The fire crackled low in the royal bedchamber of the Snow Kingdom. Cold winds howled outside the windows, but within, a different storm was brewing.
Nicole sat on the edge of the cushioned bench, her hands resting over her swollen stomach, eyes locked on the faintly glowing embers. Her golden-brown skin shimmered with a subtle light, and every now and then, her pupils flickered from deep brown to a luminous, unnatural gold.
She felt it again—the slow, crawling dread inside her. Something unnatural.
But she said nothing.
Not when Lori hovered nearby, glancing at her in worried silence. Not when Chatan dropped off another protective charm at her door. Not even when Jasper returned from yet another council meeting, his hair dusted with snow, eyes sharp and tired.
"Nicole," Jasper's voice cut through the quiet. "You've barely touched your food."
She didn't respond.
He moved closer, brushing a hand against her cheek. "You're trembling."
"I'm fine," she replied softly, too softly.
