CHAPTER 103: CHAPTER 102. ON THE WAY TO ERENGARD

By the third day of travel, it had become impossible to keep Roxanne separate from Vivianne in any capacity, the omega had developed an insistence on remaining close, she didn’t want to be far from her alpha wife. If Roxanne rode on horseback, Vivianne would insist on following her, and Roxanne knew best that Vivianne was better in the carriage.

So, by default, they’re now traveling by carriage. Vivianne nestles herself against Roxanne’s chest, her fingers tangled in Roxanne’s clothing, her scent blooming warm and steady. She needs to keep herself close with Roxanne and have her scent all over her.

"It’s the baby." Roxanne only nodded, brushing her thumb across Vivianne’s back.

Of course it was. An omega in gestation often sought the alpha’s scent, craved it, and needed it. There’s no annoyance, no inconvenience. Only a comfortable feeling settled in Roxanne’s chest, as if something that had been wrong for years had finally aligned.

"Yes, sweetheart." Roxanne would have agreed to anything.

By the fifth day, the forested roads had begun to stretch into long open plains, the air growing cooler and sharper with altitude. Vivianne blinked slowly, as though sorting through some realization, after resting in Roxanne’s arms for two days straight. She lifted herself upright with urgency and called for the midwife.

The midwife entered, cheeks flushed from the wind, bowing respectfully as she knelt inside the carriage. "Yes, Your Grace? Do you require assistance?"

Vivianne looked at her with clear, direct eyes, then spoke with perfect composure, "Will the baby be alright if we have intercourse?"

The air inside the carriage went still, so still that even the horses outside seemed to slow. Roxanne choked on nothing but was still trying to keep her composure straight and unbothered.

The midwife’s eyes widened, her face flushed. She stammered only once before forcing herself into professionalism, though her voice wavered with effort. "In most circumstances, Your Grace, intimacy between bonded parents remains not only safe but beneficial during pregnancy, provided care is taken to avoid undue strain or excessive stress upon the abdomen, not the dangerous way."

Vivianne nodded thoughtfully. "And which types count as dangerous?" she asked, completely unshaken.

The midwife swallowed so hard that Roxanne could hear it. "Well—ah—activities involving overly forceful restraint, or postures that compress the abdomen, or anything that would cause the omega difficulty breathing... those should be avoided," she managed to explain, her voice cracking only slightly.

Roxanne, who had commanded armies and fought with two strongest alphas in different races and won against them, felt for the first time in her life that she had absolutely no stable footing under her.

Vivianne only hummed in calm consideration. "So traditional positioning is acceptable," she concluded, as though reviewing a shopping list.

The midwife nodded hard enough that her hairpins rattled. "Yes, Your Grace. Perfectly acceptable."

Meanwhile, Roxanne sat motionless, her spine straight, her hands folded carefully, her expression perfectly neutral, yet her soul had silently walked out of the carriage and was somewhere lying face-down in the dirt.

For the first time in her life, Roxanne de Borgia had no plan. No rebuttal. No strategy. No ability to speak. Only one thought, ringing through her skull like a cathedral bell, "Oh my wife is losing her mind already."

Vivianne then reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together, leaning her cheek against Roxanne’s shoulder with a warm, quiet exhale of contentment. "That settles it," she murmured, entirely satisfied.

Roxanne made a very quiet, very controlled exhale. "...Yes, sweetheart."

But Vivianne only smiled, soft and luminous, her fingertips tracing the line of Roxanne’s jaw gently, as though she already knew every thought unspoken. "I’m preparing for your rut," she said, with a calmness so intimate it felt like being touched. "It’s coming."

Roxanne’s entire body went still, shoulders tightening, spine straightening, and breath held in her throat. She had forgotten because she was too focused on Vivianne and forgot to remember anything else.

Her rut.

The one that always hit like wildfire in dry brush, hot, consuming, unreasoning. The one that made even steel restraint feel like a thread ready to snap.

And Vivianne, soft with pregnancy, smelled warm and sweet and unbearably inviting. Roxanne swallowed hard, her pulse rising so sharply she could hear it in her ears.

The midwife shifted, painfully aware she really should not be there. Which is when Roxanne turned to her, it’s time for Roxanne to be shameless as she realized the most important thing.

