Halvern looked troubled. Not uncertain but troubled.
His fingers remained lightly against my wrist as if he were confirming something only he could feel.
“Your Majesty,” he said slowly, “I understand why this is difficult to believe. But the signs are clear. Your pulse carries two rhythms. It is faint, but unmistakable.”
Aunt Irish inhaled sharply. I stared at him, my thoughts racing too fast to form properly.
“No,” I said again, shaking my head weakly. “There must be another explanation. Some illness… some reaction to stress–”
“I have treated many royalties, warriors, and mothers for more than a hundred years,” Halvern interrupted gently. “This is not an illness.”
My stomach twisted again, though this time it had nothing to do with nausea.
“But that would mean…” I couldn’t even fin
