( Rhydian)
It started with the stairs.
The Pack house had two staircases. The main one, wide, good stone, the one everyone used. And the eastern one, narrower, older, the one that connected the upper corridor to the archive room. The eastern staircase had a step near the bottom that had been slightly uneven for years, enough that you noticed it if you were paying attention, not enough that anyone had prioritized the repair.
I noticed it at the third week.
Elena had come down the eastern staircase carrying a report and a cup and not paying attention to the step because she’d been using that staircase for two years and her body knew where it was, and I’d been in the corridor when she’d used it and I’d watched her foot catch slightly on the uneven step and she’d corrected without breaking her pace and kept walking.
She didn’t fall. She barely stumbled. She didn’t even look down.
I had Brennan’s maintenance request on my desk within the hour.
Brennan read it.
He looked at me over the report.
"The eastern step," he said.
"It’s been uneven for years," I said.
"Yes," he said.
"It should have been fixed before now," I said.
"Probably," he said. He looked at the report. He looked at me. He said nothing else.
The step was repaired by the following morning.
---
The second thing was the training yard.
Elena came to the morning drills at week four. She’d been attending since returning to full duty after Luna, which was her right and which was fine, which I had no issue with. She stood at the fence and observed and occasionally offered corrections and the trainees received these corrections with the specific reverence of wolves who understood exactly who was standing at their fence.
Week four she came into the yard.
She stood in the center.
She looked at me.
"I’m going to run the third-step sequence," she said.
"You ran that sequence two weeks ago," I said.
"And I’m going to run it now," she said.
I looked at the sequence.
The third-step sequence involved a specific weight drop and a pivot that used the left side. The left side that had a scar from the gate fight that she’d said didn’t affect rotation by two percent and which affected rotation by two percent.
"The pivot uses the left side," I said.
"I know what the sequence uses," she said.
"Senna said—"
"Senna said light activity," she said. "This is light activity."
"The pivot isn’t—"
"Rhydian." Her voice was completely level. "I ran this sequence three weeks ago."
"You weren’t four weeks pregnant three weeks ago," I said.
The yard went quiet.
Not the trainees stopping — they were still going through their warm-up, the sound of it continuing — but the specific quality of the immediate space around us going quiet.
Elena looked at me.
I held her gaze.
"The sequence," she said, "is not going to affect the pregnancy."
"I know that," I said.
"Then—"
"I just—" I stopped.
She waited.
"I’m going to watch you do the pivot," I said. "And I’m going to be right here. That’s all."
She looked at me for a moment.
"You can watch from the fence," she said.
"I can watch from here," I said.
"The fence, Rhydian."
"Elena—"
"The fence," she said. "Or I’ll make you do the sequence with me and you can watch the pivot from the inside."
I went to the fence.
Cade was three feet away. He had the expression of someone who was not going to say anything and was working hard at it.
"Not a word," I said.
"I didn’t say anything," Cade said.
"You were about to," I said.
"I genuinely wasn’t," he said. Then: "Was the fence really necessary?"
"Fence," I said.
He turned back to the drills.
Elena ran the sequence. The third step, the weight drop, the pivot. Clean. Controlled. The scar on her left side invisible in her movement. She’d always compensated better than she admitted.
She came off the sequence and looked at me.
"Satisfied?" she said.
"Yes," I said.
"Good," she said. "Now stop hovering."
"I’m at the fence," I said.
"You’re hovering from the fence," she said.
Cade made a sound he covered with a cough.
---
By week five I’d moved the low shelf in the archive room.
Not significantly. Just up two levels. The bottom shelf had been at floor level and Elena sometimes crouched to reach the texts there and crouching was — I’d read that crouching was fine in early pregnancy, Senna had confirmed that crouching was fine, and I’d moved the shelf anyway because I was standing in the archive room looking at the shelf and the decision happened before I’d fully thought it through.
Marta found out.
"Rhydian," she said, in the corridor, with the specific quality she used for council errors. "The bottom shelf of the archive room has been moved."
"Yes," I said.
"The texts are in order of acquisition," she said. "The order matters."
"The texts are still in order," I said. "Just two levels higher."
She looked at me.
"She can still reach them," I said. "They’re not gone, they’re just—"
"Higher," Marta said.
"Yes," I said.
Marta was quiet for a moment.
"I’ll put them back," she said.
"Marta—"
"I’ll put them back," she said, "in the correct order, at the correct height, and if you move them again I’ll have a conversation with Elena about it."
She walked away.
I moved one of the shorter chairs from the main hall to the archive room instead. Marta didn’t say anything about that.
---
The soup was week six.
Senna had mentioned at the week-four confirmation that iron was important and that the kitchen’s winter soup was good for iron and that Elena should be having it daily. Elena had said she knew, she’d had it daily with Luna, she was managing her own diet.
I started putting the soup on her side of the table.
Every morning. Alongside whatever she was having. The thick kitchen soup. Sometimes with bread. Always there.
Elena noticed on the third day.
"Who’s putting this here," she said.
"The kitchen," I said.
"The kitchen puts everything on the table," she said. "Who’s putting this specifically on my side?"
I picked up my report.
"Rhydian," she said.
