The moonlight pooled through the tall windows, silvering the edge of the floor where Sapphire sat, half-draped over the arm of a chair. Her legs were tucked beneath her, her elbow resting on the windowsill, head tilted back against the wood. A soft breeze stirred the curtains, brushing strands of her hair against her cheek.
Her body ached. The tournament had taken more from her than she expected, not physically, but emotionally. Watching Fletcher, seeing him glow with triumph only to be dimmed by his father's cold command... it had hollowed something inside her.
She had tried to be strong for the boy, to cheer, to smile, to tell him he mattered. But when Damien Waydell looked at her, as if she were dirt under his boot, something in her had cracked.
She stared into the dimness of her room now, the only sound the ticking of a rusted clock and the soft flicker of a candle's flame.
So much of her life had become waiting. Waiting for change. For healing. For answers. Even the draughts lined neatly on her desk, her secret hope, felt like another desperate gamble.
She hadn't noticed Sarah enter.
The maid didn't speak at first. Just lingered by the door, fingers twisting in her apron. Then, in a voice so quiet it nearly drowned in the silence,
"My lady…"
Sapphire didn't stir.
"…I think I've missed my courses."
That caught her. Slowly, Sapphire turned her head, eyes narrowed in thought, unsure she'd heard right.
Sarah looked pale, her throat bobbing as she swallowed hard. "I didn't want to say anything until I was sure. But it's been weeks now."
Sapphire sat up, blinking slowly, exhaustion still pulling at her bones, but her mind suddenly alert.
She opened her mouth, then closed it. No words came at first.
A moment passed.
Then softly, tiredly, she whispered, "Are you certain?"
The maid nodded.
Sapphire leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, hands clasped.
So one of the recipes had worked. One of them worked.
She didn't smile. Not yet. There was too much weight in her chest. Too much she'd buried, about hope, about motherhood, about what was stolen from her.
Still… a slow breath escaped her lips. A fragile flicker of light in the dark.
Even in a broken world… life was trying to bloom.
Sapphire stood slowly, brushing off her breeches, her thoughts racing but her movements calm. "Come," she said gently, nodding toward the small side she used for her herb work.
Sarah followed, her hands trembling as she perched on the stool near the worktable. The soft glow of the lanterns lit the young maid's face, pale but composed.
Sapphire pulled her apron tighter, brushing her palms over her thighs before reaching for a small ledger. "Tell me everything you've noticed," she said, voice steady.
Sarah nodded. "I've been queasy in the mornings. Not always. Just… strange at the back of my throat. I get tired faster. And—" she looked away, embarrassed. "My breasts ache. They feel… fuller. Heavier. And sensitive to touch."
Sapphire scribbled notes quietly. Then she glanced up, her gaze soft but focused. "Would you allow me to examine you?"
Sarah hesitated, but nodded.
Sapphire moved with care, years of quiet study and instinct guiding her. She washed her hands, dried them on linen, and then gently checked for signs, light pressure at the abdomen, the firmness just below the navel, the warmth of skin flushed slightly beyond usual.
Her touch was methodical but gentle, reassuring more than intrusive.
When she stepped back, her voice was soft.
"There's no swelling yet… but everything else lines up. If you are, it's early."
Sarah blinked, lips parting in wonder. "So… I could be?"
Sapphire nodded slowly. "We'll wait a little longer to be sure. But yes. There's a strong chance."
Then she sat back down, and for the first time in hours, her shoulders sagged, not in defeat, but relief.
A spark in the dark.
It wasn't just her trying anymore. Something had worked.
And perhaps, after all, the Hivites were not broken. Only wounded.
And wounds could heal.
Sapphire's voice dropped to a near whisper, calm but firm. "You mustn't speak of this to anyone yet, not even your husband."
Sarah looked startled. "But… shouldn't he know?"
Sapphire met her eyes with a steady gaze. "Not yet. If this is truly a pregnancy, it's still very early. The risks are high, and we don't know if the baby will take. Stress or excitement could interfere. For now, rest. Avoid coupling. Take time off from your duties, I'll arrange it quietly."
She turned to her worktable, where neatly labeled vials and jars were lined like quiet sentinels. With practiced hands, she selected a small amber bottle, its contents a soft blend of crushed chamomile, ginger root, and red raspberry leaf.
She handed it to Sarah carefully.
"Drink a small cup of this each morning and night. It will help calm the womb, reduce nausea, and support early development. No heavy lifting. No strain. We must protect the body's natural rhythm and allow it to nurture what's growing inside."
