Page 19 of Bred By The King

I haven’t told Soren yet. He’s already so obsessively protective that I can’t imagine what he’ll be like when he finds out. The man checks on me every twenty minutes. Yesterday he tried to feed me soup while I was on the toilet.

It’s ridiculous. And weirdly sweet.

But this morning, when I dry-heave into the chamber pot for the third time before breakfast, he finally loses it.

“That’s it,” he growls. “I’m summoning the healer.”

“Soren, it’s just a stomach bug…”

“It’s not a fucking stomach bug, Layla. You’ve been sick for days. And you…” He inhales deeply, his eyes going dark. “Your body changed.”

“Changed how?”

He crouches in front of me, taking my hands. “You feel like mine. Like us. Like… you’re carrying my baby.”

My heart stops. “You can sense that?”

“I can sense everything about you, wife. Every change.” He presses his forehead to my stomach. “If you’re pregnant, I need to know. Now.”

Hilda arrives within minutes. She examines me with brisk hands while Soren paces.

“Hold still, Your Majesty,” Hilda snaps. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I’m not the one being examined.”

“No, but you’re breathing down my neck. Sit.”

Soren sits on the edge of the bed, his knee bouncing. Hilda presses her hands to my lower abdomen, closes her eyes, and hums. Then she opens them and smiles.

“Congratulations, Your Majesties. You’re going to have a baby.”

The room goes silent. Soren stares at her. Then at me. Then at my stomach. His face does something complicated, shock, joy, terror, and something so feral it makes my pussy clench.

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve delivered every royal birth for forty years,” Hilda says dryly. “I’m sure.”

She packs her bag and leaves.

Soren is on me before the door closes. He lifts me off the bed and carries me to the vanity.

“Soren…”

“Quiet.” He locks the door. Then he’s on his knees, yanking my nightgown up and pressing his face to my still-flat stomach. “My baby,” he growls. “My fucking baby is in here.”

“Soren, we should…”

“Should what? Celebrate?” He looks up at me, eyes wild. “I’m going to celebrate by fucking my pregnant queen until she can’t remember her own name.”

He stands, tearing at his clothes. His cock springs free, already hard.

“Already carrying my heir,” he mutters, positioning himself between my thighs. “Gonna keep you so full you don’t know where you end and I begin.”

He pushes inside me in one brutal thrust. I’m still sensitive, still swollen. The stretch makes me gasp.

“Look at us,” he commands, gripping my chin and turning my face to the mirror.

I look. Me on the vanity, legs spread, nightgown bunched. Him behind me, massive, his cock buried deep. And his hand, splayed possessively over my lower belly.