"I'm… pregnant?"
Florian's voice is barely above a whisper, his eyes wide with disbelief. Lysander looks at him, brows furrowing in concern.
"It seems so, Your Highness," he says carefully. "Do you, perhaps, know who the father is? I'm aware of your… relationships with Lord Lucius and Lord Lancelot, but—"
"No. It's not them." Florian replies, lowering his gaze to his abdomen. His hand drifts down, resting gently over it.
He had shared his bed with Lucius and Lancelot, yes—but never recklessly. He'd always been careful. He never let either finish inside him.
There was only ever one man he allowed that kind of vulnerability with.
"This…"
He should be happy. Shouldn't he?
Then why did his heart feel like it was caving in?
