The massive door opened with a creak, disturbing the peaceful slumber of the old tomes. The familiar, sweet smell of old paper and slowly decaying parchment filled Lorelei's nose. She chuckled involuntarily and, for a moment, allowed herself to forget the unusual nature of her visit.

Enormous folios, bound in leather and iron, lined the lowest shelves like sentinels, protecting their smaller brethren. Gold-lettered quartos and octavos gleamed akin to colorful gems from the upper shelves, and palm-sized booklets filled the gaps in the impenetrable literary walls. On top, parchment rolls, stacked one over the other and slightly overhanging, created the feeling that one was traversing the narrow streets of a thatched-hut village and not the walkways of a castle's book storage.

Savoring the sense of security and homeliness, Lorelei slowly exhaled and listened to the breath of the library. Safe for the weak cracking of the overfilled bookshelves and the occasional rustling of a daring rodent, silence reigned supreme.

"Castor!" Lorelei raised her voice, her whole being recoiling from the blatant disruption of tranquility she had caused. "Come out. We need to talk."

Not a whisper nor a sigh revealed the presence of another person. Lorelei frowned but continued to stroll between the tall shelves. She was sure her instinct was right - the youth was definitely here.

"Please, Castor. I mean no harm," she coerced gently. "Whatever is going on, we can talk it through."

There was no response. Only a lonely spider, frightened by the sudden disturbance of its mid-day nap, climbed up its silken thread and disappeared between the parchment rolls. The doubt grew in Lorelei's heart, but she didn't want to give up too quickly. The library was big. Castor could be hiding in some secluded corner.

The matter of what had spooked him into such erratic behaviour, she decided to investigate later.

Suddenly, a high-pitched screech announced the library door being opened again.

"Stop! Don't run!" shouted Lorelei and spun on her heels.

Skirts in hand, she flew towards the entrance in a desperate intercept. A figure appeared in the illuminated gap between the shelf-rows. Her target was just at arm's reach!

With a loud outcry, she collided with the youth before her. The two briefly spun around, but Lorelei managed to grab her opponent's shirt, preventing him from tearing free. Her skirts tangled around her feet, and she lost her balance. As she swayed, threatening to topple them both to the ground, a pair of surprisingly sturdy hands steadied her body.

"My lady!" The exclamation came in a familiar voice, yet not the one Lorelei was expecting. She blinked at the bewildered, freckled face.

"Jess?!"

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, my lady." The youth tactfully decided not to pry into his mistress's erratic behaviour just now. "But I'm glad I found you. Mother Roslinde said she urgently needs to speak with you."

It was then that Lorelei noticed the second figure standing behind the squire. The Mother Prioress, with her sharp eyes, black-and-white habit, and trailing, two-tailed cowl, looked like a goshawk preparing to take flight. The wrinkles on the old woman's face seemed deeper than just a day ago, and the dark rings under her eyes bode nothing good.

"Your Highness." The nun nodded sharply and approached Lorelei without further greetings. "I have something serious to report. For your ears only."

Something in her tone made Lorelei shiver. She gave Jessup a sign, and the youth retreated to stand by the door, still vigilantly keeping his mistress and her guest in eye should his services be needed, but still far enough to grant them enough privacy.

Leaning toward the old woman, Lorelei held her breath as the nun's low whisper administered its poison. With every sentence, coldness crawled down her spine and sapped all the feeling from her limbs. When Mother Roslinde finished, Lorelei swayed and had to lean against one of the bookshelves. Her knees gave out, and she silently slid to the ground, knocking down a couple of books from their resting place.

Jessup's exclamation barely reached her through the ringing in her ears. She allowed herself to be pulled up by the squire and, leaning heavily on his shoulder and accompanied by the ghastly pale prioress, she stumbled her way to a nearby table. Crumbling in a chair, Lorelei dug her nails into the armrests and took some deep breaths, ignoring the youth's panicked cooing.

"Jess!" Finally finding her voice, she cut the well-meant tirade short. "Relay my words. I need the duke, Sir Duncan, Lady Nelini, and Sir William here immediately. And Sir Gregor, too, if his condition allows it. No one else is to enter this library without an explicit order from the duke or me. Go!"

For a split second, Jessup seemed to hesitate, but then he straightened up, clicked his heels, and ran to fulfil the order.

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Still half-conscious from the shock, Lorelei plopped her head on her hands and shook. The presence of the old nun shrank to a background gibberish and a bony palm patting her back. Lorelei felt numb all over. Any thought of Castor and his whereabouts sank into the darkness of her mind's chaos. All that was left was a single, nightmarish revelation that seemed to etch itself into her very soul.

Pricilla was pregnant.

***

By the time everyone arrived, Lorelei had managed to regain a smidgen of composure. Still, her face must have looked extremely uncanny because the moment Noah stepped inside, he rushed and kneeled by her side.

"What happened?" Voice quaking, he caressed her cheek. His fingers felt so warm and comforting against her icy skin. "You look like you've fought a dhrowghost."

