The storm had finally broken.
Inside the bedchamber, Zaliyah lay propped against the pillows, his silver hair a tangled halo against the dark headboard. In the corner, the painting Xulthas had created sat propped on an easel, catching the amber light of the hearth. Zaliyah's gaze drifted toward it, then down to the tiny, warm weight in his arms.
He was no longer the lonely figure on that velvet couch, trapped in a silent, static beauty. He was alive, he was exhausted, and he was no longer alone.
The door creaked open, and a parade of servants filtered in, their eyes wide with a mix of terror and adoration. They crowded around the bed, eager to catch a glimpse of the "Golden Heir" that had caused the heavens to weep.
"Wow she's a girl ? " A servant asked
"I told you all it would be a girl " one replied
"She's... she's very small," one maid whispered, peering at the infant.
