Chapter 68: Gifting

Chapter 68: Gifting
The Old Village had erupted into a wild, untamed frenzy of celebration.

To honor the impending arrival of his first heir, Jarek had emptied his family’s coffers, promising handfuls of gold coins to any man or woman who joined his hunting parties. The result was a massive, roaring feast that stretched across the central square. Dozens of fire pits blazed against the night sky, roasting fresh venison and desert boar, while the relentless, rhythmic thumping of Askari drums echoed off the canyon walls.

Misarya sat at the high table, sipping spiced wine. She had grown accustomed to the chaotic, lively celebrations of the plains that lasted for days, even though she already knew a party this massive would mean endless work for the healers the following morning.

But if anyone deserved to be celebrated with such fervor, it was Rhea.

Misarya watched her friend across the table. Rhea was glowing, smiling ear to ear as warriors and merchants alike came to offer their congratulations. Even Jarek’s wealthy, prideful family—who had been deeply and vocally against the union—had been forced to bow their heads. To the Askari, this child was nothing short of a miracle. The whispers traveling through the feast claimed it was a gift from the Old Gods, a divine reward for the unwavering love Jarek had shown by marrying a barren woman and accepting he would never have a bloodline.

Misarya smiled into her cup, liking the sound of that myth. She preferred to think of herself as merely a bridge; what had truly healed Rhea’s womb, in the end, was love.

Yet, as she watched Jarek press a tender kiss to his wife's temple, a dark, quiet thought crept into Misarya’s mind.

Why am I not pregnant yet?

She lowered her cup, the sweet wine suddenly tasting like ash. They had been sharing a bed for months. He took her with a passion that left her breathless and aching, yet her womb remained stubbornly empty. If the gods rewarded true love with life, what did her barrenness mean? Did the Dragon King simply desire her body, while his soul remained entirely closed to her? Was it a lack of love that kept her empty?

"I will come to your cabin early tomorrow," Rhea’s voice broke through Misarya’s spiraling thoughts. She leaned across the table, her eyes bright. "To help you carry the medicine boxes to the healers."

Misarya shook her head immediately, her protective instincts flaring. "You will do no such thing. Someone else can help me with that. I do not want you to exert yourself, Rhea. You should rest."

Rhea let out a loud, genuine laugh. "I cannot sit in a tent and rest for nine months, my Queen!"

"You should!" Misarya insisted, her brow furrowing with genuine concern.

She knew the Askari were built differently. She had seen pregnant women in the village doing things that even healthy, non-pregnant women were strictly forbidden from doing in Halen-dar. Askari women rode horses, hunted, and carried heavy loads of water and wood right up until their waters broke. They simply kept going. But this baby was a fragile miracle, and Misarya was terrified of Rhea losing it. "You must promise me you will not exert yourself. You will get plenty of rest."

Rhea rolled her eyes playfully. "You are worrying entirely too much, my Queen—"

"I think the Queen is right."

Both Misarya and Rhea snapped their heads to the side. Neither had expected Jarek to enter the conversation. He was leaning back in his heavy wooden chair, a cup of wine balanced on his knee, his golden-brown eyes fixed on them.

Rhea frowned. "Jarek, I cannot sit and do nothing for nine months. I will go mad."

"Well," Jarek countered smoothly, his voice reasonable and calm, "I am sure being the Queen's companion is a vast amount of work. And the Queen is kind and generous enough to alleviate some of that burden in order to protect our baby. You should be grateful, my love."

Misarya smiled, completely missing the trap closing around her. "Thank you, Jarek. That is exactly it."

Jarek offered a deep, respectful nod. "In fact, my Queen, since Rhea will be less available to tend to you and your household... I would like to compensate you. I offer my dear sister, Maya, to take my wife’s place by your side."

Misarya froze.

Her gaze darted toward the massive central bonfire. Maya was there, dancing with the other Askari women, her long auburn locks spinning wildly in the firelight. Misarya suddenly remembered the feast weeks ago, the star-forged blade, and the way the King had looked at her.

