Chapter 197
Elena’s POV
The peace had been completely restored throughout the kingdom, and cheerfulness had begun to spread again as the people felt
more at ease.
Six weeks had passed since that day, and life had become steadier. Deacon began implementing reforms to further improve the kingdom’s state, while I indulged myself in the new orphanage project I was working on.
By this time, it’s not just about moving forward, but about making our future.
Everything seemed to be doing fine, but me. I didn’t know why, but since this morning, I have noticed some changes in me. I felt so irritable, so much so that even the perfume I usually smell from Deacon started to annoy me.
Then, right now, while I was busy, though only on the chair, I started to feel more exhausted than ever, which led me to rest all afternoon without doing anything, which made me feel like I’m being useless for hours.
I’d catch myself nodding off over Council reports, a lapse that hadn’t happened even during the immediate healing period.
One morning, while helping Rafael with his training stance in the private gym, a dizzy spell forced me to grab the nearest pillar.
“Auntie, are you okay?” Rafael asked, his brow furrowed with concern.
“Just a little tired, Raf,” I lied, forcing a smile.
But Deacon noticed. He always noticed.
Later that afternoon, he found me curled up on the sofa in the study, pale and slightly nauseous. I had tried to hide it, claiming a
headache, but the scent of sickness was unmistakable to a Lycan like him.
“You need to call the doctor, Elena,” Deacon said, sitting beside me and gently stroking my hair. His voice was laced with worry. “I don’t think you’re just exhausted. Your scent is also a bit off.”
I raked my hand on my hair and insisted while leaning onto him, “It’s just stress. My body is still calibrating with all the
changes.
He looked at me with a raised brow and shook his head. “Elena, what happened was three months ago. This is not about it. I’ll
call Dr Elms.”
Dr Elms was our newly recruited doctor in the kingdom.
Sighing, I just gave in, knowing I wouldn’t win in this argument anymore, so I might as well let him do what he wants and save both our time. Besides, it would make him less worried.
In a matter of minutes, a silver–haired man entered the room. It’s Dr Elms. He assessed my condition and asked me to undergo a few laboratory tests while asking me a series of questions I didn’t know were necessary, like my diet, sleep, and other
symptoms.
Deacon stood by the fireplace, his arms crossed, watching the proceedings with the intensity of a protective mountain.
After the examination, Dr Elms requested a private word with Deacon. I waited on the chaise lounge, trying to quell the anxiety rising in my chest. Was it the wolfsbane residue from the attack? Was I developing some kind of chronic illness from the long, period of stress?
The men returned after ten minutes. Deacon’s face was unreadable, but Dr Elms was beaming, holding a small vial of blood he had just drawn.
“Prince Deacon,” Dr Elms addressed Deacon first, unable to contain his smile. “My preliminary findings indicate that Princess
Elena is in excellent health.”
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Deacon visibly relaxed. “Excellent. Then what is causing the fatigue and nausea?”
Dr Elms chuckled, turning to me with a twinkle in his eye. “Princess Elena, your body isn’t suffering from stress or illness. It is undergoing a beautiful, natural transformation.”
I frowned, confused. “A transformation? What are you talking about, Doctor?”
He set the vial down on the table. “You are not unwell, Princess. You are pregnant.”
The word landed in the room with the force of a sonic boom.
I stared at the Doctor, my mind going blank. Pregnant. The word sounded alien, impossible. After everything with Bryson, the rejection, the trauma… I had unconsciously resigned myself to the idea that I might never conceive.
I slowly turned my head toward Deacon.
Deacon was frozen in place. His eyes, usually so sharp and decisive, were wide and glazed over with an emotion so powerful it seemed to have struck him dumb. He looked like a man who had just been handed the sun.
“Pregnant,” Deacon repeated, the word a choked whisper. “An heir?”
Dr Elms nodded, his smile widening. “The initial tests are very positive. I estimate you are approximately six weeks along, Princess. The nausea and fatigue are perfectly normal symptoms.”
Tears welled up in my eyes, but they weren’t tears of fear or sorrow. There were tears of overwhelming, unexpected joy. A true heir. A child of our bond, our strength, and our love. A child who was entirely ours.
“Oh, Deacon,” I whispered, reaching out my hand.
Deacon moved, suddenly covering the distance between us in two strides. He didn’t say a word. He simply dropped to his knees beside the chaise lounge and buried his face in my lap, his strong arms wrapping around my waist. His body trembled.
“A child,” he murmured against my thigh, his voice thick with emotion. “Our child. My blood.”
This was the man who had been raised to prioritise legacy, who had worried about the continuation of his line. This was the King whose wedding had been a battle. Now, his legacy was confirmed, not through politics, but through love.
I tangled my fingers in his dark hair, pulling his head closer. “Yes, my love. A true heir.”
Dr Elms, sensing the need for privacy, quietly gathered his instruments. I will prepare the official report and a full regimen for the Queen. But for now, I suggest quiet rest. No strenuous activity.”
He bowed himself out, leaving us alone in the sunlit study.
Deacon finally looked up at me, his eyes shining with unshed tears. The intensity of his happiness was breathtaking.
“This is the real victory, Elena,” he choked out, standing up and pulling me into a fierce, tender embrace. “Glenda wanted to destroy our future. She wanted to hurt Rafael. But we survived, and now, we create.”
Theld him tight, feeling a profound sense of closure I hadn’t even achieved in the dungeon. Glenda had attempted to assassinate the next generation of our family, but the Moon Goddess had answered her violence with creation. She had answered the poison with a miracle.
“We have to tell Rafael,” I whispered, pulling back just enough to see his face, “He’s going to be a big brother.”
Deacon laughed, a deep, joyful sound that hadn’t been heard in the palace in months. “Yes. We tell him. But first…”
He cupped my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine. “I love you, Elena. You have given me everything.”
“And you, me,” I replied, feeling a fierce, protective warmth spread through my stomach.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
