Azalea softly pushed the heavy wooden door and entered Elena’s room.
A profound silence reigned in the semi-darkness of the premises, which smelled of lavender drops and old paper.
The girl’s heart was still thumping excitedly in her chest after the staggering news Marcus had dropped in the corridor.
Elena was half-reclining on the bed, propped against a mountain of soft pillows.
Her face appeared uncharacteristically bewildered, and a faint blush burned on her cheeks.
Noticing her niece entering, the woman attempted a weak smile and raised herself slightly.
“Azalea, dear…” Elena called out softly, scanning her face.
“You are not yourself. You look as pale as a ghost after that excursion. Is everything alright? Did something happen at the market?”
Instead of an answer, Azalea approached.
All the habitual coldness and resolve she had trained for so long evaporated into thin air.
Feeling a deep, fluttering trepidation, she sank onto the edge of the bed directly opposite Elena and tenderly took her hands in her own.
The woman’s hands were warm but trembled slightly.
An authentic smile appeared on Azalea’s lips, one she could not, and did not particularly care to, hold back.
“Everything is completely fine with me,” Azalea replied softly, looking into her eyes.
“But how are you? Are you alright, Elena? Marcus told me everything.”
The moment the question left her lips, Elena’s mouth trembled.
She tried to check the oncoming emotions but could not; silent, soundless tears spilled from her eyes.
She freed one hand and hastily pressed a lace handkerchief to her lips, trying to quell the sob rising in her throat.
“It is… it is so unexpected, Azalea,” Elena whispered, shaking her head as the tears rolled down her face.
“I didn’t think at all… I couldn’t even imagine that such a thing was possible at my age. Heavens, I truly believed that my time had passed irrevocably. Marcus is so happy, but I… I am so frightened.”
Azalea listened to her, feeling her heart tighten.
She understood the nature of this fear perfectly.
In this harsh world, a woman past thirty-five was already considered irreparably old for a first or late pregnancy.
Local physicians reluctantly took on such cases, promising a heavy burden and massive risks to the mother’s life.
And as for the gossip that would follow, it went without saying.
But Azalea did not share this opinion.
Never – neither before her rebirth nor after.
“Everything will be fine, do you hear me?” Azalea leaned forward and wrapped Elena in a tight, secure embrace, holding her close and letting her cry it out.
She stroked the woman’s trembling back, cradling her fears.
“You are not old, Elena. You are strong. You have Marcus, and you have me. Do you hear? We will do everything. You will want for nothing. You will follow instructions strictly and rest a great deal. Do not even think about working.”
The sticky fear of an unknown and perilous future, which had tormented her since the physician’s departure, finally began to recede, replaced by a timid but pure hope.
And it was not at all because these words were spoken by a girl who would have been instantly proclaimed a saint in Dannai; not at all.
Her heart was comforted by the absolute sincerity she felt from her niece.
Azalea pulled back, still holding Elena’s hands in her own.
Her eyes were also reddened, filled with tears.
“I will start creating vitamins tomorrow. And we need to earn money as quickly as possible to buy us a house. I don’t want the little one to come into the world in a stranger’s place. And we need to prepare clothes for you… and for the little boy or girl. I am so excited! And furthermore…”
Elena laughed softly.
“What are vitamins, dear?
No, you can explain later.
Right now, you need to rest.
You’ve been consumed by chores all day, and now you are thinking of the baby too.” Elena paused and added more quietly, “I…
I have dreamed of a baby for so long, Azalea.
But when the family affairs went downhill and we were ruined, Marcus and I sat down, and after a long talk, we decided that having a child would be wrong.
Not the right time.
We needed to get back on our feet, to survive…
Besides, our wound after losing Jane was still far too fresh.
I thought we had missed our window.
I am so anxious.
What if I can’t handle it?
What if I turn out to be a bad mother?
What if…”
“Everything will be fine, Elena. I am certain of it,” Azalea said firmly, looking directly into her eyes.
“You will be the best mother in the world. I know it.”
At that moment, the door creaked quietly, and Marcus entered the room almost on tiptoe.
He was still sniffing his nose, and his eyes were red and puffy from the tears he hadn’t managed to entirely hold back.
In his hands, he carried a small wicker basket, as though it were the greatest treasure, filled to the brim with crunchy almond wafers, Elena’s favorite treats, which he had apparently just sent a servant to fetch.
Seeing this large, usually stern and taciturn man fussing over his wife, adjusting her pillow with trembling hands and sliding the treat closer, Azalea could not help but admire them.
She thought about what an incredibly caring, sensitive, and truly wonderful father he would be for this baby.
After the family modestly celebrated the joyful news together, Marcus set about tending to his wife, who grumbled slightly at him for his excessive hovering.
They laughed for a long time, discussing a happy future that felt closer than ever before.
Azalea quietly slipped out of the future parents’ room, leaving them to themselves, and headed to her own quarters, still wiping away the last tears of joy lingering on her eyelashes as she walked.
A sense of deep relief and unaccustomed warmth still pleasantly warmed her chest.
In her chambers, Azalea’s first order of business was to draw a bath.
She did not summon the servants and did everything herself.
“Please forgive me, great Lumisphena, for using your gift to heat my water,” Azalea folded her hands in a prayerful gesture and closed her eyes.
A blue haze enveloped her for a moment.
Azalea did not see it, but she felt as though the gentle hands of the goddess had settled upon her shoulders.
Changing into a dry nightgown, she climbed into bed and pulled the soft blanket over herself.
But sleep would not come.
Azalea turned onto her side and looked at the clock standing on the bedside table.
A thought flashed through her mind, which she promptly discarded, turning crossly onto her other side.
However, it did not help.
She got out of bed, opened the wardrobe, selected a simple dark dress, and quickly changed.
Slipping quietly out of her room, she made her way down the corridor toward the back door.
“What on earth am I doing?” she whispered under her breath, hiding in a wall niche as the house’s night servants passed by.
Her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
Azalea understood that even if she simply walked out through the main entrance, no one would say a word to her.
Yet, for some unknown reason, she had decided to sneak through the night like a thief.
The final obstacle was left behind.
The back door shut quietly behind her.
She crossed the courtyard, reached the gates, crossed the road, and turned into a dark alley.
Dallion Lenoir stood there, lazily leaning against a brick wall.
He was gazing thoughtfully at the coin held in his fingers and smiled softly when he caught the familiar, light footsteps.
“I was beginning to think my coin had deceived me. You are fifteen minutes late, Miss Rosenthal.”
Azalea rolled her eyes expressively.
She categorically disliked that self-assured smile of his.
“A lady is never late, Mr. Lenoir; she is merely delayed, and pointing it out to her is entirely ungentlemanly.”
Dallion chuckled softly and gallantly extended his arm:
“Are you ready for a midnight stroll?”