Her voice is steady, polite, and even refined, but every word makes the midwife want to disappear from the carriage.

"My rut is coming," she said evenly to the midwife. "And I tend to be forceful."

Vivianne doesn’t look embarrassed, she looks pleased, even. The midwife, on the other hand, looked like she briefly left her soul behind on the roadside.

Roxanne continued, tone deceptively calm, as though asking about saddle fittings rather than primal need, "So. Which position is safest for my wife and the baby?"

She paused—then added, because this isn’t a moment that allowed delicacy, "Say, if she sits on it? Would that keep the pressure low enough?"

Vivianne’s hand tightened around hers, a quiet thrill sparking in her scent. Roxanne’s breath caught, almost imperceptibly.

She continued, still looking at the midwife with a serious face, "Or would it be better if I stay above her—something like missionary, but slow—supporting her hips and back, ensuring no compression on her abdomen?"

The midwife’s face had become a brilliant shade of crimson. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Her voice, when it finally emerged, trembled like a leaf in a storm. "S-sitting... would indeed be safe," she managed. "It allows the omega to regulate depth and angle, minimizing strain. And since Her Grace is... ah... already bonded to your scent... it may also help stabilize her heat response and ease discomfort."

Vivianne leaned into her shoulder again, eyes fluttering half-lidded, voice low and warm, "Then we’ll do that."

Roxanne, who had led armies without hesitation and who had never bowed to any force except the one wrapped in her arms, felt her composure disintegrate into something raw, fierce, and helplessly devoted.

Her voice came out soft, so soft it could only be love in its most unguarded form, "...As you wish, wife."

"Do you... do you still need me, your grace?" the midwife asked, her voice already thin, one hand trembling as she pressed a cloth against her forehead.

The air inside the carriage had grown heavy and warm, saturated with the dense, unmistakable pull of an alpha nearing rut, thick enough to taste, thick enough to stir even ordinary nerves into instinct. Roxanne’s pheromones are no longer subtle. They pulsed, slow, powerful waves rolling from her skin like heat from a forge.

Vivianne is breathing in steady, greedy little pulls, drawn in as though the scent is sunlight, and she has been cold her whole life. Roxanne kept her palm on Vivianne’s thigh, her voice steady but undeniably deeper than before. "Yes," she said softly to the midwife, "you may go."

The midwife almost bolted from the carriage, skirts gathered in her hands as though the very air had weight. She muttered something respectful, nearly stumbling on her way out, and by the time she reached the road outside, her face was scarlet, desperately pretending she had not just nearly melted into a puddle on the carriage floor.

Roxanne exhaled once, slowly, through her teeth, trying to ground herself. Then she leaned slightly out of the carriage window and called, her voice level but resonating like thunder held back behind stone, "Maxim."

Maxim quickly slows his horse’s steps and walks with the carriage. And he already knows what’s going to happen after this, the wind already carried the alpha scent like a rising storm.

"Stop early." Roxanne said to him,

He simply nodded once, sharp and sure. "We’ll stop early for camp," he answered, voice steady, giving no fuss, no alarm, only understanding.

He lifted his hand, signaling the envoy with a silent gesture only Borgia-trained soldiers would recognize. The formation slowed, began shifting, and the guards spread wider to form a protective arc, the carriages adjusting position.

"We’ll have privacy soon," Roxanne murmured, each word trembling with restraint, not just from the heat between them but also from the effort it took to keep her instincts leashed. Her fingers twitched against Vivianne’s waist, yearning to pull her closer, to claim, to protect. "Just stay close to me."

Vivianne smiled and pressed a lingering kiss to the sharp line of Roxanne’s jaw. "It’s you I’m worried about," she whispered, her breath warm against Roxanne’s skin. "I’ll be fine. I’m not fragile."

A low, possessive growl rumbled in Roxanne’s chest, but her lips curled into something smug, almost teasing. "I know." She tilted Vivianne’s chin up, thumb brushing the delicate curve of her cheek. "But I’m not your ordinary alpha, either."

Vivianne laughed then, bright and sweet, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "Oh, I know that." Her fingers traced the tension coiled in Roxanne’s shoulders.