Page 176 of Given to the Black King

I bend and press my mouth to the place.

My horns make the angle difficult. Iona moves a pillow without comment.

“Your mother is unreasonable,” I tell the curve of her belly.

“She can hear you.”

“Good. Learn early.”

Iona’s fingers stroke one horn at the base.

Pleasure runs down my spine.

“Do not start something you cannot finish,” I say.

“Eight months pregnant, not dead.”

“The healer said⁠—”

“The healer said sex is safe.”

“The healer looked frightened when she said it.”

“She was looking at your claws.”

I retract them.

Iona’s amusement brightens through the bond.

Then her expression changes.

She looks past me toward the window.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The word is too quick.

I listen.

Her heartbeat steady.

The child’s fast.

No change in breath.

Then I feel it through the bond.

A tightening low in her body.

I am out of bed before she can speak.

“Torgan.”

“How long?”

“It is already easing.”