Chapter 22: Eiravelle is Pregnant

The horse’s hooves struck the stone of Arielle’s private wing with a sharp, echoing clatter, the sound reverberating through the quiet corridor.

Before the beast had even fully stilled, Arielle was sliding from its back, her robes were tangling around her legs as she hit the ground running.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat was a frantic plea that she would not be too late.

The servants in the hallway outside her chambers parted like water before her, their murmurs died in their throats as they caught sight of her face—pale, desperate, and her eyes were wild with fear.

They pressed themselves against the walls, bowing their heads as she rushed past, but Arielle barely registered their presence. Her world had narrowed to a single point: the door at the end of the hall, and the sister who lay beyond it.

She burst through the entrance to her chambers without preamble, the heavy oak door slamming against the wall with a force that made the paintings rattle. Her eyes found Eiravelle immediately, and the sight of her sister, so pale, so still, lying in the center of Arielle’s own luxurious bed—sent a fresh wave of panic crashing through her.

Eiravelle’s skin was the color of old parchment, her dark lashes were stark against the unnatural pallor of her cheeks. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven movements, each breath was a struggle that seemed to cost her everything.

Her hair, usually so full of life, lay fanned out across the silk pillow like a pink halo, limp and lifeless.

Arielle crossed the room in three swift strides, her legs threatened to give way beneath her. She dropped to her knees beside the bed, her hands trembled as she reached for Eiravelle’s fingers.

They were cold—so cold—and so still that for a terrible moment, Arielle feared the worst.

But then she felt it—a faint, fluttering pulse, weak but present. A sob of relief escaped her throat, and she clutched her sister’s hand to her chest, pressing it against her own racing heart as if she could lend Eiravelle some of her own strength.

"Healer," Arielle demanded, her voice was cracking with desperation. She turned to face the man who stood at the foot of the bed, his expression was grave and his hands were still stained with the residue of the elixirs he had administered. "What happened? What is wrong with her?"

The healer attending today was Dale, an elderly elf with silver-streaked hair and kind eyes that had seen centuries of suffering and healing.

He was older than Harold, more experienced, and his presence at Eiravelle’s bedside was a testament to the seriousness of the situation. He had just finished coaxing a healing elixir past Eiravelle’s lips, and he set the empty vial aside with a soft clink.

"Your sister encountered a Night Dazzling Flower," Dale said, his voice was calm but heavy with meaning. "The one with the deepest shade of violet—the bloom she had been cultivating in the garden for the past three years. She does not know that she is gravely allergic to it. The toxins in the flower’s pollen caused her system to shut down, and her body is still fighting the effects."

Arielle’s breath caught in her throat. The Night Dazzling Flower—the one Eiravelle had been so proud of, the one she had tended with such care and love. It had nearly killed her.

"I—I didn’t know," Arielle stammered, her mind was racing. "She never mentioned any allergies. How could she not have known?"

"It is a rare affliction," Dale explained gently. "Many who are sensitive to the Night Dazzling Flower do not discover it until it is too late. But now that we know, we must ensure that she is never exposed to it again. Please, Lordess, I must insist that you order everyone in the manor to remove all Night Dazzling Flowers from the grounds. Every last one of them."

Arielle nodded frantically, her grip on Eiravelle’s hand tightened. "Y-Yes, I will. I will order it immediately. Every gardener, every servant—I will have them all removed. That flower will not touch my sister again. I swear it."

Dale watched her for a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then he sighed, a long, weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of centuries.

He turned to Gertrude, who stood silently by the door, her face was etched with worry.

"Please dismiss yourself and the others first," Dale said calmly, his voice was low but firm. "Make sure no one is outside. I must speak with Lordess Arielle privately."

Gertrude’s eyes flickered with confusion, but she nodded and moved to usher the other servants out of the room. The young maid who had discovered Eiravele looked as though she wanted to protest, but Gertrude placed a firm hand on her shoulder and guided her toward the door.

"Come, child. The healer needs privacy with the Lordess," Gertrude murmured. "We will wait outside and ensure no one disturbs them."

The door closed behind them with a soft click, and suddenly the room felt suffocatingly intimate. The only sounds were the faint whisper of the wind through the window, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, and Eiravelle’s shallow, labored breathing.

Dale turned to face Arielle fully, his expression shifted from professional calm to something deeper—something almost hesitant.

