Chapter 115: The Iron Chamber (2)

Eiravelle entered and saw Qazaethel in her dragon form. The sight hit her like a physical blow, stealing the breath from her lungs and replacing it with something sharp and aching. Qazaethel was all red and sweating, her scales are dulled and cracked in places where the heat had grown too intense, and she looked like she was melting from the inside out, like her own power was consuming her.

The great dragon was curled in on herself, her massive body was trembling with each labored breath, and Eiravelle felt tears prick at her eyes before she could stop them. She had never seen Qazaethel like this.

She had seen her strong and commanding, had seen her soft and tender, had seen her fierce and protective, but she had never seen her brought so low, so utterly undone by her own body.

"Qaz~" she breathed, and the name came out broken, barely more than a whisper. But Qazaethel heard it. She slowly opened her eyes, the golden irises dim and unfocused, and for a moment she seemed to be looking through Eiravelle rather than at her.

Then recognition flickered across her features, faint and struggling, and she tried to rise. Her limbs would not cooperate. She pushed herself up on shaking legs, her claws scraping against the stone floor, but she was unstable, wobbling like a newborn fawn, and she collapsed with a heavy crash that sent tremors through the ground.

The impact shook the walls and rattled loose stones from the ceiling, but Eiravelle did not flinch. She did not even blink. She simply watched Qazaethel with eyes full of tears and love and a pain that went deeper than any fear.

"My love, don’t move too much," she said, and her voice was soft but steady, the way a mother might speak to a frightened child. Seeing Qazaethel like this broke her heart in ways she could not put into words. She pressed a hand to her pregnant belly, an instinctive gesture of comfort, and felt the child stir within her as if the little one could sense her distress.

Then Qazaethel roared, a sound that started deep in her chest and rumbled through the chamber like distant thunder, and heaved a heavy sigh that seemed to drain the last of her strength. Eiravelle rushed to her then, crossing the distance between them without hesitation, and gently touched Qazaethel’s burning forehead.

The heat was staggering, so intense that the air above Qazaethel’s scales shimmered and wavered, but Eiravelle felt no sting, no burn. The potion she had drunk was working, shielding her skin from the worst of the fever, and she could touch Qazaethel without fear.

But it was not fear that made her hands tremble. It was the profound, overwhelming pain of seeing the person she loved most in the world suffering like this, and being able to do nothing but stand beside her and watch.

"Qazaethel, it’s okay. I’m here now..." She whispered, and her voice cracked on the last word. Qazaethel flinched at the sound, her great head jerking back, and she moved away from Eiravelle’s touch, gathering her strength with all she had just to put distance between them. The effort cost her. Her legs shook, her wings drooped low, and she let out a soft, pained sound that tore at Eiravelle’s heart.

"Eiravelle..." Qazaethel spoke then, her voice was rasping and strained, and Eiravelle raised her gaze to meet those dim golden eyes. "Leave... I do not want to harm you and our child." The words were firm, final, spoken with the kind of authority that Qazaethel had wielded a thousand times before.

But there was fear beneath them, a raw, desperate fear that Eiravelle could hear as clearly as if Qazaethel had spoken it aloud. She was afraid of herself. Afraid of what her fevered body might do. Afraid of hurting the people she loved most.

Eiravelle shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "No, please don’t drive me away, Qaz." She pleaded, reaching for Qazaethel, her fingers are brushing against a scalding shoulder. But once again, Qazaethel moved away, her movements are clumsy and slow, her body was refusing to obey her commands as quickly as she needed it to.

"No," Qazaethel repeated, and the word came out as a growl, low and rough. "I cannot—I will not risk you. Please, Eiravelle. Go." She was trembling now, her whole body was shaking with the effort of holding herself back, and the sight of it made Eiravelle cry harder.

She tried to calm herself, tried to breathe through the sobs that threatened to consume her, but the stress was too intense, too overwhelming, and she suddenly whimpered as she felt something in her belly, something painful that made her double over.

"Ngh~" she whimpered, one hand flying to her stomach as a cramp seized her, sharp and frightening. Qazaethel’s dragon ears flared up, her senses cutting through the fog of her fever to latch onto the sound of Eiravelle’s pain.

She moved without thinking, without hesitating, her massive form surging forward to place herself between Eiravelle and the rest of the chamber. She used her big dragon hand to create a wall, a solid barrier of warm scales and steady strength where Eiravelle could lean and be supported.

"You’re stressed. This is bad for the baby," Qazaethel said, and her voice had changed. The fear was still there, but it was buried beneath something deeper, something fiercer—the instinct to protect. Her eyes softened as she looked down at Eiravelle, at the tears on her cheeks and the way she clutched her belly, and the last of her resistance crumbled.

Slowly, she shifted, her massive dragon form shrinking and reshaping until she stood before Eiravelle in her human-like form, her skin still flushed with fever but her eyes were clear and focused. She pulled Eiravelle into a hug, her arms are wrapping around the omega with a gentleness that belied her strength.

"I figured that I am in rut... That’s why I am acting like this," Qazaethel said, her voice was strained with the fever and muffled against Eiravelle’s hair. The admission cost her something—Eiravelle could feel it in the way her arms tightened, in the way her breath hitched—but she did not pull away. She held on.

Eiravelle looked up at her, her eyes are still wet but steady now, and asked the question that had been burning in her heart since the moment she had walked into the chamber. "Do you need me, my love?" The words were simple, but they carried the weight of everything she was willing to give, everything she wanted to offer. Qazaethel’s eyes widened, taken aback that Eiravelle would say something like that, and her response came out sharper than she intended.

"No!" The word was loud, almost a bark, and it echoed off the walls of the chamber. But Eiravelle didn’t flinch. Not at all. That was the good part, the thing that made Qazaethel’s heart ache with love and relief all at once. Eiravelle trusted her enough that she didn’t flinch at her words, didn’t pull away from her anger, and didn’t doubt for a single moment that Qazaethel would never hurt her.

