she had spent her whole life trying to earn her mother’s approval, trying to be good enough, trying to be seen. And now, it seemed, she had been replaced by a child who had not even been alive for a month.

"I wonder why she spent so much attention on Lady Eiravelle and their child than us?" Another voice added, this one bitter and sharp. The speaker was an alpha prince, proud and arrogant, and he had always assumed that he would be the one to inherit the throne. He had trained for it, had studied for it, had dedicated his life to it. And now, it seemed, his mother had chosen a different path entirely.

"Did Ama ever consider what we’ll feel?" A third voice asked, and this one was quiet, almost a whisper, filled with a sadness that was deeper than anger.

"I heard she named the child by mixing her name and Lady Eiravelle," someone else said, and the murmurs grew louder, more agitated. The name Qazaevelle was a symbol, a declaration, a statement that this child was different from the others. This child was special. This child was loved in a way that the others had never been.

"Was this confirmed?" Another voice demanded, and there was a pause, a moment of uncertainty, before someone answered.

"It doesn’t matter if it’s confirmed. The name speaks for itself."

"I don’t understand why she’s doing this now?!" Someone else exclaimed, and the question hung in the air, unanswered, unanswerable. They had a discussion along with their Omas and Opas, the concubines and consorts who had raised them, who had loved them, who had tried to prepare them for a world that was always shifting beneath their feet.

And they were left with uncertain answers for their children, with empty reassurances and hollow promises that did nothing to ease the pain.

Qazaethel could not be bothered to answer their questions. She did not have the time, did not have the energy, did not have the patience. She was consumed with the preparations for the Crown Trial, consumed with the weight of the decision she had made, consumed with the fear that she was making a mistake.

She did not want her children to find out until the Crown Trial had ended and they had successfully secured a crown heir. She did not want them to know that she was planning to step down, to retire, to give up the throne that she had held for so long. She did not want them to know that she was choosing Eiravelle and Qazaevelle over them, over the kingdom, over everything she had ever known.

This trial had been the Solkanaia’s family tradition for a reason. They did not rely on age. They did not rely on who was the eldest, or who was the most favorite. Qazaethel had both alpha and omega daughters and sons, and their gender was also not a basis.

The trial was designed to see who was the strongest, the most wise, the smartest, and the most resilient. It was a test of character, of strength, of will. It was a test that could not be cheated, could not be bought, could not be manipulated.

It was a test that would reveal the truth of who they were, and Qazaethel needed that truth. She needed to know that whoever sat on the throne after her would be worthy of it.

The soldiers were given the task of preparing the trial for a month, and they worked day and night, their faces grim, their movements precise. They built obstacles and set traps, they carved paths through the mountains and dug pits in the valleys, they prepared tests of strength and tests of wit, tests of endurance and tests of courage. The trial would be brutal. The trial would be fair. The trial would be the making or breaking of whoever dared to face it.

Qazaethel watched them from afar, her eyes distant, her mind elsewhere. She had been zoning out since the morning she got there, just to guard if the trial would be done with safety and precision. She had not eaten. She had not slept. She had simply stood there, her hands clasped behind her back, her gaze fixed on some point in the distance that no one else could see.

She was thinking about the future, about the past, about everything she had done and everything she still had to do. She was thinking about Eiravelle and Qazaevelle, about the life she wanted to build with them, about the peace she had never known and was only now beginning to understand.

Then Eiravelle suddenly sat beside her. Qazaethel’s eyes widened in shock, and she immediately hugged her, her arms wrapping around the omega with a desperation that she could not hide. "Eivy! What are you doing here?!" Qazaethel couldn’t believe it.

She had told Eiravelle’s servants to make sure she was resting. She had given strict instructions that no one was to disturb her, that she was to stay in bed, that she was to recover from the ordeal of childbirth. And yet here she was, sitting beside Qazaethel as though nothing had happened, as though she had not almost died, as though she had not given birth to their daughter just days ago.

"Stop being overprotective yet. I’m fine," Eiravelle said, and her voice was calm, steady, the voice of someone who had made a decision and was not going to be swayed from it.