"It has iron," I said. "Senna said—"
"I heard what Senna said," she said. "I was there."
"The soup—"
"I ate the soup every day with Luna," she said. "I know about the soup."
"I know you know," I said.
"Then why—"
"Because sometimes you get busy," I said. "And the reports run long. And you forget to eat before the third hour and Senna said—"
"I forget once," she said.
"Twice," I said.
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
"Once that I know about," I said.
She picked up the soup.
She ate it.
She didn’t say anything else about it, which I chose to interpret as acceptance rather than a tactical pause before a larger argument.
---
Week seven was the corridor.
I started walking between Elena and the walls when we were in the narrow corridors. The Pack house had some corridors that were genuinely narrow — the eastern passage, the one behind the kitchen — and I’d started positioning myself between her and the wall without thinking about it.
She noticed on the fourth time.
We were in the eastern passage and she stopped walking.
I stopped.
She looked at where I was standing.
She looked at where the wall was.
She looked at me.
"Rhydian," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"Why are you between me and the wall?"
I thought about how to answer that.
"The passage is narrow," I said.
"It’s the same width it’s always been," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"And I’ve walked through it—"
"—for two years," I said. "I know."
She looked at me.
I held her gaze.
"I’m not going to explain it," I said. "I know it’s not rational. I know you don’t need me between you and a wall. I know—" I paused. "I know all the things. I still keep ending up there."
She was quiet for a moment.
"It’s a wall," she said.
"I know," I said.
"The wall has never—"
"I know," I said.
"Rhydian."
"Elena."
She looked at the wall. Then at me. Then at the ceiling, briefly, which was a thing she did when she was arriving somewhere.
"The stairs I understand," she said. "The step was actually uneven."
"Yes," I said.
"The soup I accept," she said. "I do forget to eat."
"Twice," I said.
"Once," she said. "That I’ll acknowledge. The second one was—" She stopped. "Fine. The soup is fine."
"And the shelf," I said.
"Marta put the shelf back," she said.
"I put a shorter chair in the archive room," I said.
She looked at me.
"I know," she said. "I’ve been using it."
I stared at her.
"It’s a reasonable height," she said. "For reaching the lower texts without crouching excessively." She met my gaze. "I’m not telling you it was a good idea. I’m telling you the chair is a reasonable height."
"So—"
"The wall, Rhydian," she said. "This is where I draw the line."
I looked at the wall.
"Okay," I said.
"You’re going to keep doing it," she said.
"I’m going to try not to," I said.
She looked at me with those grey eyes that had been seeing through me since approximately the first week. The specific look — not the Alpha look, not the teaching look. The one that was just her, reading what was actually there.
"You’re scared," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"This is the scared version," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"Of the overprotective—"
"I know what it is," I said. "I know it’s the scared version. I know you can handle a pregnancy — you handled a siege during the last one. I know you’re an Alpha and you’ve been managing your own body for thirty-one years and you don’t need me between you and a wall in a corridor."
She was quiet.
"And yet," she said.
"And yet," I said.
She looked at me for a long moment.
And then something shifted in her face.
The almost-laugh arrived, which I hadn’t expected, and then it didn’t stay as almost — it came out properly, the real laugh, the helpless one, the one I’d been collecting since the training yard.
"I’m an Alpha," she said. "I can handle a second pregnancy."
"I know," I said.
"The wall—"
"I know," I said.
"And the soup—"
"Two portions," I said.
She laughed again.
I looked at her.
At the laugh. The real one. The one that was entirely hers and that kept arriving in places I didn’t expect and that I had never once grown used to.
"The chair in the archive room is staying," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"The step was a reasonable repair," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"The third-step sequence—"
"I wasn’t going to stop you," I said.
"You were absolutely going to stop me," she said.
"I was going to watch from the fence," I said.
She looked at me.
"Two pups," she said.
"Two pups," I said.
She reached out and touched my arm. Brief. Present. The specific contact that wasn’t holding me up but was letting me know she was there.
"Walk on the other side," she said. "Not between me and the wall. Between me and the open corridor."
I looked at the eastern passage.
The wall on one side. The open corridor on the other.
"That’s—" I started.
"I know it’s not the threat you’re worried about," she said. "But it’s where your instincts are going to put you anyway. So put them there usefully."
I looked at her.
She looked back.
I moved to the other side.
She walked.
I walked.
We went through the eastern passage together, me between her and the open corridor, which made no tactical sense and was exactly where I was going to end up regardless.
At the end of the passage she said, without looking at me:
"The soup is fine. Keep putting it there."
"Yes," I said.
"But if you move another shelf," she said, "I’ll make you run the third-step sequence with me every morning."
"That’s not a deterrent," I said.
"I know," she said. "It was a reward for both of us. Stop moving the shelves."
She went to the briefing.
I stood in the eastern passage.
Then I went and put the soup on her side of the table and sat in the correct place and looked at the report that needed looking at.
From the corridor: Cade’s voice.
"Brennan. Do you know why the archive room chair is — never mind, it’s been there a while. Never mind."
"Don’t ask," Brennan said.
"I wasn’t going to," Cade said. "Except I was."
"Don’t," Brennan said.
I kept reading the report.
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter