BOTH CHILDREN

Elaris’s POV

Averic sets the council’s notice on the table between us.

This time, he does not summarize.

“You should read it yourself.”

I pick up the document.

The language is formal, emotionally detached, and all the more threatening for it.

Both pregnancies are now officially being considered matters of the council.

The hearing will determine the circumstances around both claims and whether or not council healers should examine both women if necessary.

I read the notice twice.

Until now Virelle’s pregnancy has existed as something everyone talks about but few have been allowed to question.

Mine has been guarded even more carefully.

Now both have been placed into the same legal proceeding.

I lower the paper.

“They’re making them equal.”

Averic does not deny it.

“They are treating both claims as matters that require examination.”

I look up at him.

“And if the council decides one claim is more legitimate than the other?”

“That decision will not be made without my answer.”

His answer tells me he has already understood what this hearing has become.

The reality hits me slowly.

My child has been safe because most people did not know enough about the pregnancy to interfere directly.

That protection is about to disappear.

Tomorrow strangers will study dates, symptoms, medical records and every circumstance surrounding the conception.

They will ask questions that have nothing to do with my grief or everything to do with inheritance.

I sit beside the table and rest both hands over my stomach.

The movement beneath my palms is faint.

I whisper nothing.

I simply sit there.

Averic watches from across the room.

“What are you thinking?”

“That this child has not even been born and already people are deciding what the child means.”

He does not answer immediately.

I continue.

“They’ll look at me and see a woman who arrived here after being rejected by another Alpha.”

Averic’s expression changes.

“They’ll look at Virelle and see someone who claims she was chosen before I was.”

“And they’ll ask which child belongs here.”

The words sound uglier once spoken aloud.

Averic walks to the table but keeps his distance.

“Then let them ask.”

I look up.

“We will answer.”

Averic tells me what he intends to do.

“If they require me to acknowledge the pregnancy publicly, I will.”

My breath catches.

“You haven’t done that before.”

“I should have.”

There is no attempt to soften the admission.

He explains that remaining cautious had protected the pregnancy from immediate political attention, but it also allowed Virelle’s claim to hold the public space alone.

“That ends tomorrow.”

He will state that I am carrying his child.

He will not allow the council to speak of the pregnancy as an unverified rumor while treating Virelle’s claim as established fact.

I ask whether that means he will publicly claim me.

He pauses.

“I will publicly acknowledge our child.”

It is not the answer to the question I asked.

Still, it is more than he has said before.

He reaches toward the back of the chair, then stops himself before touching me.

“This isn’t about giving you a title tonight,” he says. “It’s about refusing to let anyone erase your child from the record.”

I understand the distinction.

It still matters.

For the first time, Averic is preparing to defend my pregnancy where everyone can hear him.

The council-approved healer arrives before midday.

Two attendants accompany her.

Their presence makes the examination feel less like medical care and more like an inspection.

I am asked a series of questions about my health, the timing of the pregnancy, changes in my wolf essence and the symptoms I have experienced since arriving at the palace.

I answer honestly.

The healer examines my abdomen, then performs a controlled essence reading.

Silver light appears briefly beneath the spellwork.

The healer pauses.

“What did you see?” I ask.

“A strong response from the child.”

Averic remains near the window throughout the examination.

The healer continues checking my pulse, essence stability and the condition of the pregnancy.

When she finishes, she records everything in a sealed medical report.

“Is the child in danger?”

“Not immediately.”

The qualification makes me uneasy.

She explains that my weakened wolf essence requires continued rest and careful monitoring, particularly as the blood moon approaches.

Averic asks whether the stress of the hearing could affect the pregnancy.

“It could,” she answers. “Extreme emotional strain is not harmless in her condition.”

I glance toward the council report.

The hearing is tomorrow.

There is no avoiding the strain now.

After the healer leaves, Neryss arrives with information from the west wing.

Virelle has already undergone her examination.