"Lordess Arielle," he began slowly, his voice was barely above a whisper, "please care to tell me... Does your sister have a lover?"

Arielle blinked, the question was so unexpected that it took a moment for the words to register. "W-What?" She stammered, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"No, my sister does not have... Her engagement with Prince Kariv was ruined, and she has not been courted by anyone since. She rarely leaves the manor, and when she does, it is only to attend family functions or the occasional festival. She has no—"

She was interrupted when Dale dropped the words like a stone into still water.

"She is pregnant."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and impossible. Arielle’s mind went blank, her thoughts scattered like startled birds. Her eyes darted to Eiravelle’s still form, then back to Dale, then back to her sister again.

"Pregnant?" She repeated, her voice was hollow with disbelief. "That cannot be. How—with whom? How is that possible? She has not been with anyone—she has never even had a suitor. The engagement with Prince Kariv was a disaster, and she has been so withdrawn since then. She has not... She could not..."

Dale held up a placating hand, his expression softened with pity. "I understand that this is a shock, Lordess. But I assure you, the signs are unmistakable. Lady Eiravelle is in the early stages of pregnancy—barely two moons, by my estimation. The child’s presence in her body is one of the reasons her reaction to the Night Dazzling Flower was so severe. Her immune system is already compromised, and the toxins attacked her at her weakest point."

Arielle’s hands trembled as she clutched Eiravelle’s fingers. A thousand questions raced through her mind, each one was more bewildering than the last. Who was the alpha? When had this happened? How had Eiravelle hidden it from her?

"But because of the Night Dazzling Flower," Dale continued, his voice dropped even lower, "her pregnancy is now at risk. The toxins have reached the womb, and if we do not act quickly, she could lose the child—or worse, the strain could kill her as well."

Arielle’s head snapped up, her eyes blazed with desperate hope. "Can we not ask Master Ragnar for the magical peaches? The healing peaches that can cure almost any ailment? I have seen them work miracles—they can heal wounds, cure diseases, restore vitality. Surely they can help my sister!"

But Dale shook his head slowly, his expression was grim. "No, Lordess. Not this time. The magical peaches have their limitations. They can heal physical wounds and purge common poisons, but the Night Dazzling Flower’s toxins are different. They have bonded with the child’s essence, intertwining with the new life growing within your sister. The peaches cannot separate the poison from the pregnancy without destroying both. They are not a cure for this."

Arielle’s hope crumbled, replaced by a cold, creeping dread. "Then what can we do? There must be something. I will pay any price, I will beg any favor—just tell me what to do."

Dale hesitated, his eyes flickered with something that might have been guilt. He glanced at the door, as if checking that no one was listening, then leaned closer to Arielle.

"I am here asking you who is the alpha," he said softly, his voice was barely a whisper. "We have to know. Because the alpha must be informed. Lady Eiravelle is in a precarious position—she is either going to die with the pregnancy, or we have to stop the pregnancy entirely."

Arielle’s blood ran cold. "Stop the pregnancy? You mean..."

"I mean we would have to terminate it," Dale confirmed, his voice became heavy with reluctance. "It is the only way to save her life if her body continues to reject the child. But that decision should not be made without informing the alpha. Whoever the alpha this child has a right to know, and a right to be part of the choice."

Arielle’s eyes burned with unshed tears as the weight of the situation pressed down upon her. Her sister had suffered so much already—had been humiliated, isolated, and broken by the cruelty of others.

And now, just when she had begun to find a fragile peace, she was faced with the impossible choice between her own life and the life of her unborn child.

"Isn’t there another way?" Arielle begged, her voice quivered with desperation. "Surely there must be another option. Something we haven’t considered."

Dale was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he spoke. "There is one other possibility. But it is dangerous, and I hesitate to even mention it."

"Tell me," Arielle said fiercely. "I will hear it."

"The healing potion in Varnara," Dale said, the name dropped like a stone into still water. "It is a legendary elixir, brewed by the demons of the southern realm. It is said to be capable of healing even the most dire of afflictions—including the bond between poison and unborn life. If we could obtain it, there is a chance—a small one—that we could save both your sister and her child."

Arielle’s eyes suddenly blazed with determination, a fire that made Dale take an involuntary step back. It was a look he had never seen on the young Prime Minister’s face before—a fierce, unyielding resolve that bordered on recklessness.