"You’re heavily pregnant," Qazaethel said, and her voice softened, the sharp edges crumbled away to reveal the worry underneath. "If I take you, I’m scared I might hurt you and our baby." The words were spoken with a love so fierce it made her voice shake, and Eiravelle slowly, gently cupped her face in her hands and smiled. It was a soft smile, tired and tender, but there was a certainty in it that made Qazaethel’s breath catch.

"You won’t hurt me. Please~ I need you too," Eiravelle said, and something in Qazaethel’s chest loosened. The fever was still burning through her veins, the rut still clawing at the edges of her control, but Eiravelle’s words calmed her nerves in a way that nothing else could.

She gently planted a soft kiss on Eiravelle’s forehead, letting her lips linger there for a moment, and slowly, the heavy temperature inside the room began to lessen. The heat receded like a tide pulling back from the shore, and the air grew cooler, more breathable. Qazaethel embraced her and sighed, a long, exhausted sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her.

"I feel better now. I didn’t know why, but all I know is it was because of you," Qazaethel said, and Eiravelle felt the skin beneath her hands turn back to normal, the fever was fading, and the heat was dissipating. She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching Qazaethel’s face.

"Qazaethel, your fever?" She asked, her voice full of wonder and worry in equal measure. Qazaethel gently leaned down and planted a soft kiss on Eiravelle’s lips. It was a gentle kiss, a tender one, and when she withdrew, she was smiling.

"I think it got better when I saw you," she said, and Eiravelle giggled, the sound was bright and warm in the dim chamber. Qazaethel chuckled too, and for a moment, the fear and the pain and the heat were forgotten, replaced by something softer and sweeter.

"But you said you’re in rut... I was willing to help you with your rut, Love—" Eiravelle started, but Qazaethel gently cut her off, shaking her head.

"Shhh~ no~ this one helps~ being in rut cycle doesn’t give me a reason to make love with you now that I can also feel you’re stressed," Qazaethel said, and she kept her arms wrapped around Eiravelle, holding her close like she was something precious, something fragile and strong all at once. Eiravelle giggled softly, the sound muffled against Qazaethel’s shoulder.

"Hehe... I even brought you a bucket of water, because I was thinking of pouring it on you to calm your fever even just a bit," Eiravelle admitted, and Qazaethel chuckled, the sound rumbling through her chest.

"That water won’t help a dragon’s fever, you know? Because water evaporates easily," Qazaethel explained, and Eiravelle smiled, the expression was soft and fond. There was a moment of silence between them, a comfortable one, the kind that came from being with someone you loved, and then Eiravelle hugged her again, her arms wrapping around Qazaethel’s waist and holding on tight.

"Let’s go back to the eastern palace... I want to take care of you," she admitted, her voice was muffled against Qazaethel’s shoulder. Qazaethel nodded, her chin was resting on top of Eiravelle’s head.

"Okay... As you wish," she uttered, and then, without warning, she bent down and scooped Eiravelle into her arms, lifting her as easily as if she weighed nothing at all.

"Eh? But you’re still weak!" Eiravelle protested, her hands are flying up to grip Qazaethel’s shoulders, her eyes wide with surprise and concern. Qazaethel just smiled, a soft, tired smile that held a world of love.

"But I am not that weak... I want to carry you and our child because you’ve been carrying this pregnancy all alone. This time, let me carry you too," Qazaethel answered, and Eiravelle’s worry was plain on her face. She shook her head, her fingers tightening on Qazaethel’s shoulders.

"Please—" she started, but Qazaethel gently cut her off.

"Shhh~ please trust me, my love." The words were soft, almost a whisper, and Eiravelle softened at the sound of them. She nodded, her resistance crumbling, and leaned into Qazaethel’s chest, letting herself be held.

The iron door opened on its own, swinging outward on silent hinges, and the people outside were taken aback to see Qazaethel carrying Eiravelle. Arielle’s hand dropped to her side, her magic was flickering out as she stared at her sister cradled in the sovereign’s arms.

Dawn gasped softly, her hand was flying to her mouth, and Liv’s eyes went wide with shock. Xelvyn and Yvaine exchanged a glance, their barriers are dissolving as the heat vanished, replaced by the cool, clean air of the corridor. Ruthina uncrossed her arms, her skepticism was replaced by something that looked almost like surprise.

"You’re all dismissed. Liv, make sure to leave clean royal guest rooms for Lady Yvaine and Lordess Arielle," Qazaethel said, her voice was carrying the full weight of her authority despite the lingering weakness in her body.

Liv was speechless for a moment, caught off guard by the command and by the sight of the sovereign—still flushed with fever, still weak from her ordeal—standing tall and carrying Eiravelle as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Ah... Y-Yes, Your Majesty," Liv answered, her voice stumbled over the words, and she bowed quickly, her mind already racing with the arrangements she would need to make. Qazaethel nodded once, a small, tired gesture, and then she slowly walked away, her steps measured and careful, Eiravelle held securely in her arms.

The others watched her go, their faces were a mixture of awe and worry and something that felt almost like hope. Arielle pressed a hand to her chest, her heart aching with a strange blend of fear and pride, and whispered a quiet prayer for her sister’s safety.

Dawn leaned against Liv, her earlier fear was still visible in the tightness around her eyes, but there was something else there too now—something that looked almost like relief. Xelvyn and Yvaine fell into step behind the sovereign, their eyes are watchful, while their hands are ready, and Ruthina followed at a distance, her arms were crossed once more but her expression became thoughtful.

And Qazaethel walked on while Eiravelle was warm and safe in her arms, her fever faded with every step she took.