“She allowed everyone to see her afterward,” Neryss says.

I look at her.

“Everyone?”

“Anyone who asked.”

Neryss describes how Virelle emerged pale but composed, accepting sympathy from the household.

She reportedly told the healers she was willing to undergo every examination necessary to prove that she carried the Alpha’s child.

“She wants people to hear that.”

“Yes.”

Virelle understands the value of appearing cooperative.

If she resists examination, people can question her.

If she welcomes it, she appears confident.

Neryss lowers her voice.

“She also told the kitchen staff that she has nothing to hide.”

I almost smile.

Not because I find it amusing.

Because Virelle has begun preparing her testimony long before she enters the council chamber.

She is building an image.

A frightened woman who has nothing to hide.

A pregnant woman willing to submit to scrutiny.

A mother who supposedly has everything to lose.

And beside that image, she wants me to appear secretive.

Averic spends the afternoon preparing the evidence.

For once, I am permitted to remain in the same study while he works.

Two guards stand near the doorway.

The evidence is arranged across the large table.

Four broken-chain clasps.

The wolfsbane analysis.

The east-gate records.

The medical timeline showing the altered doses.

The anonymous order for the sedative.

And the written confession from the attendant.

I am not allowed to touch anything.

Averic keeps each piece separate.

He checks seals, dates, signatures and witnesses.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure no one can claim something was altered after the fact.”

He reviews the evidence again.

I notice that the confession remains inside its protective case.

“You’re still keeping it back.”

“Until I need it.”

I understand.

If he presents everything immediately, Virelle’s supporters will have hours to attack every detail.

If he first establishes the pattern, the confession can become the piece that connects those separate incidents.

Averic isn’t preparing for a simple accusation.

He is preparing for people determined not to believe him.

When the guards step farther away, Averic explains his strategy.

“I’ll begin with the incidents that can be independently verified.”

The altered medicine.

The gate.

The wolfsbane.

The clasps.

The threats.

Then the medical evidence.

“And the confession?”

“Only if they attempt to dismiss the pattern as coincidence.”

I study him.

“What if they say the witness was manipulated?”

“They will.”

“What if they say she lied?”

“They will say that too.”

“And if they claim the clasps prove nothing?”

“Then we give them the confession.”

His confidence is measured rather than absolute.

“I cannot control what the council believes,” he says. “I can control what they are forced to examine.”

I look down at my hands.

“And me?”

“You speak only when asked.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“That’s your strategy?”

“No.”

He meets my eyes.

“My strategy is to make sure you are not forced into defending yourself against every lie they put in front of you.”

He tells me I am allowed to correct anything factually wrong.

I am not required to plead.

I am not required to beg for my place.

Most importantly, I will not allow anyone to turn the child into evidence of my worth.

That final instruction stays with me.

Evening arrives.

Averic leaves the study to meet with the captain and senior healers.

The door closes.

Two inner guards remain with me.

I walk to the window.

The palace grounds are unusually busy.

Warriors move between buildings.

Servants carry extra benches toward the great hall.

Council markings are being placed near the chamber entrances.

Tomorrow will not be a private hearing.

The household will be watching.

Perhaps half the pack will know before I even enter the room.

I think about Maevra.

She is still recovering.

She has already survived poisoning, weakness and the fear of losing control over her own home.

Now the council may drag her into the center of the dispute.

I turn away from the window.

The room feels smaller than it did yesterday.

Not because the walls have moved.

Because there is nowhere left for this family to hide from the questions coming tomorrow.

Neryss returns carrying a gown.

She places it on the bed.

“It was chosen for the hearing.”

I unfold it.

The dress is simple, formal and deliberately unadorned.

No jewelry.

No colors associated with rank.

Nothing that could be interpreted as an attempt to compete with Virelle.

“Who chose it?”

“The wardrobe mistress.”

Neryss hesitates.

“She said the council should see you as a protected member of the household, not someone trying to make a political display.”

