The Lycan King's Outcast Omega (by Cara Anderson) novel Chapter 157

Sage

The morning of the announcement dawns clear and bright, as if the Moon Goddess herself approves our news. I stand before the mirror in our chambers, studying my reflection for any visible sign of the changes occurring within. Though my body appears unchanged, through our bond, Alaric's perception of me has transformed completely – his mate, his queen, and now carrier of his child.

"You're certain about this?" he asks one final time, his hands settling on my shoulders as he meets my eyes in the reflection. "We could wait longer."

"We've waited long enough." My decision hasn't wavered despite the prophecy's discovery. "The kingdom deserves to know their future heir approaches."

What remains unspoken is our strategic reasoning – controlling the narrative before rumors of prophecies overshadow simple joy at a royal birth. Through our bond, our shared determination flows both ways, strengthening our united front.

The royal apartments bustle with activity as final preparations unfold. Helena arrives to place the formal ceremonial circlet upon my head, her touch lingering with grandmotherly affection she doesn't yet voice aloud.

"The kingdom will rejoice," she says simply, though her eyes communicate deeper emotions. "A new generation always brings hope."

Through our bond, I feel Alaric's impatience building as nobles and council members gather in the great hall below. His beast remains closer to the surface than usual, territorial instincts heightened by the public nature of what should be private joy.

When we finally emerge onto the eastern balcony, the gathered crowd below falls instantly silent. Pack members from every territory stand shoulder to shoulder, faces turned upward with expectation. Through our bond, Alaric's pride flows as he steps forward, his hand firmly grasping mine.

"People of the kingdom," his voice carries effortlessly to every corner of the courtyard. "Today we share news of great significance. News that honors our ancestors and secures our future."

Through our bond, I feel the momentary pause he takes – not hesitation but savoring of the declaration to come.

"The Moon Goddess has blessed our union." His hand shifts to rest protectively against my abdomen, the gesture leaving no doubt about his announcement. "Your queen carries the future heir of our kingdom."

The response begins as murmur, then swells to jubilant roar that echoes from stone walls. Howls of celebration join cheers as wolves express joy in both human and animal fashion. Through our bond, Alaric's satisfaction radiates at this public claiming of what we've created together.

From my vantage point, I observe the various reactions with careful attention. Most faces show genuine happiness, particularly common wolves who've embraced me more readily than nobility. Council members maintain diplomatic pleasure, though some exchange glances whose significance I can't quite interpret.

As my gaze sweeps the crowd, I notice a hooded figure near the back, standing unnaturally still amid the celebration. Through our bond, I feel Alaric following my line of sight, his protection instinct flaring as he also notes the anomaly.

Before either of us can alert guards, the figure slips away, but not before I glimpse something clutched in their hand – paper with symbols that trigger recognition in my evolved memory. The same ancient script from the prophecy scrolls.

The celebration continues uninterrupted around us, formal congratulations and traditional blessings offered by representatives from every territory. Through it all, Alaric maintains physical contact with me, his hand never straying far from my waist, his body positioned to shield mine from any potential threat.

Later, as we return to our chambers through corridors lined with guards, Garrett approaches with a furrowed brow.

"We found this," he says quietly, extending a folded paper. "Left where the hooded figure was standing."

Alaric takes it, unfolding the message with tension evident in every movement. Through our bond, his fury builds as he reads words I can't yet see.

"He knows about the prophecy," I say unnecessarily, the evidence undeniable. "He knows what our child might represent."

Alaric's arms encircle me, his body creating a physical barrier between me and unseen threats. Through our bond, his vow requires no words – nothing will harm what's his. Not prophecies, not enemies, not fate itself.

As night falls, security transforms the packhouse into an impenetrable fortress. Additional guards patrol every corridor, ancient protective spells activate around royal quarters, trusted wolves stand watch at every access point.

I don't fight these measures, understanding they're as necessary for Alaric's peace of mind as my actual protection. Through our bond, his beast remains dangerously close to the surface, every sense hyper-focused on potential danger.

What I don't share with him is the second message – the one delivered silently to my private study, slipped beneath stacks of research materials where only I would find it. The one whose threat targets not our child, but me specifically. The one promising my death before I can bring the prophesied child into the world.

Some burdens even mates don't share, some threats best handled alone. This message I burn to ash, its contents locked away in my memory, its warning strengthening my own resolve rather than adding to his concerns.

Our child will live, will thrive, will become whatever they're meant to be – royal heir, fulfillment of prophecy, or simply beloved child of parents who found each other against all odds and traditions.

And no threat, no enemy, no ancient fear will prevent that future from unfolding.

Not while I draw breath.