I look down. She's right—my belly has changed. A subtle swell visible now beneath the borrowed shift. Proof written in my own flesh.
"He knew before I did," I say, and the old anger flickers. "Weeks before. He watched me get sick and confused and scared, and he said nothing."
"I know."
"This moment—seeing my body change, knowing they're real—he stole that from me."
"I know." Yaern reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "He was wrong. He was trying to protect you and he was catastrophically, unforgivably wrong."
We sit in silence. The fire crackles. Outside, children laugh at some game I can't see.
"So," Yaern says finally, her voice shifting into something brisk and practical. "What are you going to do about it?"
"What?"
"You heard me." She leans back, arms crossed. "You've been here three weeks, Kess. You're past the bleeding scare. You're getting stronger. The babies are growing." She raises an eyebrow. "So what's the plan? Hide here forever? Raise cursed dragon twins in a village cottage? Pretend the father doesn't exist?"
"I—"
"Because I love you, but this cottage is very small and you're very pregnant and at some point we need to talk about what comes next."
I open my mouth. Close it. She's right, damn her.
"I don't know," I admit. "I can't forgive him. Can't trust him. But?—"
"But?"
The nightmares. The dreams that feel like warnings. My son with golden claws, my daughter screaming, blood blooming between my thighs.
"Something's wrong," I say slowly. "With the pregnancy. With the twins. I keep having these dreams?—"
"The nightmares about your son hurting your daughter."
"They're getting worse. More detailed." I press my hands to my stomach. "Last night I saw him clearly. Golden claws. Already feral. Already doing what the curse demands—eliminating threats before he's even born."
Yaern's expression shifts from sassy to serious. "You think it's prophetic?"
"I think my body knows something. The contamination, the transformation—maybe it's giving me access to information Ishouldn't have." I meet her eyes. "I need to research. Need to find out what happens when cursed dragons father twins. If there's a way to stop it."
"The village library?—"
"Won't have what I need." The words taste like ash. "You know it won't. The priests destroyed everything they could find about warrior omegas. About cursed bloodlines. About any of it."
Yaern is quiet for a long moment. Then: "You need his library."
"Yes."
"His mystic. His centuries of accumulated knowledge."
"Yes."
"Which means you need to go back."
The word hangs in the air between us. Back. To the castle. To him.
"I don't want to," I whisper.
"I know."
