Ravensblood Forest you found me and i found you

“I love you, Turo,” the silver-tongued bard murmured solemnly, a thread of steel in her mellifluous timbre. She could not speak glibly of love — not when he looked at her like the devil himself. A low, humming murmur of pleasure spilled from her smiling lips as her husband’s tongue swept brazenly along the swell of her breast, turning her next words into an alluring purr: “Mm, no — but I know they are only biding their time. I know.” The glint in her moonbright eyes was wicked; she and Arturo had worked very hard to ensure that her first estrus cycle wasn’t wasted, after all. “I will carry our babes to term and they will terrorize the Teekons,” she swore, craning her neck to preen lovingly at her flank. Her eyes were soft and warm as they looked up at Ceannasach with a measure of pride. “Furiosa — she told me it is queens who bear the children, and believed I would be so well-suited for motherhood that I would one day have a crown.” In a rare moment of vulnerability, Lotte looked shyly up at her husband.

“The name ‘Mallaidh’ reminds me of Doe and Szymon,” she ventured, referring to the Irish song “Molly Malone” that she’d sung for him upon first mention of the name, “and although I only met Furiosa once, I would like our girl to have her name. Mallaidh Furiosa Fearghal — may she have all of Furiosa’s loyalty, all of Doe’s warmth, and all of Szymon’s fierceness.” Her argent eyes prickled with unshed tears that she tried in vain to blink away. One of the side effects of pregnancy that she did seem to suffer from was being ridiculously emotional. It was better, she decided, than vomiting — she enjoyed food and wanted it to stay in her stomach, thank you very much — but it was certainly inconvenient.

“Rakas,” she added inanely, “I am sorry I took so long to come to Teaghlaigh and to reach my — my majority. I wanted our children to be the first. I thought they would be.”