Page 75 of The Rebel's Prize

Imogene shook her head. "No, I don't want her to know." She lifted the tea. "This helps. It's only another day and a half. A little nausea isn't going to kill me."

"No," Chloe agreed. "But if you feel worse, please tell me straight away. You don't want to take any chances. Are you going to tell Jean-Paul when we get back to Lumia?"

"I will. Or at least that there's a possibility." Imogene smiled and then grimaced. "He's going to be unbearable. He'll probably try to confine me to my room and pad me with feather cushions for the entire time."

Chloe giggled, picturing Jean-Paul. It was easy to imagine him in overprotective father mode, all his considerable attention focused firmly on Imogene, growling at anyone who so much as glanced in her direction. "He does seem like he might lean that way."

"I have too much to do to be locked away, so first I need to be sure." Imogene gestured at her stomach. "I don't suppose you know enough healing magic to tell, do you?"

"I'm not sure," Chloe said. Then she remembered something. "You should ask Ikarus."

Imogene's brows rose. "Ikarus?"

"Papa told me once that Martius always knew when my mother was pregnant. It makes sense—they know more about us than we understand, I suspect. And Ikarus is bonded to you, so he would surely notice such a change in your body."

"I hadn't thought of it," Imogene said. "He has been keeping close on the journey, but he hasn't said anything."

"Perhaps he didn't want to spoil the surprise for you. Ask him."

Imogene blinked, then closed her eyes, clearly talking to her sanctii. The smile that crept across her face almost immediately was all the answer Chloe needed.

* * *

Chloe laid a hand on Lucien's chest, feeling his heartbeat steadily. The bunk was cramped, but she didn't mind. This was the last night of their journey, as they would be landing in Lumia sometime tomorrow. Who knew when they would simply be able to spend time together again? The investigation would demand all of Lucien's attention for quite some time unless Deandra or Istvan came to their senses.

Lucien made a sleepy questioning noise.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" she asked.

"No, I was awake." He laid his hand over hers, tightening his arm around her. "Not ready to sleep yet."

"You should rest."

"I will. Let me enjoy the moment."

Something tugged at her through the bond, a thread of affection twined with...fear, perhaps.

"Are you worried about what happens when we get home?"

"No. Or not only that." He pressed a kiss against the top of her head.

"Then what?"

"You'll think it's strange."

"Try me."

He sighed. "Sometimes I think you're a dream. That you might vanish again if I fall asleep."

"I'm not going anywhere," she said gently. "Though I would have thought that you would consider me more a nightmare with all the trouble I've brought to your life."

"Never," he said as he stroked her wedding ring. "As long as we're together, I will be perfectly happy." Then he shifted restlessly. "I was thinking maybe I should try again with the troupe members. Maybe I missed something else. Maybe it would be easier if I spoke Parthan and could question some of them in their native tongue."

"One of the sanctii aboard might know it. You could do a reveilé."

He shook his head. "By the time I got over the goddess-damned headache, we'd be back in Lumia anyway. Those things always hurt like a son of a bitch. And they interfere with magic."

"They do?" she asked. "I don't remember that when I learned Andalyssian. The headache, yes, but not the magic."

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