I consider that.

Outside, more benches are being carried into the great hall.

“How many?”

“Enough for the council and the senior families.”

“So everyone can watch.”

Neryss nods.

She tells me people are already speculating about what tomorrow’s proceedings will decide.

Some believe Virelle will become Luna if her pregnancy is confirmed.

Others believe Averic will publicly recognize my child.

Many are simply waiting to see which woman he stands beside.

That last part unsettles me most.

This is no longer only about evidence.

The household has turned the hearing into a question of belonging.

I dress for the first fitting while Neryss adjusts the sleeves.

When I stand before the small mirror, I barely recognize the woman staring back.

There is no ceremonial crown.

No Luna’s mark.

No title embroidered into the fabric.

Only a woman carrying a child and preparing to walk into a chamber where strangers will decide what that child represents.

For a brief moment, I remember another room.

Another pregnancy.

Another man whose survival depended on what my body could give him.

I had once believed sacrificing everything for someone meant they would protect what remained of me.

I know better now.

My hand settles over my stomach.

This child will not become another sacrifice.

Not for Averic.

Not for Virelle.

Not for the council.

I look at my reflection again.

“I won’t let them make you a bargaining piece.”

Neryss hears me.

“You won’t be alone.”

I meet her eyes through the mirror.

“No.”

I shake my head.

“I won’t.”

The difference matters.

Tomorrow I am not entering that chamber as someone waiting to be saved.

I am entering as the mother of the child they intend to discuss.

Averic returns late.

He looks as though he has spent the entire evening carrying the weight of the palace on his shoulders.

I immediately know something has gone wrong.

“The attendant?”

He shakes his head.

“Still unconscious.”

No improvement.

No certainty about when she will wake.

The healers cannot yet determine whether the sedative caused lasting harm.

I ask if he has discovered who administered it.

“Not yet.”

The answer frustrates me, but I do not push.

The hearing is coming regardless.

Averic looks at the gown laid across the bed.

“They’ll examine your pregnancy again if they believe the first report is insufficient.”

“I know.”

"They may ask about the bond."

I look at him.

"Will you let them?"

"Only what is relevant."

"And if they ask why you never announced the pregnancy?"

His gaze remains on me.

"I'll answer."

There is a pause.

Then he says something I did not expect.

"I should have acknowledged our child before the council forced me to."

I do not know what to say to that.

So I simply look down at my stomach.

The child moves again.

Averic notices.

For once, neither of us tries to turn the moment into something it isn't.

A knock comes just before dawn.

A messenger enters carrying a sealed council notice.

Averic breaks the seal.

He reads the first paragraph.

Then the second.

His face becomes completely still.

"What now?"

He hands me the notice.

The council has expanded the hearing.

Both women must appear and speak in person.

No written pregnancy statement will be accepted as a substitute for a living account.

Both claims may be examined by council healers.

But there is one additional demand.

Maevra Thorne must appear if her condition permits.

She is to provide her account of the care she received, the medicine she was given and the nights when her condition deteriorated.

I read the final line twice.

My stomach turns.

"She's barely recovered."

"I know."

"They know that."

"I know."

Averic takes the notice from my hands.

For several seconds, he says nothing.

Then he looks toward the chamber where his mother is being cared for.

"They're bringing her into this."

I look down at my unborn child.

Until now, the council has been weighing two claims.

Two pregnancies.

Two possible futures.

But Maevra’s testimony could connect the poisoning directly to the woman who has been fighting to secure one of those futures.

The council is no longer asking only which child belongs beneath Averic’s roof.

They are asking his mother to stand before them and explain which woman she believes nearly destroyed her.

And suddenly, I understand the danger.

If Maevra speaks against Virelle, she becomes Virelle’s strongest enemy.

If Maevra falters, Virelle gains another weapon.

The hearing has found its most vulnerable witness.

And she is the woman who gave me a place to belong.