Sarah clutched the bottle tightly, nodding.
Sapphire gently touched her arm. "If this is truly a spark of life… we do not want to risk it fading before it's had a chance to shine."
Then she turned back to her table, the weight of quiet hope pressing gently into her bones.
***
Sapphire slipped silently through the darkened corridors, her breath shallow, heart pounding a frantic rhythm she hoped no one else could hear. The flicker of a candlelight under Lord Typhon's door drew her in like a moth to flame, dangerous, but impossible to resist.
Sapphire slipped quietly into the dark room, the faint glow of a single candle casting long shadows. She hadn't expected anyone to be here this late, but she needed to speak with Lord Typhon in private.
As the door closed behind her, a sudden movement caught her off guard. Lord Typhon stepped from the shadows, his tall figure silhouetted against the flickering light. His eyes locked onto hers, sharp, unreadable.
Before she could say a word, his strong hands were on her, pressing her gently but firmly against the wall. Her breath hitched as she felt the heat from his palms against her neck.
He didn't speak at first, but he could feel it, the steady beat of her heart, pumping warm, vibrant blood beneath his touch. It was a sound and a sensation that few could resist, even those who prided themselves on control.
"You should not sneak into a lord's room at this hour," he said quietly, voice calm but edged with warning.
Sapphire's cheeks flushed, torn between fear and something else, something she didn't fully understand.
His gaze softened just a fraction, but the tension remained. Lord Typhon's grip softened just slightly, but his eyes stayed fixed on her, sharp and commanding in the dim light.
"Why are you here at this hour, Sapphire?" His voice was low, steady, curious but carrying the weight of authority. "If it's important, speak quickly. This is not a place for secrets or hesitation."
He didn't loosen his hold yet; instead, he waited, his presence filling the room like a silent challenge. The steady beat of her heart still thumped under his fingers, a reminder of her vulnerability, and something else, something he refused to reveal.
For a long moment, they simply stood there, two worlds colliding in silence.
Lord Typhon's hand slipped slowly off her neck, his gaze flickering away for a moment, betraying a rare flicker of uncertainty.
"I thought you were a spy," he admitted quietly, voice roughened by years of suspicion and vigilance. "I am used to dealing with shadows in the night, and most of them do not come bearing good news."
His eyes met hers again, sharper now but softer underneath, waiting for her to speak, waiting to hear the truth that had brought her here so boldly, despite the risk.
Sapphire's eyes met his, steady despite the quick thrum of her pulse. "It's Sarah," she said softly. "The maid I've been testing the draughts on. She… she missed her courses."
Typhon's eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable.
"There might be a chance," she continued, stepping closer. "A real one. I've been careful, changing the herbs, adjusting the dosages. Nothing guaranteed yet, but this, this is the first sign of hope."
He blinked, surprised. For a moment, the silence in the room felt sacred.
Typhon finally spoke, voice low, "You're certain?"
"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."
Typhon turned from her slowly, stepping back into the candlelit shadows of the room. He ran a hand through his tousled black hair, then lowered himself into the high-backed chair near the table, the candlelight casting golden lines across his pale features.
Sapphire stood there for a heartbeat, then followed quietly, her hands clasped in front of her.
"I don't even know which draught did it," she confessed, her voice low. "I've been interchanging them… carefully. Testing dosages, recording symptoms. But then… today, Sarah came to me. She whispered it like a sin." She paused. "She missed her courses."
Typhon's posture shifted slightly, attention sharpening.
"I've told her to be discreet," Sapphire continued, steadying herself. "No one must know, not yet. She's to take time off from work, pretend to be ill. No coupling. No stress. If this is real… even the smallest mistake could end it."
She didn't realize she was clutching the edge of the chair beside her until his voice came, quiet but firm.
"You took a risk."
She met his eyes. "It was a risk worth taking."
Typhon stood slowly and walked toward her, the quiet hush of his movements as fluid as shadow. For a heartbeat, she thought he might scold her. Instead, his words came soft, almost reverent:
"You've done well, Sapphire."
Her breath hitched. She hadn't expected it, not this soon. Not from him.
"I did it for my son," Sapphire said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
She was speaking of the little boy she rarely mentioned. The one she'd left behind in Creedom. The son born of a political marriage turned bitter silence. A child too young to understand sacrifice, but old enough to feel absence.
Typhon studied her, this strange, defiant woman who walked like a servant but burned with a sovereign's fire, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something close to hope.