POV Odette
The pain vanished as quickly as it struck, leaving only phantom echoes in my abdomen. I straightened in my chair, forcing my breathing to steady before anyone could notice—but Nathaniel's eyes were already on me, sharp with concern.
"What was that?" His voice came low, meant only for me.
"Nothing." I reached for my water glass with deliberate brightness, turning to Magnus. "Father, I should mention—Devon will be arriving soon. My husband. I've authorized his visit."
Nathaniel's jaw tightened, his knife pausing mid-cut through his venison. The muscle in his cheek jumped once before his face smoothed into perfect neutrality.
"How wonderful," Magnus said, his tone carrying layers. "I'm eager to meet the Alpha who captured my daughter's heart. The man worthy of a princess."
His eyes flicked to Nathaniel as he spoke, the message clear as crystal. Nathaniel set down his knife with excessive care.
"When does he arrive?" Nathaniel asked, voice controlled.
"Within the week." I kept my tone light, casual. "He's been trying to visit for some time. It seemed cruel to keep denying him."
"Cruel indeed," Magnus agreed. "A husband should know where his wife stands. Don't you think, Nathaniel?"
"Absolutely." Nathaniel's smile could have cut glass. "Though I wonder if he knows where he stands, having taken three additional wives."
"He cancelled those arrangements," I said sharply.
"For now." Nathaniel lifted his wine glass. "Men who break vows once tend to repeat the pattern."
"Speaking from experience?" I challenged.
"Speaking from observation." His eyes held mine. "I've never made vows I couldn't keep."
Magnus cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should discuss tomorrow's schedule. The border treaties require—"
"Actually, I'm feeling tired." I stood abruptly. "Please excuse me."
Both men rose immediately, but I was already moving toward the door, needing distance from their scrutiny, from the competing tensions that made my skin feel too tight. "Enjoy your evening, gentlemen."
I fled before either could protest, my steps quickening once I cleared the dining room. The corridors stretched endlessly, each portrait watching my escape with painted eyes.
Instead of heading to my room where Nathaniel might follow, I veered toward the library's familiar sanctuary.
The library offered refuge from everything. I curled into a leather armchair with a book I couldn't focus on, trying to lose myself in someone else's story. The fire crackled, casting shadows that danced across ancient spines.
The second wave of pain hit without warning—a blade twisting in my belly, sharp enough to steal my breath. Sweat beaded along my upper lip as I gripped the chair's arms, riding out the cramping.
She-wolves didn't get PMS. We didn't cramp or bloat or suffer through cycles the way human women did. Our bodies were designed for efficiency, for breeding without weakness. This pain was wrong, foreign, terrifying.
My hand fumbled for the service bell. When the maid appeared—young, eager to please—I kept my voice steady despite the panic clawing at my throat.
"Fetch the royal physician. Immediately." I gripped her wrist before she could leave. "Tell no one else. Not the King, not Alpha Nathaniel. Bring him through the service corridors. Understood?"
"Yes, Princess." Her eyes widened at my intensity. "Right away."
The walk to my room felt endless. Each step might bring another wave of pain, another sign that something was catastrophically wrong. I made it to my bed before the trembling started.
Dr. Brennan arrived within minutes, his medical bag in hand, professional calm radiating from his weathered face. The maid disappeared at my nod, leaving us alone.
"Princess Odette." He set his bag on the nightstand. "What symptoms are you experiencing?"
"Sharp abdominal pain. Twice today. It comes suddenly, then disappears."
"When was your last cycle?"
The question should have been simple. I searched backward through the chaos of recent weeks—the confrontation with Devon, the night with Nathaniel, my abduction, the revelation of my identity. Meetings blurred with lessons, phone calls with tears, but nowhere could I find that particular marker.
"I... I don't remember."
He waited without judgment, then reached into his bag and withdrew a familiar foil packet. The sight of it made my stomach clench with remembered disappointment.
"Let's start with a simple screening," he said gently. "For accuracy."
"I've taken hundreds of these." The words came out bitter. "They never change."
"Things can change, Princess. The body sometimes surprises us."
I took the test with unsteady fingers, the plastic familiar as breathing. How many times had I done this? How many single lines had I stared at, willing a second to appear?
In the bathroom, I followed the ritual without thinking—the mechanics of hope I'd performed so many times before. I set the test on the marble counter and watched the window, counting seconds with my heartbeat.
One minute. Two minutes. At two and a half minutes, I saw it—faint but unmistakable. A second line forming where for three years there had been only emptiness.
"No." The word escaped as a whisper. "That's not possible."
Three minutes. The second line darkened, as bold as the first. Two lines. Positive. Pregnant.
I picked up the test with trembling hands, holding it to the light as if angle might change reality. The lines remained, stubborn and real.
When I emerged from the bathroom, Dr. Brennan took one look at my face and knew.
"It's positive," I managed.
"How do you feel about that?" His voice stayed professionally neutral, but kindness softened the edges.
"I don't know." The admission felt raw. "Three years of trying, of being called barren, and now... I don't know if I'm happy or terrified or both."
"Both is perfectly normal." He moved closer, his manner shifting to gentle instruction. "The pain you experienced could be implantation cramping or your body adjusting. Not uncommon, but worth monitoring."
"Is the baby—" I couldn't finish the question.
"We'll do an ultrasound tomorrow morning to check everything. For tonight, rest. No stress, no physical exertion." He pulled out a card, writing on the back. "This is my private line. Any severe pain, any bleeding, you call immediately."
"Should I tell—"
"That's your decision, Princess. But given the early stage and the cramping, you might want to wait until after tomorrow's scan."
He prescribed prenatal vitamins and gave quiet instructions about foods to avoid, activities to limit. Through it all, I felt disconnected, floating above my own body.
"The maid will show you out the way you came," I said when he finished. "Thank you for the discretion."
"Of course, Princess. Try to rest. Tomorrow we'll know more."
After he left, I sat on my bed holding the test, staring at those two lines. Somewhere in the mansion, Nathaniel was probably discussing border treaties with Magnus. Somewhere beyond these walls, Devon was preparing to visit, to fight for our marriage.
And here I sat, carrying a child whose father could only be determined by counting backward through a calendar of betrayals and choices. The timing would tell everything—or nothing, depending on how closely anyone looked.
I tucked the test into a velvet pouch in my vanity drawer, then lay back against the pillows with excessive care. My hand drifted to my still-flat stomach, wonder mixing with fear.
"Please stay," I whispered to the tiny possibility inside me. "Please be real. Please be mine to keep."