Liv replied with a small smile, even as her fingers trembled when she reached for the nearest table.
Jay never argued harshly. He only moved closer, making sure Liv was never truly alone. His hand was always ready to steady her, his back always close enough to become a support if she faltered.
Night was the worst.
When the palace fell silent and there were no more masks to wear, Jay often lay awake. He sat by the bed, watching Liv sleep with shallow breaths and a pale face. Sometimes Liv stirred restlessly, as if her own body had grown too heavy for her to bear.
Jay clenched his fists, holding back an anger that had nowhere to go toward the council, the mages, fate itself, or his own helplessness.
He hoped.
He hoped it would all end soon. He hoped the birth would come sooner. He hoped Liv's suffering would not have to last any longer.
Yet beneath that hope was a fear he never spoke aloud.
