Chapter 143: Eiravelle Found Out What Happened To Ruthina

Eiravelle was taking care of Qazaevelle, smiling softly as she gave her daughter breastfeed. The morning light filtered through the tall windows of the nursery, casting pale gold patterns across the woven rug and the carved wooden crib that stood in the corner.

Qazaevelle was always quiet when she fed, her tiny hand resting against Eiravelle’s chest, her dark eyes half-closed in contentment. She made small cooing sounds between swallows, soft and rhythmic, and Eiravelle found herself matching her breathing to the baby’s, letting the quiet fill her up.

"You’re such a good child, my dear," Eiravelle whispered and kissed her daughter’s forehead. The baby’s skin was warm and soft, and she smelled faintly of milk and the lavender oil the nurses used in her bath. Eiravelle adjusted the blanket around her, tucking the edges carefully so that Qazaevelle would stay warm without overheating.

She had learned to do this in the weeks since the birth, had learned the weight of her daughter in her arms, the way Qazaevelle liked to be held, the particular pitch of her cry when she was hungry versus tired. It was strange, Eiravelle thought, how quickly a person could become the center of your world. How quickly everything else faded into the background.

She thought of Qazaethel, who was probably in the throne room even now, dealing with petitions and reports and the endless demands of the kingdom. Eiravelle had seen the tiredness in her wife’s eyes that morning, the way Qazaethel had lingered at the door before leaving, as though she wanted nothing more than to stay in the nursery with them.

But the kingdom had called, as it always did, and Qazaethel had gone. Eiravelle understood. She had grown up in a noble house; she knew what duty meant. But she still wished, sometimes, that the world would slow down long enough for them to simply be together.

The door to the nursery opened, and Saye entered with a quiet curtsy. She was one of Eiravelle’s most trusted attendants, a woman who had served the family for years and who knew when to speak and when to hold her tongue. But there was something in her expression now that made Eiravelle look up immediately, her arms tightening instinctively around Qazaevelle. "My lady. I had a news," Saye said, and her voice was careful, measured.

Eiravelle raised her gaze and looked at Saye. "What is it?" She asked, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the baby.

"Lady Ruthina, the golden rabbit... She was sent to the royal infirmary. Something happened to her," Saye said.

Eiravelle’s eyes widened, and she felt her heart lurch in her chest. "What? What happened?!" she panicked, but she didn’t dare move much because Qazaevelle was sleeping peacefully in her arms.

The baby had finished feeding and had drifted off, her lips slightly parted, her tiny fists curled against Eiravelle’s gown. Eiravelle forced herself to breathe, to stay still, even as her mind raced through every possible horror that might have befallen Ruthina.

"I am not sure, my lady. I only heard it from rumors, I don’t wanna say anything that is not accurate, but all I am sure about is that the golden rabbit was resting in the royal infirmary. Lordess Arielle was the one who took her there," Saye said, and her tone was apologetic, as though she wished she had more information to offer.

Eiravelle nodded slowly, her thoughts spinning. Ruthina. The golden rabbit. The omega who had come to their kingdom with nothing but kindness and gentle smiles, who had blessed their fields and healed their sick and never asked for anything in return.

Eiravelle had always felt a particular tenderness toward her, a protective instinct that she could not quite explain. Perhaps it was because Ruthina seemed so fragile, so gentle, so utterly unsuited to the cruelties of the world. Or perhaps it was because Eiravelle knew what it was like to be vulnerable, to be at the mercy of forces beyond her control.

Whatever the reason, the thought of something happening to Ruthina made Eiravelle’s blood run cold. She looked down at Qazaevelle, at the sleeping face of her daughter, and she made a decision. "Prepare my robes. I will visit her there. I’ll take Qazaevelle with me," she commanded, and Saye nodded and carried out her orders without hesitation.

Eiravelle dressed quickly but carefully, choosing her finest clothes, a deep blue gown embroidered with silver thread and a cloak lined with soft fur. She wanted to look respectable, authoritative, like someone who could demand answers and expect to receive them.

She wrapped Qazaevelle in a warm blanket and settled her against her chest, where the baby could hear her heartbeat and feel the rhythm of her breathing. Qazaevelle stirred briefly, her small face scrunching up, but she settled again without waking. Eiravelle kissed the top of her head and then set out.

The walk down the hallway was a little longer than she had expected, the royal infirmary located in a separate wing of the palace, away from the main living quarters. The corridor stretched before her, lined with portraits of long-dead sovereigns, their painted eyes seeming to follow her as she passed. Servants bowed as she went by, and guards snapped to attention, but Eiravelle barely noticed them. Her thoughts were fixed on Ruthina, on what might have happened, on who might have hurt her.

She thought of the church, of the priests who had grown so bold in recent months, and a cold anger settled in her stomach. The church had always been a problem, but Eiravelle had never trusted them. She had seen the way they looked at Ruthina, the way their eyes lingered too long, the way their smiles never quite reached their eyes.

She had mentioned it to Qazaethel once, and Qazaethel had promised to keep an eye on them. But promises, Eiravelle knew, could only do so much. The world was full of people who would hurt the gentle and the kind, and the church had always been particularly good at it.

When she finally reached the royal infirmary, she paused in the doorway, taking in the scene before her. The room was quiet and warm, lit by a few candles and the pale light from a high window. Ruthina lay in a bed near the back, her face flushed with fever, her breathing shallow and uneven.

Her hair was spread across the pillow like a golden halo, and her hands were clutched tightly around the blanket as though she was afraid someone might try to take it from her. And beside her, slumped in a hard wooden chair, was Arielle.