"But you just gave birth. You should be resting...!" Qazaethel was genuinely worried. She could see the tiredness in Eiravelle’s eyes, the pallor of her skin, the slight trembling of her hands. Eiravelle was not fine.

Eiravelle was pushing herself too hard, as she always did, as she had always done. And Qazaethel could not bear it. She could not bear to see the person she loved suffering, could not bear to see her in pain, could not bear to see her risking her health for the sake of others.

"And you were in pain, remember? You absorbed my pain while I was giving birth. So why aren’t you resting too?" Eiravelle asked calmly, and Qazaethel got silent. She had no answer. She had been so focused on Eiravelle, so consumed with worry for her omega, that she had forgotten about herself. She had forgotten that she, too, had suffered, that she, too, had been in pain, that she, too, needed to rest.

"Nothing..." She answered, and her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. Eiravelle heard the tremor on the edge of Qazaethel’s voice, the uncertainty that the sovereign was trying so hard to hide.

"Nothing? Or you’re worried about this trial?" Eiravelle continued asking, and she held Qazaethel’s hand, her fingers warm and steady. Qazaethel looked at her, at the understanding in her eyes, at the love that shone there, and she felt something in her chest loosen, just a little.

"I don’t know," Qazaethel replied, and for the first time, she admitted she was uncertain. She had always been so sure of herself, so confident in her decisions, so certain of the path she was walking.

But now, standing on the precipice of the Crown Trial, she was not sure of anything. She was not sure if she was doing the right thing. She was not sure if her children would forgive her. She was not sure if she was making a terrible mistake.

Eiravelle smiled and leaned forward to kiss her. The kiss was soft and gentle, a reassurance, a promise, a declaration of love that needed no words. "You don’t have to act like you can figure everything out," she said, and she sighed and kissed Qazaethel’s hand, her lips lingering on the warm skin.

"Just live in the moment and sometimes you don’t need to carry out a plan. I’m always here." She said, and Qazaethel pulled Eiravelle into a hug, her arms wrapping around the omega and holding her close.

"I don’t understand why you’re the only person who can calm me down," Qazaethel murmured against Eiravelle’s ear as she hugged the omega. Her voice was thick with emotion, with gratitude, with a love so deep it sometimes scared her.

Eiravelle was the only one who could quiet the storm inside her, the only one who could make her feel safe, the only one who could make her believe that everything would be okay.

"Haha, because you love me hehe," Eiravelle giggled, and the sound was bright and warm and full of joy. The giggle in the end made Qazaethel withdraw and look at Eiravelle directly in her eyes. She looked at the omega, at the face that had become more precious to her than anything in the world, and she felt her heart swell with a love that was beyond words.

"I love you... Eiravelle," she breathed, and Eiravelle’s breath hitched the moment she heard Qazaethel say such a thing in public. They were not alone. There were soldiers nearby, servants, court officials who had come to observe the preparations. And yet Qazaethel had said it, loud enough for anyone to hear, loud enough for the whole world to know.

"Your majesty, we’re in... P-Public," Eiravelle stuttered, and her cheeks looked like a boiled tomato. She shyly looked away, her hands coming up to cover her face, and she wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

But Qazaethel remained firm to what she said. "I do love you. So what if they heard? They’ll know that you’re the only omega I loved!" Qazaethel announced, and her voice was loud, defiant, proud. She did not care who heard. She did not care what they thought. She loved Eiravelle, and she wanted the whole world to know it.

Eiravelle had to lunge forward and cover her mouth, her eyes wide with embarrassment and love and a joy that she could not contain. "Okay okay! I love you too!" Eiravelle urgently answered, and both of them ended up laughing, the sound of their joy echoing through the courtyard, filling the air with a warmth that chased away the winter chill.

The soldiers and servants who had witnessed the exchanged glances, their faces were a mixture of shock and amusement and something that looked almost like hope. Their sovereign was in love. Their sovereign was happy. And for the first time in a very long time, it seemed as though everything might just turn out okay.