"It is very kind of you, Jarek," Misarya said carefully, keeping her voice light. "But there is no need. I have Amara and Taya. I am quite sure I can manage without Rhea for a few months—"

"So Rhea's role is not that important to you?" Jarek interrupted, his tone shifting, turning slightly colder.

"I did not say that," Misarya corrected quickly, feeling the ground shift beneath her feet.

Jarek tilted his head, setting his cup on the table with a dull sound. "So... are you rejecting my gift, my Queen?"

Panic flared in Misarya’s chest.

She knew enough about Askari customs by now to recognize the danger of that question. The plains ran on a strict, unspoken law of "gifting." To publicly deny a gift from a powerful family without a dire, undeniable reason was considered a massive insult. Even when an Askari lord offered his wife, daughter, or sister as a sexual favor to a guest or a King, the custom was to accept the offer graciously in public. If the man did not want the woman, he was expected to express his rejection to her only in absolute privacy, sparing the family's public honor.

Annoyingly, brilliantly, Jarek had weaponized that very custom against her. If she said no, she insulted one of the most powerful families funding her husband's army.

Misarya forced a polite, unwavering smile onto her face. "Of course not, Jarek. I accept your offer with gratitude."

Jarek smiled, a flash of white teeth in the firelight, and raised his cup to her.

Beside him, Rhea looked as though she had seen a ghost. All the color had drained from her face, leaving her sickly pale. She knew exactly what Jarek had just done. Her hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the table.

"Well," Rhea stammered, her voice tight. "I think... I actually do not feel well. I need to leave."

Jarek stood up instantly, playing the role of the devoted husband to perfection. "I will take you back to our tent, my love."

Misarya felt a deep, twisting knot of wrongness in her gut, but she couldn't place exactly what had just happened. She reached out, briefly touching Rhea's arm. "If anything happens, please send for me. Anywhere, anytime."

Rhea forced a fragile smile, unable to meet Misarya's eyes. "Thank you, my Queen," she whispered, quickly looking away as Jarek led her from the high table.

Misarya sat alone for a moment, the deafening noise of the feast suddenly feeling oppressive. A few minutes later, Ikarion returned from speaking with his generals. He dropped onto the heavy wooden bench beside her, immediately noticing the empty seats.

"Is Rhea alright?" Ikarion asked, reaching for the wine pitcher.

"She said she was a little indisposed," Misarya replied, watching Jarek’s broad back disappear into the crowd. "I think Jarek is just being incredibly cautious."

"It makes sense," Ikarion murmured, pouring his wine. "He wanted that child more than anything. He once told me he would rather die childless than get another woman pregnant."
Misarya felt a pang of profound sympathy. "I guess he truly loves her."

Ikarion took a slow drink, his golden eyes reflecting the flames of the square. "I think it is madness."

Misarya turned to him, startled. "Why?"

"Rhea is a good woman," Ikarion stated, the pragmatism of the Warlord bleeding into every word. "And I am glad everything worked out for them, as it seems. But great men need a legacy. A bloodline is what holds a kingdom together when the sword falls."

Misarya went entirely quiet.

Perhaps the Askari and the Halendarians had more in common than she thought. She remembered a story from the valleys, of a high-born Master from a lesser clan whose marriage was annulled after his wife failed to give him living children for five years. She was stripped of her titles, sent to the Temple of the Eternal Flame to live cloistered with the priestesses, and the Master simply married his first wife’s younger sister.

Misarya discreetly lowered her hand, letting it rest flat against her empty stomach. She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, praying to the Old Gods, to the Askari Gods, to the Eternal Flame—to anyone who would listen—to grant her a child as soon as possible.

She opened her eyes and looked across the square. Maya was still dancing, bathed in the golden light and the gaze of several men.

In Halen-dar, a barren wife could be given five years. Here, in the Askari plains, Misarya knew it would take far less time for her to be replaced.