“Nothing. The baby is being a little too active.”
“Bullshit.”
He crossed the room in two strides, stopping short of touching her.
“You don’t lose your footing for no reason. What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine. I’m—”
“You’re carrying the heir,” he cut in. “Sit down before I call Sule and let him drag you back himself.”
Leena’s back stiffened.
“I don’t need either of you ordering me into a chair.”
“I’m not asking.”
His gaze did not waver.
Leena rolled her eyes but lowered herself into the nearest chair, breathing carefully until the pressure began to ease.
Rhen watched her breathing and the tension in her posture, assessing whether the pain was passing.
“It is normal pregnancy discomfort,” she said. “You do not need to summon the entire clan.”
“If you collapse in this room, Sule will level the wing.”
“Then it is fortunate I have no intention of collapsing.”
Another faint pressure rolled across her belly. Leena concealed it behind a measured breath.
Rhen noticed anyway.
“You’re lying.”
“I am managing.”
“Not the same thing.”
“No,” she agreed. “But it is enough. Get the herbs.”
His gaze remained fixed on her.
“You swear nothing has changed?”
“I swear that if anything does, I’ll send for Sule immediately.”
For a long moment, Rhen did not move.
Then a broken sound came from the bed—a harsh, fevered cry that snapped his attention back toward the transition.
He pushed away from Leena with a curse.
“Stay in that chair. If anything happens—anything—you call for Mary.”
“I will.”
Rhen pointed once toward her, a clear warning.