"You can say that again," she replied faintly, and brushed his bangs backward. "Better take a seat first."

"Now you are scaring me." Noah pulled a chair closer to her and sat down. He cupped Lorelei's palm, his gaze never leaving her face.

"Don't keep us in suspense, lass." Duncan took his place, and everyone followed suit.

Lorelei measured up her husband's confidants. Even Gregor had managed to come, his haggard face starting to show signs of improvement. Everyone's expression showed grim foreboding, safe for William, who sat candle-straight in his chair and looked unperturbed. But under his calm mask, Lorelei noticed his unease - the way he drummed the thumbs of his clasped hands against each other, and the one too many sharp glances thrown in her direction.

Swallowing dryly, the Duchess of Norden prepared to confront her people with the most sensitive conundrum they had faced to date.

"Mother Roslinde rushed here today with important news." Lorelei exchanged looks with the old nun, whose lips had become two thin lines on her wrinkled face. "Reverent Mother, would you tell the Duke and his retainers what you've confined to me?"

"Yes, my duchess." The old nun nodded respectfully and stood up, her hands clasping her rosary as if it were a shield. "Lady Orten has been in the care of Widow Island for about three weeks now. Recently, she has begun complaining that her flowering days are not coming and is displaying certain symptoms…"

"No!" Noah jumped up, toppling over his chair with a loud bang. His eyes were those of a wild animal as he frantically looked from Mother Roslinde to Lorelei and back.

"I'm sorry." The old nun bit her lips, the rosary in her hands clattering in unison with their tremors. "But since she's been vomiting every morning for the past three days, there is little doubt. She is with child."

Duncan's fist hit the table, and a slew of slurs streamed out of his mouth, mixing with the binshi-ka curses coming from Gregor. Next to him, Neli made no attempt to stop him, her own fingernails digging out splinters from the chair's armrests. William's statuesque face looked even sharper, as if chiseled from white marble. Still, the Lord Steward managed to regain his senses first.

"Can't the symptoms come from stress? What happened at the main temple is sure to cause major distress in a faint noble lady."

"I wish it were that." Mother Roslinde threw Lorelei and Noah an apologetic glance. "But the sisters caring for her are sure. Sister Marigold told me that there were even some traces of milk on Lady Orten's nightgown. There is no doubt about her pregnancy."

With a moan that shook Lorelei's heart, Noah crumbled back in his chair, his dark complexion now graying and unhealthy. His palm clasped around his wife's, the chill from his fingers seeping into her skin. A pair of glassy eyes fixated on Lorelei as her husband opened and closed his mouth, unable to find the right words. Finally, a whisper left his lips: "Forgive me!"

"This isn't your fault!" snapped Neli. Standing up, she approached the hunched and trembling Noah and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "That snake poisoned you. She used you. She-"

The old Marzbanati stopped abruptly, unable to say aloud what everyone present knew. But Noah seemed deaf to any of her words. His unblinking eyes were peeled on Lorelei - pleading, fearful, and full of remorse. In their depths, one could see something breaking; a flame slowly dying and about to leave his body an empty husk.

The same emptiness and devastation were about to swallow Lorelei's soul too. From the moment Mother Roslinde had shared the news with her, no coherent thought was able to remain between her temples for more than a second. On the other hand, the nightmarish memories from that night had floated up to the surface of her mind like a putrid foam. Nauseated and furious, she tried to fight against them - the images of Noah and Pricilla, their naked bodies entangled in passion; the stench of herbs, sweat, and incense that drove one into lustful madness; the animalistic grunts and moans of pleasure echoing under the vaults.

Clasping both hands over her mouth, Lorelei fought the urge to vomit. She felt the prioress's hand rubbing her back, but this time, it didn't seem to help. A sharp pain pierced the left side of her chest like a thousand needles stabbed her heart simultaneously. Coughing and gagging, Lorelei gripped the front of her gown as the world turned wobbly and lost its outlines. In the blur of voices and colors, her broken mind began replaying the words of the old nun like some sort of poisonous chant.

'Her flowering days are not coming. She's been vomiting every morning. There were some traces of milk on her nightgown. Traces of milk on her night gown. Traces of milk. Milk…?'

"T-this… isn't… right," croaked Lorelei in between heaves. Suddenly, she straightened her back and glared at the nun. "Mother Roslinde, are you sure that Pricilla is producing milk?"

"Well, yes. Sister Marigold isn't one to tell lies."

"No." Lorelei stared into nothingness, but in her head, it felt as if a fog had been lifted. "Pricilla can't have milk. It's impossible."

"If she's with child…" began Gregor quietly, but didn't find the strength to finish the sentence. His face twisted in disgust from the words he'd just uttered.

"No!" Looking frantically around the room, Lorelei wanted to cry and to laugh at the same time. "Don't you get it!? She can't be lactating. Not yet. Not if Noah is the father of the child. It's too early!"

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