Misery sat alone in her quarters, staring out the small, frost-covered window. Something had felt off for weeks—a strange heaviness, a persistent unease in her body that she couldn’t explain. Her thoughts kept circling back to Eryon, to the nights they had shared, and to the life they now led under Seraphine and Eira’s rule.
She pressed a hand to her stomach, frowning. “No,” she murmured aloud. “It’s not possible.”
But doubt gnawed at her. Misery had always been sharp and instinctive, and this time, her instincts whispered something she wasn’t ready to hear. The nausea, the fatigue—it wasn’t just stress. She had been avoiding acknowledging it, but now, she couldn’t shake the suspicion.
Misery decided to confirm her fears. That night, she slipped away to a hidden part of the stronghold where she knew an old healer resided—a servant of Seraphine who dabbled in alchemy and remedies. The woman gave her a knowing look when Misery hesitated to explain why she had come.
“You’re not the first to seek answers in secret,” the healer said softly, mixing herbs with practiced ease. “And you won’t be the last.”
Misery sat still as the healer performed a simple test, her heart racing with every passing moment. When it was done, the healer’s expression turned serious.
“You’re carrying a child,” the woman said gently, as if afraid of Misery’s reaction. “Barely, but it’s there.”
The words hit Misery like a blow. She felt her breath catch, her hands clenching into fists. “A child?” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. The healer nodded solemnly.
As she left, Misery’s thoughts swirled in a storm of panic and disbelief. A vampire and a werewolf—could such a child even survive? What would Seraphine and Eira do if they found out? She stopped in the corridor, leaning against the cold stone wall, her mind racing.
The tension only grew when Eira confronted her that evening. Misery was caught off guard as Eira cornered her in a dimly lit corridor, her sharp eyes gleaming like daggers. Without warning, Eira produced a small, ornate blade, pressing it lightly against Misery’s throat.
“You’re a distraction,” Eira said coldly, her voice as sharp as the knife. “Eryon doesn’t need your doubts or softness clouding his focus. Promise me you’ll stay out of his way.”
Misery swallowed hard, her heart racing. “I’m not doing anything to harm him.”
“Your very presence does,” Eira hissed, applying the faintest pressure. “Swear it. Or I’ll make sure you’re gone before you have the chance.”
Misery forced herself to nod, her voice steady despite the fear curling in her stomach. “I swear.”
Eira pulled back, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Good. Remember your place, Misery. You’re expendable.”
As Eira walked away, Misery leaned against the wall, her hands trembling. Her thoughts raced back to her unborn child. “I won’t let you take this from me,” she whispered, her resolve solidifying. “Not Eryon. Not the baby. Not anything.”