Damien paced the grand hall outside Scarlett’s chambers, his worry etched deep into his face. It had been weeks of relentless illnesses for Scarlett—nausea, fatigue, any sickness known to affect pregnant women, and now a fever that refused to break. The royal doctor was at a loss, citing that werewolf pregnancies, especially in such luxurious conditions, rarely presented with complications.
Elenor approached him, her soft footsteps almost inaudible against the polished floors. She was followed by her handmaid, who carried a tray with a steaming cup of herbal tea and a plate of light snacks. When Damien turned to face her, his expression softened, though the strain was evident.
“She’s still unwell?” Elenor asked, gesturing for the tray to be placed on a side table. She took the cup and ge
