Six months.
That was how long Celine had carried the child everyone in Blackridge now called their future.
The news of her reaching the sixth month had spread through the pack before breakfast. By noon, the mansion was filled with servants preparing a small celebration. Wolves came with gifts, flowers, and prayers.
Aria stood by the window, watching them from a distance.
She hated every second of it.
“She made it,” one maid said happily as she passed the room. “The healer said the baby is strong.”
Another maid laughed. “Blackridge will finally have its heir.”
Aria’s fingers tightened around the curtain.
“Leave,” she said coldly.
The maids froze.
“My Lady?”
“I said leave.”
They hurried away.
Aria turned back toward the window. She could still hear the celebration outside. Every
