Queen of Constantinople. “Michaela, I’m already scheduled for extra shifts as a result of my absence and I had a good excuse. I do not think my mother will look kindly on your shirking of this duty.”
Michaela lifted a hand to rub her face, the lush tumble of her hair a mass of dark brown and bronze with traces of other colors. “I convinced Charisemnon by hinting I’d allow him to put his hands on my body. I convinced Titus by feigning illness—he is so soft about such things.”
Hbeebti, I can feel the laser burn of your glare.
She doesn’t sign off soon, I’m telling her to get her ass lost. Screw archangelic etiquette—you need to rest and she needs to do her job.
“For you, however,” Michaela murmured, “it must be the truth.” A faded smile that actually managed to look truly tired, but Raphael didn’t soften; Michaela was a master manipulator with a hundred faces.
“I know you will not believe a word I say,” she added, “not after the last time, so I will simply show you. And trust you not to use it against me.” Michaela rose from her chair . . . and the gauzy sides of her gown split over the tautly rounded curve of her abdomen.
32
Oh. My. God.
Elena’s mental imprecation echoed Raphael’s own shock. There was no way the Archangel of Budapest could be faking that. Not when the rest of her body also evidenced signs of advanced pregnancy now that he knew to look for them. The sharpness in her face, the shimmer in her skin, her slower rate of respiration and the way her hair appeared thicker, even more luxuriant.
All were common in angelic pregnancies.
Cupping the mound with both hands, Michaela looked down, her expression vulnerable in its softness. “Now you see why I can’t do my scheduled shift.”
“You appear close to full term.” Raphael forced himself to stay calm—as if an archangel being pregnant wasn’t an extraordinary moment in time. The last time this had happened, it had been his mother.
“Less than a month remains.” Michaela took her seat again, her movements unwieldy in a way he’d never before witnessed in the stunning, capricious woman who’d brought emperors to their knees and led another archangel into blood-fueled carnage.
“Why are you not at the Refuge?” Angels didn’t give birth outside of the Medica; Amanat was the sole exception to that rule.
“I trust very few with such a precious gift.” Michaela’s face hardened. “Keir has been aware since I first knew, and he will attend me. Even now, he prepares to come to Budapest. The only others currently in my stronghold are those who would allow me to cut their throats should I ask—they will defend me and my babe to the last.”
“Is the babe’s father among them?”
A flick of a hand that was very Michaela. “The father is of no consequence. This is my child, an archangel’s child.” She placed her hand below the screen and he guessed she was cradling her belly again. “I know you will not betray me in this—you are too human now. I never thought I would consider that a gift.” She exhaled with slow care. “Your mother has borne a child. I trust her to honor my truth.”
“Why didn’t you speak to Caliane directly?” A pregnant archangel was the weakest she would ever be—should Raphael want to kill Michaela, he would never have a better opportunity. “Why expose your weakness to me?”
“Lady Caliane intimidates me. You, on the other hand, are my compatriot.” Her smile was lush, deep, reached her eyes—and would’ve dazzled had he not been immune to her methods of getting what she wanted. “Even if you have refused to be my lover.”
I see pregnancy hasn’t altered her winning personality.
Resist the temptation to throw that blade at the screen, warrior mine. It would be awkward to explain to Mother. “The child is safe?” he asked Michaela.
Her practiced mask crumpled, her throat moving. “Keir has sensed nothing amiss. No remnants of Uram. The child in my womb is healthy in every way and he is mine.”
“A boy child?”
“I couldn’t wait. I asked Keir to ascertain it for me.” Her smile was a dawning light, real in a way that couldn’t be counterfeited.
Wow. Elena’s voice held wonder. That kind of beauty . . . She could own the world if she stopped trying to manipulate everyone.
“I am to be a mother again, Raphael.” A whisper. “At long last, my pain will end. He is my redemption.”
“I will