Everthorne Manor had begun a new season.
Spring crept in quietly, followed by gentle rains and blooming wildflowers. The halls were no longer filled with the sound of strategy and war, but with soft footsteps, whispers of laughter, and life coming back one slow breath at a time.
And amidst all of it — Claude and Amelia had altered.
Not with fanfare. Not with declarations.
But in the way he made her tea without asking.In the way her fingers found his on strolls through the garden.In how they talked less out of obligation and more out of a desire to be heard.
There were also moments of tender affection now — a hand resting lightly against the curve of her back as she walked through a room, the gentle brushing of a kiss on her temple, the guardedly watchful way he looked after her from across the library when she was too stubborn to admit weariness.
And then, there was Clara.
She was beyond delighted.
"You're glowing," she said to Amelia one morning while dressing her, regardless of the way Amelia flapped her hand away."I promise you, if you start bawling over puppies next, I'll begin keeping tabs."
"I am not glowing," Amelia muttered, face hot, "and I haven't bawled over anything."
Clara raised a brow. "You sniffed at the close of that letter from Claude last night."
"It was dusty in the room."
Clara grinned, looping her arm through Amelia's as they stepped out into the courtyard. The garden had begun to bloom, and the sound of bees hummed gently through the air."Regardless, you're the first woman in this estate to walk around giving orders with a child growing inside her. I'm incredibly proud of you, Duchess."
Amelia hesitated, regarding her friend with honest tenderness."You don't need to remain, you know. You might go back to the capital now that matters have calmed down."
Clara scoffed."And miss seeing you attempt to rule pregnancy with a ledger in one hand and a sword in the other? Never."
Both women laughed — and it was true, not the result of survival or resentment.
Claude came across them later that afternoon in the orchard, Clara examining a blade of grass as if it had offended her, Amelia sitting on a bench with a book. He walked across the grass in his customary silent manner, pausing to glance at her, eyes resting on the swell of her belly already visible below her dress.
"You needn't be out in the sun for so long," he whispered.
"I'm not made of parchment, Claude."
"You're carrying a future general in there. I get to worry."
Amelia rolled her eyes, but a smile pulled at her lips.
Clara leaned against a tree nearby."You two are disgustingly adorable now, you know."
Claude raised a brow. "Now?"
"Before it was just awkward tension and murderous glances. Progress."
Claude looked at Amelia, his voice lower."You're not too tired?"
She shook her head."Not today. Just… happy."
His hand slipped into hers without hesitation.
Clara averted her gaze, feigning ignorance of the softness between them. She took a step back, but her smile never wavered.
She'd once viewed Amelia as competition.Then, a puzzle.Now? Family.
And she'd defend them both — all three of them — with everything she had left.