Page 6 of Of Wolves and Wives

My mouth full of food, all I can do is nod. Forcing myself to swallow the toast, my stomach lurches as the bread crawls its way down my throat. Tears well up in my eyes as I gag, the toast returning as I’m obliged to spit it back out into my hand.

Staring down at the wad of bread, I can’t help but wonder how I’m going to survive nine months of this. By the looks of things, the baby would rather I starve than make its way out into this cruel world. Not that I can blame it.

“Try the porridge,” Helena says.

I do as she says, once again taking a cautious mouthful.

The princess’s eyes narrow on me, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end as I beg my stomach to accept this meager offering. To no avail. My stomach tightens the moment the porridge enters it, and I’m unable to keep it down.

Breathing shakily as I lean back in my chair, I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth as I stare at all the untouched food left waiting for me to try.

“Again,” Helena says, her voice tight. “Choose something else, and try again.”

Swallowing passed the lump in my throat, I scan the food set before me as I silently curse myself for not being able to eat any of it. Finally, my eyes catch on a small bowl of sliced plums. Shifting forward, I take one and squeeze my eyes tight shut as I slip it between my lips.

The fruit is sweet, with just the right amount of tartness to it as it bursts in my mouth. I savor the few moments of delight before swallowing, but this time I don’t get sick. The instant the plum hits my stomach, it settles.

I open my eyes, relief washing over me as I reach for another slice before all but shoveling the remainder of them into my mouth. Licking my lips, I suddenly remember that Helena, the wolfen princess, is standing beside me watching. Heat floods my cheeks at this, but when I finally dare to glance up at her, she looks as relieved as I feel.

“Plums,” she breathes with a small nod. “I never would have guessed. Thank the stars we have yet to deplete our stores of them. I’ll have Mistress Thompson make sure that you are never without.”

As if summoned by the sound of her name, Mistress Thompson steps into the room, the previous maid following close behind her.

“Will these suit the girl, my lady?”

The maid holds out her arms to better display the gowns that are draped over them. My eyes widen at the sight of the fabric. These are not what I had in mind when Helena mentioned wanting lighter dresses.

The light flickers over them deliciously, the fabric cascading in silken waterfalls over the maid’s arms as Helena examines them closely. Finally selecting one in black, Helena nods.

“These will do,” she says, turning back to Mistress Thompson. “I assume you’ve already assigned maids to attend to the human at all hours, yes?”

“Yes, my lady,” she answers with a nod. “She’ll be given her own personal maids, on rotation, as requested. One is on her way now with materials to help Rose with her bath.”

“Good,” Helena says. “Have more plums sent for. As soon as she’s eaten her fill, she’s to be bathed. Afterwards she may rest.”

“Yes—”

“On second thought, after her bath, have her taken for a stroll through the gardens. The fresh air will do the child a world of good. Only then, may she be allowed to rest in bed until evening.”

“Very well,” Mistress Thompson says.

Helena suddenly glances toward Heath, who’s still standing guard just outside the door. Her expression slips for a second. If I weren’t already watching her, I’d have missed the anger and distrust that flickers through her eyes as she frowns.

A heartbeat later, her features have returned to their statuesque state.

“You,” she says, with a wave of her hand at Heath, “may go find one of the others to replace you while the girl is bathed.”

My eyes shift to Heath at this, and I watch him tense for a moment as his eyes flicker from me to her. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to let me out of his sight. Not while I’m alone with her, at least.

What does he know about her that I don’t?

Finally, he gives her a curt nod before stepping back into the hall, just as another maid sweeps past him into the room, closing the door behind her.

It’s only as she turns that our eyes meet, and my stomach twists sickeningly. This time though, it has nothing to do with the pregnancy and everything to do with the maid smirking at me from across the room.

Beatrice.

I don’t know what humor the gods find in having her assigned to me as my personal maid, but I doubt I’d find it funny. All I know is that with her around, I cannot let my guard slip.

---