Eiravelle felt her breath catch in her throat. Arielle was sleeping, but it was not a peaceful sleep. Her brow was furrowed, her body curled forward in the chair as though she had simply collapsed from exhaustion, and her hand was wrapped around Ruthina’s, holding it gently but firmly. She looked tired, Eiravelle thought. She looked like she had been sitting there for hours, refusing to leave, refusing to rest, refusing to let Ruthina out of her sight.

Eiravelle approached quietly, shifting Qazaevelle to one arm so that she could reach out and gently pat Arielle’s hand. "Sister?" She said, her voice soft. Arielle did not stir. Eiravelle smiled faintly, remembering how Arielle used to guard her whenever she was sick back when she was a child.

Arielle had always been protective, always been the one to sit by Eiravelle’s bedside and read to her and make sure she took her medicine. She had been a steady presence in Eiravelle’s life for as long as Eiravelle could remember, and seeing her now, exhausted and worried, made Eiravelle’s heart ache.

"Sister..." She said again, a little louder this time, and Arielle slowly opened her eyes. She blinked a few times, disoriented, and then stretched her arms with a wince, as though her muscles had stiffened from being in the same position for too long.

"Eivy? What are you doing here?" Arielle asked, her voice still groggy from sleep.

"I came to check on Ruthina. What happened?" Eiravelle replied, and she sat on the edge of the bed beside Ruthina, careful not to jostle the sleeping omega.

Arielle sighed and sat up straighter in the chair, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Well, the church did this to her. She was in heat, but they locked her in a room, naked with only a small towel covering her front," Arielle explained, and her voice was tight with anger and something else, something that sounded almost like grief.

Eiravelle was speechless for a moment, her gaze landing on Ruthina and her worry deepening. She thought of Ruthina, gentle Ruthina, who had endured so much already, who had been enslaved in the demon realm, who had come to their kingdom seeking nothing but peace. "She had been through so much, why did they do this to her?" Eiravelle asked, and her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I don’t know... But if I wasn’t there to deliver breakfast, I wouldn’t know how much she would have had to endure the pain of being in heat," Arielle said, and she sat straight in the chair and sighed. "I was worried she didn’t show up last night. I was also worried she was praying too much, but I didn’t know she was experiencing this..."

Arielle added, and her voice cracked slightly on the last word. She looked away, as though she did not want Eiravelle to see the emotion on her face.

Eiravelle reached forward and touched Ruthina’s forehead. The skin was hot and dry, and Ruthina shifted slightly in her sleep, a small sound of distress escaping her lips. "She’s still in fever. Her heat cycle is still ongoing," Arielle said, and her voice was flat now, controlled.

"She didn’t have an intercourse or something to ease the heat?" Eiravelle asked. It was a practical question, especially knowing the safest method is to have intercourse or even pleasure an omega to ease their heat.

Eiravelle had learned about such things as part of her education, had been taught the importance of understanding omega biology and the dangers of an unmanaged heat cycle. But she also knew that such things were not always simple, not always safe, not always what the omega wanted.

Arielle shook her head and smiled, but it was a sad smile, tired and knowing. "No, but I am also happy she can clearly say no. In that way, she still has autonomy. I don’t want to force her to do anything she doesn’t like. She spent being a slave in the demon realm, and she doesn’t deserve to happen that again just because of her heat cycle." Arielle lifted Ruthina’s hand to her lips and kissed it gently, then smiled at the sleeping omega.

Eiravelle smiled too, and she realized what kind of Alpha her sister was. Her sister was one of the most considerate and purest alphas she knew. Arielle didn’t take; she only gave. She gave her time, her energy, her protection, her love, and she asked for nothing in return.

Eiravelle had known many alphas in her life, had seen the way they treated omegas, as though they were possessions to be claimed and controlled. But Arielle was different. Arielle saw Ruthina not as something to own, but as someone to cherish. And that, Eiravelle thought, was the truest mark of a good alpha.

"I am happy you found her, sister," Eiravelle said, and the baby cooed in her arms. Eiravelle giggled and showed her baby to Arielle. "Sister, look. She has elven ears. Me and Qazaethel were going to see you this morning but we decided to postpone it for a while," Eiravelle explained.

Arielle leaned forward, her eyes widening as she looked at the child. Qazaevelle was still sleeping, but her little pointed ears were clearly visible against the blanket, delicate and slightly tipped, unmistakably elven. Arielle was shocked to see the child’s elven ears, and for a long moment, she simply stared, her mouth slightly open.\

"Eiravelle..." Arielle said, and her voice was barely a whisper. She froze, her eyes fixed on the baby, and Eiravelle waited, knowing what was coming.

"Mmm?" Eiravelle hummed a question, though she already knew the answer.

"The child... It has elven ears... It means... She has Arthion blood," Arielle said, and she was so shocked that the words came out slowly, as though she was still processing them.

Eiravelle sighed. She didn’t look surprised, and she simply stayed silent for a moment, looking down at her daughter. She had known, of course. She had known the moment she saw the ears, the moment she held Qazaevelle in her arms for the first time. The Arthion blood was rare, so rare that many believed it had died out entirely.

But it had not died out. It had passed down through generations, hidden and quiet, waiting for the right moment to emerge. And now it had emerged in her daughter, in the child of a sovereign and an omega who had once been a slave. The world, Eiravelle thought, had a strange sense of humor.

She looked up at Arielle and met her sister’s eyes, and she saw the questions there, the confusion, the wonder. But Eiravelle had no answers to give. Not yet. She only knew that her daughter was special, more special than she had ever imagined, and that the world would never be the same again.