Seventy One
“Good afternoon, Ma’am,” Zaria said softly as she dipped into a curtsey, skirts whispering over the warm stone. Queen Gelda stepped into the garden unhurried grace. “Oh, please, my dear,” she chided gently. “No need for formalities between family.” She smiled, wide, regal, and entirely genuine, as her gaze slipped to Zaria’s midsection. The swell there was still modest, but impossible to ignore now. Zaria had filled out again, a little color back in her cheeks. Not quite whole, but no longer a ghost. “Come, sit,” Gelda added, settling herself at the table. Only once the queen had arranged her gown did Zaria take the chair opposite her. Servants flowed in without being summoned, setting down a polished silver tray. China clinked. Tea steamed, fragrant with citrus and honey. A plate of d
- Writer
