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I lift my hand, my magic slipping out of my palm and dissolving all signs of my sickness.

Stay. I’m fine, I promise.

Right now, Memnon is in the throne room, doing kingly business that I should be participating in. The last thing I want is to take him away from that too, especially when a sense of unrest is sweeping through our people—nomadic and sedentary alike.

I push myself to my haunches, my hand dropping absently to my sensitive stomach. I haven’t really given much thought to the cause until now, when it’s stretched on far longer than sicknesses normally do.

My fingers drum along the skin of my belly, and suddenly, a thought comes to me, a thought so preposterous, it stops me entirely.

There was one other time when I was sick for this long.

But then I was…was?—

No, that would be impossible. It’s been years, after all.

I glance down, my fingers absently tracing designs, wisps of my magic curling out from beneath my touch.

I cannot fully shake the terrifying, wonderful thought.

Could I be…pregnant?

“Hide my form,” I whisper. The enchantment goes up quickly. Once it’s in place, I cup one of my breasts, grimacing when the light touch causes a throb of pain. How had I not noticed this?

And my monthly bleeds…when was the last one?

I cannot remember.

My heart is pounding loudly, so loudly. But just as swiftly, joy overtakes surprise.

I never thought this would happen again.

But, gods, I think Iampregnant.

Should I tell him?I think as I sit in the raucous dining hall.I might be wrong…

Tell me what?Memnon asks down our bond, one of his arms draped over my chairback, his attention seemingly focused on the Alanic queen across from us, whom we’re hosting for the next several days.

Stop listening in on my thoughts,I say.Besides, who says I was even referring to you?

Now Memnon does look away from his dinner guest. Grabbing my lower jaw, he presses a fierce kiss to my lips.

He grins against my mouth.You’re a godsdamned liar and we both know it. There is no one else. Just me. And that secret ismine.

I narrow my eyes on him even as I begin to smile.I think I’ll wait to share the thought after all.

I can feel his mirth down our bond, and as he pulls away from me, his eyes are on my lips.I cannot wait to hear you divulge it when my face is buried between your legs later.

My cheeks heat, and I can feel the stares we’re drawing as Memnon continues to hold my face in his hand like I am the only one in the dining room, but of course, it isn’t just us. Besides the Alanic queen and her retinue, Zosines, Sattion, Rakas, and Borena, the female warrior who lies as often as she swings her sword, are here. And then, of course, there’s Eislyn, who watches me and Memnon with far too much interest, though as usual, her face reveals nothing.

“When are we going to return to the steppe lands?” Rakas asks, interrupting the moment. “Our people grow restless. We were meant to travel and fight. We are doing neither.”

The room falls uncomfortably silent, people shifting in their seats. It’s one thing to utter such a sentiment, but voicing these thoughts in front of guests directly undermines Memnon.

Memnon drops his hand from my chin, turning to face the Sarmatian. Rakas and many of the other warriors tense, anticipating Memnon’s retaliation.

My husband leans forward in his seat, his scale-mail armor shivering with the movement. Raka’s eyes are wide; he darts a quick look at Zosines.

“So eager to die, Rakas?” Memnon says.