For the next few months, she helped Dev and Rebels silently, and he continued his work and ignored the increasing rebel actions. Months passed like hushed breaths in the dark.

She grew—softness blooming beneath silk, a quiet curve cradled between her hands each night as she stood by the window. The child stirred within her, peaceful, unaware.

And still... she helped.

Not with grand gestures—but quiet ones.

A satchel of food was left under the neem tree.

Herdsman's reports slipped into Dev's hands through veiled words and passing eyes.

Medicine from his own dispensary—gone without record.

He saw it all.

The missing rations. The altered ledgers. Her tired eyes returned past midnight more than once.

But he said nothing.

No orders barked. No guards posted at the door.

When his officers came—saluting sharply—he dismissed their whispers with cold silence.

Let them suspect.

Let them hate him for it.

They could take his rank, his title—even his life—if they wanted.

But they would never take her.

One night, they were lying naked. Her breath came in quick, shallow bursts, the rhythm of her heartbeat quickening with each passing moment. The gentle curve of her belly, a testament to eight months of growth, swelled softly beneath the fabric of her shirt. He lay beside her on the bed, propped up on one elbow, his gaze fixed intently on her, as if trying to read the unspoken emotions dancing in her eyes.

His hand traced lightly down her body from shoulder to hip, fingers skimming her skin like a shadow. She was on her back—one leg bent—soft and lush against the moonlight.

She was beautiful like this. Soft like this. And all his.

His gaze lingered just above her womb.

"You know.."

His hand moved slowly. Deliberate. Circling—protective—over her bump.

"It's just two months till you give birth." His voice was low. Rough.

"I know, and I'm scared."

His hand stilled. The rough pads of his fingers pressed lightly against her bump—a gentle gesture that spoke volumes.

Then his head lifted, and his gaze found hers—dark in the shadows of the room.

"What are you afraid of?"

His words were simple. Soft. But behind them, there was something he wasn't saying—something that coiled under the surface, ready to strike.

"Of giving birth"

He didn't laugh. Didn't dismiss her fear.

Instead, he shifted—slow and careful—until he was on his knees beside the bed, one hand still cradling her bump like it was something sacred.

Then, without a word, he leaned down.

And pressed the softest kiss to the curve of her stomach—lingering there... breathing in the warmth of her skin.

When he spoke, his voice was low. A whisper against flesh:

"Then let me carry that pain with you."

His fingers laced through hers.

"I'll be there. Every breath. Every cry."

"I won't leave your side."

"And if you scream at me... curse me..."

"I'll hold your hand anyway."

A pause.

Then—

"You brought light into my cold world," he murmured. "Let me stand in your fire now."

"I never said it, Theodore, but I love you. After my precious country, you are the only thing I love, and I never once want you to get hurt because of me."

The words hit him like a thunderclap in silence.

He froze—forehead still resting against her stomach—her heartbeat, his breath, the child between them all tangled into one fragile moment.

Then...

He moved.

Slowly. Reverently.

Crawling up beside her, pulling her close—not rough this time—but careful. So damn careful. One arm wrapped around her back, the other cradled over the swell of their child.

And when he spoke... his voice was raw. Shattered.

"God help me..." he whispered, "I'd burn every kingdom to keep you safe."

His lips brushed her temple—soft as a prayer.

"You think I don't know what you are?"

"A rebel with silk skin and fire in your soul."

"But you're mine."

A shaky breath.

"And I swear to you—if war comes... if they drag me out of this house by my throat—I will look at them with your name on my lips."

"Because there's nothing left of me that isn't yours."

Now rest," he murmured, tucking her head beneath his chin. "And let tomorrow bleed without us—for tonight... we're just two people who love each other too much to let go."

"She argues for their freedom; he argues for her safety."

Would you risk your crown for love? 👑❤️

Can love survive when it stands on opposite sides of a war? 🥀