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"I am invincible!" shouted Tirfari as she threw back another ginger brew against the morning sickness.
"That might be one word for it." Nerienne, Crown Princess of the Joined Peoples, sighed as she let go of her partner's hair, having helped her through the informative mess of the morning. "You're sure you can't get drunk off that stuff?"
"Apparently, there is nothing I can't do!" Tirfari declared. "But there's nothing fermented in this, gorgeous, no. Totally safe for the future queen I am carrying, because I am the greatest Servant-Girl of the Spring ever!"
"Yes, dear. You're very talented and blessed, and I'm blessed to have you."
Tirfari was not done. " 'Oh, what's this? The princess who joined the Spearmaidens of the Summer -- and thus swore never to bed a man -- has turned out to be the only remaining heir of the royal bloodline? A succession crisis looms, teetering between the end of a dynasty and a queen's being forsworn?' They handed an impossible problem to this young cleric, and I Solved It! I have obtained for you an heir of your own blood -- our own blood -- using just silver, herbs, and moonlight!"
Nerienne glanced at the silver knife and leftover joy-leaves, still given pride of place on the altar after their use weeks ago. "It is, as I've said, very wonderful news. I am happy and proud and so relieved to have it confirmed. But ... it almost feels like you're being a sore winner in your victory over the more usual natural course of things?"
"No, no, come on, embrace this with me, Nerienne. You, you are so much warrior that even without the usual parts, you knocked me up!"
Nerienne laughed -- then held her mouth as she started to feel queasy. Was it just the terrible smell, or some kind of sympathy-sickness, or ...?
"Oh my," Tirfari said. "What if it's twins?"