C4

"Get up, orphan," the lead instructor growls, kicking dirt straight onto my bruised shins. "The Rogue King doesn't feed useless mouths!"

I wipe the sweat and blood from my mouth, my limbs trembling like dry leaves in a winter storm. The harsh gravel of the training yard burns against my bare palms, but I force my body to push up. Three other rogue warriors stand around the ring, laughing as I stagger to my feet. My wolf whimpers in the back of my head, completely exhausted, while my stomach twists with a sudden wave of sharp morning sickness.

"Again!" the instructor shouts, swinging his wooden staff straight at my ribs.

I try to duck, but my legs give out beneath me. The world spins, turning completely pitch black around the edges as my knees hit the dirt.

Before my face can smash into the hard ground, a pair of massive, rock-hard arms catch me mid-air.

Lancelot holds me against his massive chest. He has been standing on the wooden platform watching from the side the entire time, his arms crossed over his chest, his golden eyes cold and unreadable. He moved faster than my eyes could even track, blurring across the yard to catch my collapsing body.

The moment his bare skin touches mine through my ripped shirt, a violent jolt of electricity shoots straight up my spine. His entire frame goes rigid as iron.

He freezes, holding me lifted against his ribs. His nostrils flare as he buries his face directly into the curved nook of my neck, inhaling deep and hard, pulling my scent deep into his lungs. The air around us suddenly grows deathly cold, dropping several degrees in a single second. His golden eyes flash with a terrifying, ancient fire.

He lowers his lips right against my ear. His voice is dangerously soft, vibrating with a dark, lethal rage that makes every single warrior in the yard stop breathing.

"Whose pup is growing in my mate?" Lancelot demands.

My heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped beast. I don't cringe. I don't shrink away from his terrifying grip. I force my eyes open, looking straight into his glowing golden gaze, and weaponize the bitter truth like a jagged blade.

"Lucas's," I say, my raw voice cutting through the silent yard. "The Alpha who tried to burn me alive. Is that what you wanted to know, King?"

Lancelot's jaw clenches so hard I hear the bone snap. His grip on my waist tightens until it borders on painful, but he doesn't drop me. He doesn't scream or strike me.

Instead, he turns his head toward the silent crowd of warriors and growls a single, terrifying order.

"Fetch the healer," Lancelot barks, his voice echoing across the stone walls of the fortress. "Now."

Two guards scramble toward the main keep, terrified to displease their King. Lancelot turns without a word, scooping me up fully into his broad arms, carrying my broken body back through the heavy iron gates and up the winding stone stairs to his private quarters.

He slams the thick oak door with his boot and sets me down on the edge of his massive, furs-covered bed. He doesn't move away. He steps back just two inches, towering over me, his golden eyes locked onto my face like a hawk watching its prey.

The heavy iron door swings open three minutes later. An elderly woman with silver hair and a leather bag of herbs rushes into the room, gasping for breath.

"My Lord!" the healer, Rebecca, stammers, dropping to her knees before stepping toward the bed. "What happened? Is she hurt?"

"Examine her," Lancelot commands, stepping back to stand at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. "Tell me how far along she is. Tell me if the child is healthy."

"My Lord, perhaps you should wait in the hallway—" Rebecca begins nervously, unpacking a silver crystal attached to a long leather string.

"I am not leaving this room," Lancelot interrupts, his lethal voice cutting her off instantly. "Do your work."

Rebecca flinches, then quickly turns to me. She places her palm against my lower belly, laying the silver crystal flat over my skin. The crystal glows a pale, soft blue, vibrating gently against my warm skin as it reads the life force pulsing inside me.

"She is three weeks along, Alpha," Rebecca whispers, looking up at Lancelot with wide, trembling eyes. "The pup's heartbeat is faint... dangerously faint. The silver burns and the stress from the execution square have weakened her womb."

Lancelot doesn't flinch. He steps forward, his shadow swallowing the bed completely as he looks down at my stomach.

"Fix it," Lancelot orders softly.

"I need special moon-flower herbs from the high cliffs to bind the pregnancy, Alpha," Rebecca says, pulling a small wooden box from her bag and setting it on the bedside table. She opens the latch, revealing a single black iron needle and a small glass vial filled with dark red liquid. "And I need to run a blood test right now to confirm the father's bloodline before I can brew the tonic."

Lancelot reaches out, his large hand taking the glass vial from the box. He turns it in his fingers, his eyes never leaving mine.

"You don't need a test," Lancelot says, his low voice dripping with absolute possession as he looks straight at me. "The pup inside her carries Alpha blood, but as of today, the Silver Moon has no claim to it."

Rebecca gasps, taking a step back in pure shock. "My Lord... what are you saying?"

Lancelot leans down, pressing his large palm flat against my lower belly, right over my bare skin. The heat of his hand burns through me, making my breath catch in my throat.

"I am claiming the child as my own heir," Lancelot says coldly, his golden eyes burning into mine. "And if Lucas comes to take it back, I will cut his head off and feed it to his own pack."