Masuk
"Congratulations, Chloe. You are pregnant."
Hearing those words from Healer Maureen caused a wide, unrestrained smile to spread across my face.
I sat there on the crinkling paper of the examination table for a few minutes, just staring at the older woman. My hands were trembling so violently from the sudden rush of excitement that I had to press them flat against my thighs so she wouldn't notice. A baby. A tiny, fragile life growing inside of me.
"Are you alright?" Healer Maureen asked, her voice laced with careful concern as she peered over her reading glasses.
"Yes," I nodded quickly, swallowing the lump of pure joy in my throat. "Yes, I'm fine."
She smiled at me softly, though her eyes held a trace of pity that I was all too used to seeing. "You are six weeks pregnant. It is still very early, so you will need to come back in two weeks' time so I can monitor the pup's heartbeat and growth properly." She turned to the small counter, her pen scratching against her thick record book. She paused, glancing back at me over her shoulder. "Are you currently under any unusual stress, Chloe? Your heartbeat was quite elevated when you came in."
I almost laughed. What kind of question was that?
Unusual stress? I was a wolfless omega living in the Shadow Moon packhouse. My entire existence was defined by stress. I survived on the meager scraps left behind by the higher-ranking wolves, running myself ragged doing all the grueling chores the pack demanded. Scrubbing floors until my knuckles bled, carrying mountains of heavy laundry, and keeping my head bowed to avoid a beating—stress was quite literally the air I breathed daily.
"I am fine," I managed to say, keeping my tone perfectly neutral. "My body has just felt strange for the past week. I had been incredibly tired and severely nauseous. I nearly collapsed while carrying laundry from the east wing this morning. I thought I was coming down with a sickness, but... this is good news."
Ethan will be so happy.
My smile widened at the mere thought of him.
The healer rose from her seat and walked toward a cabinet filled with pungent dried herbs and rows of small glass bottles. She selected a vial of amber liquid and pressed it into my palm. "Use a few drops of this in your water every night before you sleep. And please, stay away from heavy labor as much as you can. Your body is weak enough without a wolf to help you heal. You must protect this pup."
I quickly nodded, barely hearing half of what she was saying. My fingers curled tightly around the small glass bottle, anchoring me to reality. All I could think of was Ethan.
How was I going to tell him?
Would he smile? Would he stare at me in shock before pulling me into his chest? Maybe he would lift me off the ground and spin me around, the way he usually did in the dark of the woods when we were alone and excited about our stolen moments. The thought alone made a feverish warmth spread through my cheeks, my heart pounding a frantic, joyful rhythm against my ribs.
The healer studied my flushed face for a long second. "Does the father know?"
The heat in my cheeks deepened to a burning red. "No."
"You should tell him very soon. An omega needs her mate's scent during a pregnancy, especially a wolfless one."
"I will," I whispered.
Ethan loved me very much. I knew he did. Even if our relationship had to stay hidden in the shadows, even if everyone else in the pack looked down on me as dirt beneath their boots. Ethan was different. He was the Alpha heir, yet he had looked at me and told me that none of my status mattered. I could still remember the first time he kissed me beneath the weeping willow tree, his hands gently framing my face. You matter to me, Chloe, he had whispered softly. Only you.
Excitement buzzed through my veins like electricity as I walked out of the clinic door. I could barely stop smiling as I hurried down the long, dimly lit hallway of the packhouse. I was already rehearsing the words in my head, planning exactly what I would say tonight when I slipped into his room.
I turned the corner and froze.
I spotted him across the corridor, standing near one of the private, high-ranking consultation rooms. His back was facing me, but I would recognize those broad shoulders, that dark brown hair, and the familiar leather jacket anywhere. It was Ethan.
I started to raise my hand, his name already forming on my lips, when I saw who he was with.
Vanessa Volt. The Gamma's daughter. The girl who had taken it upon herself to make my life a living hell since we were children. She was the worst of all my bullies, constantly tripping me, tearing my clothes, and ensuring I was given the most degrading tasks.
I stopped walking, my hand dropping heavily to my side. Ethan hated Vanessa. He had told me himself that she was too fake, too cruel, and far too arrogant. He had told me countless times, She is nothing compared to you, Chloe. I had believed him with every fiber of my being.
So what was he doing here with her?
It is probably nothing, I told myself, desperately trying to console the sudden, icy panic blooming in my chest. Pack business. Alpha duties.
I watched him lean in slightly toward her to whisper something in her ear. Vanessa tilted her head back and laughed, her bright red hair shining under the hallway lights, looking radiant and perfect as always.
My feet moved closer before my brain could process what I was doing. I kept close to the shadows of the stone pillars, maintaining enough distance so they wouldn't pick up my scent, though as a wolfless omega, my scent was incredibly faint anyway. I watched them step into the private consultation room, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind them.
I stood outside the room, my heart hammering a new, terrifying rhythm. I don't know what I expected to find by standing there. Maybe I just wanted to hear them discuss border patrols or pack finances so the sickening knot in my stomach would unravel.
The door hadn't latched completely. A sliver of space remained, allowing their voices to drift out perfectly clear.
"Congratulations. You are nine weeks gone."
It was a different healer's voice—the senior pack doctor.
I furrowed my brows, leaning closer to the crack in the door. Why was Ethan there for Vanessa's medical consultation? Why would he do that?
Through the narrow opening, I saw them. Vanessa was sitting on the edge of the plush clinic bed, and Ethan was sitting on a stool pulled dangerously close to her knees. They were acting entirely too cozy. Ethan’s large hand was enveloping hers, his thumb moving slowly, methodically over her knuckles like it was an old, comforting habit.
"Nine weeks," Ethan breathed. His voice was devastatingly gentle. It was the exact same soft, reverent tone he used on me when nobody else was around.
"And the pup?" he asked, leaning in closer to her.
"The pup is developing perfectly well," the doctor confirmed with a warm chuckle. "Everything looks completely healthy."
And then, Ethan did something that stopped my heart completely.
He let go of Vanessa's hand and reached out, placing his palm protectively, possessively, over Vanessa's flat stomach. It was the exact gesture I had spent the last twenty minutes vividly imagining him doing to me.
"I am going to be a father," Ethan murmured.
A soft, breathtaking smile spread across his handsome face. His eyes lit up with a profound, consuming happiness that I had never, not once, seen him direct toward me.
The words hit me harder than a silver blade to the chest.
Nine weeks.
I was only six.
While he had been whispering in the dark that I was his only love, he had been in the light, creating a child with the woman who tormented me. He hadn't just betrayed me—he was ecstatic about it. The vial of prenatal vitamins slipped from my trembling fingers, but before it could hit the ground and shatter, my world already had.
The shadows in the dark alcove seemed to stretch and twist, heavy with the weight of Kael’s unspoken warning.I remained frozen against the chained oak door, my heart hammering so hard against my ribs I was certain the King could hear it. His golden eyes lingered on the black padlock for a fraction of a second—a fleeting, pained shadow passing across his stoic features—before his gaze snapped back to me.He didn't raise his hand. He didn't call for an executioner.Instead, Kael raised two fingers, signaling to the dark archway behind him."Rurik. Vane," Kael called out, his voice a low, commanding vibration that cut straight through the gloom. "Remove the maid from the gallery."Instantly, the heavy, metallic clatter of iron boots echoed up the narrow spiral stairs. The two visored sentinels who guarded the tower threshold rushed into the upper gallery, their halberds drawn, their steel plate armor clanking loudly against the stone walls.When they saw me pressed against the warded, c
