She hadn’t expected to become pregnant either, but now she possessed the perfect weapon to drive Freya out.
“Does Riven know?” Freya asked.
“He will,” Sorenna smirked. “I’m just giving you the courtesy of hearing it first.”
Remembering Riven’s warning not to push her luck, Sorenna swallowed hard.
Freya spoke quietly, “My birthday is on the fourteenth. If you can call him away from his press gathering that day, I’ll sever our mate bond.”
Sorenna blinked. “You’re serious? You won’t trick me?”
“I don’t lie,” Freya said. And she meant it.
It wouldn’t merely be a mate bond severance. It would be her disappearance from his world—forever.
Not long after, Riven saw Sorenna in the hallway. His gaze darkened.
“What are you doing here?” he asked coolly.
“Alpha Riven,” she said in a humble tone, “it’s my first pregnancy… and I heard Luna Freya has experience giving birth. I came to seek her advice…”
“After all, it’s my first time carrying a pup,” she said sweetly, stroking her still-flat belly with an exaggerated tenderness meant to draw every eye.
“My mate didn’t want pups yet—said it would ruin my form. I’m still deciding whether to keep it.” Her sigh floated like perfume, soft and poisonous.
Kael’s golden wolf eyes grew huge. “Sorenna, I want a baby sister to play with!” he blurted, tail swishing in excitement.
Sorenna laughed behind her hand, demure and wicked all at once. “Then you must guard her well when she’s born. Don’t be certain… unworthy females torment her.”
She glanced sideways at Freya, letting the implication drip like venom.
Kael nodded earnestly, oblivious, but Freya felt the barb sink straight into her bones. A slow chill crept into her voice. “Luna Freya isn’t well. You should take your leave now.”
Sorenna’s perfect face blanched, then flushed in blotches of red. She bit her lip—an act of wounded innocence—then spun sharply on her heel and swept out.
The chamber softened after her departure. Riven entered carrying bowls of warm moonroot broth and freshly washed spirit-berries.
“She’s careless by nature,” he said lightly as he set the food down. “Speaks before she thinks. Don’t take it to heart.”
When he reached to smooth a loose strand of hair from Freya’s forehead, she flinched back. Just barely—but enough.
“I’m sweaty… I feel unpleasant,” she murmured, refusing to meet his eyes.