"Varnara," she repeated, the word rolling off her tongue like a promise. "Then that is what I will do. I will go to Varnara and retrieve the potion."

"No!" Dale’s voice rose in alarm, his composure cracked. He knew he cannot talk back to a prime minister but Arielle is making decisions without thinking. "Lordess Arielle, you cannot! Varnara is part of the demon realm—you would be breaching the sacred accords that have stood for millennia! The moment you cross into their territory without permission, you would be considered an invader. The demons would have every right to execute you on sight. Your family’s honor, your position as Prime Minister—everything you have worked for would be destroyed!"

Arielle shook her head, her jaw set with steel. "I do not care about honor. I do not care about my position. All I care about is her—my sister, and the life growing inside her. I will not let them die while there is still a chance to save them."

Dale’s face had gone pale. "Lordess, please, I beg you to reconsider. There must be another way—we can consult with other healers, search for alternative remedies—"

"There is no other way," Arielle cut him off, her voice was cold and final. "You said it yourself. The potion in Varnara is the only hope. I will not let fear or pride stand in the way of saving my sister’s life."

"But the scandal—" Dale tried again, desperation creeping into his voice. "Lady Eiravelle’s reputation is already damaged from the broken engagement, and more of being the daughter of another alpha. If it becomes known that she is pregnant out of wedlock, her name will be ruined completely. And if you are caught crossing into the demon realm, your entire family will be disgraced. Your father will never recover from the shame. The Arthion name—"

Arielle’s eyes flashed, and she turned on him with a fury that made him flinch. "YOU DO NOT SPEAK OF MY SISTER THAT WAY!"

The words echoed through the chamber, ringing with a force that silenced even the crackling fire. Dale’s mouth snapped shut, his eyes went wide with shock.

In all the years he had known Arielle, he had never seen her truly angry—not like this. She was usually so composed, so controlled, the perfect diplomat. But now, with her sister’s life hanging in the balance, the mask had shattered. ℯℯ𝑙.

"Whether the child lives or dies," Arielle said, her voice trembled with barely contained rage and grief, "my sister shall decide for herself. Not me. Not you. And not anyone else. She will make her own choice when she wakes. And I will not hurt her further just because I keep playing the coward."

Dale stared at her, his protests died in his throat. He saw it then—the truth that had been hidden beneath Arielle’s polished exterior all along.

She was not just a politician or a leader. She was a protective and loving older sister, driven by a fierce devotion that would not be swayed by threats or logic.

She wanted Eiravelle to be happy, to be free, to have the chance to choose her own path—even if that path led straight through the heart of danger.

Arielle turned back to her sister, her anger faded as quickly as it had come. She lifted Eiravelle’s limp hand and pressed it to her lips, her eyes closed for a moment as a tear slipped down her cheek.

"I will ask the sovereign for permission to cross between realms," Arielle murmured, her voice became soft and resolute. "If she says yes, then I will go with her blessing. If she says no... Either way, I will still do it. For her. For my sister, and for the innocent life she carries."

She gently placed Eiravelle’s hand back on the bed, smoothing the covers around her as if tucking her sister in for the night. Then she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Eiravelle’s forehead, her lips lingered for a moment against the cool skin.

"I’ll be right back," she whispered, her voice was barely audible. "I promised I would always protect you. And I will. No matter the cost."

She rose from the bedside, her movements were steady despite the storm raging inside her. She met Dale’s gaze one last time, her eyes were hard and unyielding.

"Watch over her while I am gone," she ordered. "Keep her alive. That is all I ask."

And with that, she strode from the room, her footsteps echoed down the corridor like the beating of a war drum.

Dale stood frozen in the center of the chamber, staring at the closed door. He knew this was a terrible idea—a reckless, dangerous gamble that could destroy everything the Arthion family had built.

He had seen the weight of this decision on Arielle’s face, had heard the desperation in her voice. And yet, despite all his training and experience, he could not find the words to stop her.

He looked down at Eiravelle’s still form, at the pale face and fragile body that held so much more than anyone had realized.

A child. A secret. A hope and a burden all at once.

Dale sighed, shaking his head slowly. He knew that he could not stop a young Arielle with so much fire in her heart. And perhaps—that fire was exactly what Eiravelle needed to survive.