The heavy iron doors of the High Tower swung shut behind King Kael Draven, sealing the chamber once more in a tense, expectant silence.I immediately dropped my head, stepping backward until my shoulders pressed against the dark ironwood bookcases lining the perimeter. My fingers tightened around the worn wooden handle of my broom, my heart slamming against my ribs in a frantic, wild rhythm. I had been caught standing over his war map—a Southern servant staring at the military tokens marking the fall of her own homeland.Kael didn't draw his blade. He didn't roar for the sentinels.He stood near the center of the room, his golden eyes fixing on me with that terrifying, unreadable intensity. His gaze swept from my wide, hazel eyes down to the cedar broom in my hand, then to the clean, swept stones around the marble table.Without a word, Kael unbuckled his broadsword, setting the heavy scabbard across the edge of his desk with a dull, metallic thud. He unrolled a thick parchment scroll
The upper gallery of the Obsidian Spire was a world built for giants and ghosts.Where the subterranean kitchens were a claustrophobic nightmare of suffocating humidity, screaming servants, and black soot, the high halls were vast, silent, and bitterly cold. Lance-like shafts of pale winter sunlight cut through tall, narrow windows, illuminating dust motes that hovered in the still air like suspended snow.I carried my small wooden basket containing soft flannel rags, a brass polish pot, and a cedar broom—the lightweight tools of my new, elevated existence. My hands, coated in the cool green salve Mistress Brida had been forced to give me, no longer throbbed with the blinding agony of lye burns. For the first time in months, I could flex my fingers without my skin tearing open.Yet, as I stood at the foot of the Grand Winding Stair, my heart hammered a slow, rhythmic alarm against my ribs.Mistress Brida had not given me the brass key to the ordinary linen closets or the spice pantrie
The heavy oak doors at the top of the subterranean kitchen stairs slammed shut with a crack like thunder.Down in the humid, grease-stained depths of the scullery vault, thirty cooks, prep boys, and dishwashers instantly froze. The clatter of iron cauldrons and the scrape of butchery cleavers cut off in an beat of collective terror.Mistress Brida was coming down the stairs.She didn't descend with her usual brisk, loud authority. She descended like a runaway iron cart rolling down a mountain slope. Her broad face was blotched with a sickening, dark purple hue, her neck thick with bulging veins, her chest heaving violently beneath her soiled linen apron.She shoved a young spit-boy out of her way so hard he tumbled over a basket of turnips, but she didn't even stop to kick him.Her bloodshot, furious eyes swept across the vast, smoky room, burning through the haze of boiled lard and woodsmoke until they locked onto me.I was sitting on a low wooden bench near the salt barrels, my numb
Mistress Brida had spent thirty years ruling the subterranean kitchens of the Obsidian Spire with an iron fist. She feared few things in this world—perhaps only the winter famine and the head seneschal’s audits.She certainly did not expect two giant Shadow-Guard warriors to appear at the door of her scullery office, their black steel broadswords clanking against their greaves as they barked her name."Mistress Brida. You are summoned to the King’s solar. Immediately."Brida’s heavy face lost all its color. She nearly dropped her brass ring of keys into the lard tub. She smoothed down her greasy apron with trembling, sausage-like fingers, her heart hammering against her ribs as she was escorted up the long, dark stairwells, out of her subterranean kingdom and into the pristine, freezing halls of the royal wing.When the massive oak doors of King Kael’s private council room groaned open, Brida felt as though she had walked straight into a blizzard.Kael stood near a high, lancet archwa
The silence in the Great Hall stretched like an overtightened bowstring.Kael did not step back. He did not call for the guard. Slowly, with the agonizing deliberation of a predator who knew his mere movement could shatter a creature’s nerves, the King lowered his massive frame into a squat right in front of me.His knees creaked against the dark basalt floor, bringing his face level with mine.Up close, the sheer presence of the man was dizzying. I could see the flecks of molten gold ringed around the pupils of his amber eyes, the pale line of the scar cutting through his dark cheekbone, and the faint scent of ozone and cold mountain wind that clung to his damp skin.He stared at me—really stared at me—for the first time.His sharp, analytical gaze swept over my face, taking in every fragment of my ruined state. He saw the dark, sunken shadows beneath my eyes, born of endless night shifts and nightmares. He saw my dangerously thin frame, the sharp contour of my collarbones sticking t







