Irina’s POV

I could walk now.

That was the first real victory. Four days after waking up, Nadia finally cleared me to get out of bed on my own. Not for long—twenty minutes at a time, twice a day, with strict instructions to sit down the second I felt dizzy. But still. Walking.

I’d forgotten what it felt like. To stand up and not immediately need someone’s arm. To cross a room under my own power. Small things. They shouldn’t have mattered as much as they did.

But they did.

Nicolas hadn’t come back since that day with Roman.

I knew why. Roman had explained it—the Iron Thorn situation, the instability, the need for the king to show up in person and assert control before the whole territory collapsed into chaos. It made sense. Politically, strategically, all of it made sense.

It still felt like he’d left.

I hated that it felt that way. Hated that some part of me—the part that was still eighteen and had learned that people left when things got complicated—was reading his absence as proof of something. Proof that I’d been right all along. That this was temporary. That he’d tolerate me until it became inconvenient and then I’d be—

*Stop.*

I was sitting in the chair by the window when Sofia came in with lunch.

She had a tray. Soup again—the good kind, the kind that actually had flavor—and bread and some kind of fruit compote that Nadia had insisted I needed for the vitamins. Sofia set it on the little table beside me and pulled up the other chair without asking.

"You look better," she said.

"I feel better."

"Good." She watched me pick up the spoon. "You need to eat all of it this time. Nadia’s going to quiz me."

"I know."

I ate. She stayed. That had become the pattern—she’d bring food, sit with me while I ate it, fill the silence with commentary about the palace staff drama or the weather or anything that wasn’t heavy. I was grateful for it. The silence in here was too loud when I was alone.

Today she was quieter than usual.

I looked at her over the spoon. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Sofia."

She made a face. Looked at her hands. "It’s just—I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t persuade you to poison Alpha. You have your baby..."

I set the spoon down.

"You didn’t do anything wrong," I said.

"I made it weird."

"Sofia," I said. "You didn’t make anything worse. I promise." 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

She didn’t look convinced.

I picked the spoon back up. Ate another mouthful. The soup was good. Rich. The kind of thing that actually made you feel like your body was getting what it needed instead of just going through the motions.

"Can I ask you something?" Sofia said.

"Sure."

She hesitated. Then: "Do you want it?"

I stopped.

The spoon was halfway to my mouth. I set it back in the bowl. Carefully.

"The baby," she clarified. Quiet. "Do you—are you happy about it? Or is it just—something that happened and now you’re dealing with it?"

I looked at her.

She was watching me with those wide eyes. Worried. Like she’d just asked something she shouldn’t have and was bracing for me to shut down.

I didn’t shut down.

"I don’t know," I said honestly.

Her face shifted. Not judgment. Just—listening.

"I didn’t plan it," I said. "Obviously. I didn’t even think it was possible. The pack doctor told me years ago that I probably couldn’t—" I stopped. Shook my head. "And then it happened anyway. And now I’m sitting here trying to figure out if I’m happy or terrified or both."

"Both is allowed," Sofia said softly.

"Is it?"

"Of course it is." She leaned forward. Elbows on her knees. "Irina, you’re allowed to feel more than one thing at the same time. You’re allowed to be scared and happy and confused and all of it. That’s—that’s just being human."

I looked at the bowl. At the soup going cold.

"I think I want it," I said. The words came out quiet. Uncertain. "I think—when Nadia told me, when it first registered—there was this moment where I thought *oh.* Like—like something clicked into place. Something I didn’t know was missing." I swallowed. "But then I think about everything else. About how this happened. About what I did to make it happen. And I don’t know if I deserve—"

"Stop."

I looked up.

Sofia’s face had gone serious. The worry was still there, but underneath it was something harder. Something that reminded me she’d survived in this palace too, in her own way.

"You deserve it," she said. Flat. Absolute. "Whatever you’re about to say you don’t deserve—you do. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to have something good happen to you. And if this baby is that thing, then that’s—that’s yours. You don’t have to earn it."

My throat closed.

"Okay," I managed.

"I mean it."

"I know."

She sat back. Crossed her arms. "Sorry. I just—I hate when people do that. The thing where they decide they’re not allowed to have good things because of something that happened before. It’s bullshit."

I almost smiled.

"Eat your soup," she said. "Before Nadia yells at both of us."

I ate my soup.

---

That night, the room was dark and Sofia was still there.

She’d stayed later than usual. We’d talked about nothing—palace gossip, the state of the garden, whether the new head chef was actually an improvement or just different. Normal things. The kind of things I’d forgotten people talked about when their lives weren’t actively on fire.

At some point she’d ended up sitting on the bed instead of the chair. Then lying on the bed. Then curled up on her side with the blanket half over her, eyes drooping.

"You can stay," I said.

She blinked at me. "What?"

"If you want. You can stay." I shifted over. Made room. "The bed’s big enough."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She looked at me for a long moment. Then she smiled—small, genuine, the kind of smile that made her dimples show.

"Okay," she said.

She pulled the blanket up properly. Settled in. We lay there in the dark, side by side, not touching but close enough that I could hear her breathing.

The silence was different with her here. Not heavy. Just—present.

"Irina," she said after a while.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something else?"

"Sure."

She was quiet for a few seconds. Then: "Do you love him?"