Ryley's jaw tightened, his eyes shifting away as anger and helplessness churned in his chest. Denying her words wouldn't change anything—and he knew it.
Madam Beckett set her teacup down with a quiet clink, a sigh slipping from her lips.
"The campaign for the Passing Realm is fast approaching," she said, voice measured but carrying the weight of command. "I don't want to hear of any more conflict between you and Mervyn—or anyone else, for that matter. Just live quietly. Live peacefully."
Her eyes met his, sharp as glass. "I hope that's not too much to ask."
Ryley kept his head held high, lips sealed in defiant silence even as the old woman rose and drifted away, her footsteps fading into the distance.
His fists curled tight in his lap, knuckles white—until his eyes dropped, softening as they landed on the subtle curve of his lower abdomen.
His clenched hand slowly unfurled, trembling as it lifted to rest gently over the life growing within him.
