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“Don’t give up hope yet,” Harrison said with a sunny smile that only made Finch feel worse.
“You could be carrying a dragonet. They’re much more common than clutches, after all, which
makes sense when you think about it. At least from a biological standpoint. I don’t have a large
enough pool to be able to draw conclusive evidence, but it seems to me like clutches happen
in intervals of several centuries, whereas dragonets fill the gaps in between. Anyway, don’t
worry too much about it. Ev will have a look tomorrow and confirm what I saw, and then he’ll
run some blood tests to see if you’re pregnant with a dragonet.”
Imagining he was pregnant with a Disgrace did not bring Finch any joy. Hugh would humor
him with smiles and kind words, he imagined, but the hurt would still be there, only now it would
be buried and would fester as time went on. Finch’s own father had been so disappointed in
his Disgrace of a son that he’d left Finch’s mother to give birth in her cloister and never
bothered to visit, and while Hugh was too soft-hearted to want to do the same, compassion
would not eclipse shame.
That was, of course, if Finch was even pregnant at all.
Harrison removed the wand, cleaned Finch up, and helped him off the table. Behind the screen
where he’d left his clothes, Finch dressed mechanically. His emotions churned, throwing up
scattered feelings like random vegetables in a boiling stew: a flare of sorrow here and a glimpse
of worry there. It was all impossible, and he had no one to blame but himself.
When he was dressed, Finch exited the examination room and found the office was not as
he’d left it. There was a pot of tea, several teacups, and a sandwich resting on a silver tray on
Harrison’s desk and an omega in the armchair Finch had once been seated in. Finch
recognized his blond curls and excess of jewelry right away. It was Peregrine, whose eyes
looked sad, but who smiled at Finch with a dignified, if subdued, happiness that hinted at pain.
“Finch. How good to see you. How are you? Are you well?”
“Did Harrison tell you, then?” Finch asked dully. He supposed it didn’t matter. Soon enough all
of Hugh’s family would know that Finch was yet another of Hugh’s failures.
“I would never do that,” Harrison assured him. “I may not have my M.D. yet, but I do know a
thing or two about doctor-patient confidentiality, and I would never break it. I promise.”
Finch flushed. “I do beg your pardon.”
“Oh, it’s all right.” Harrison pushed his hands into his pockets like they were talking about the
