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The explanation sounds too clinical for the overwhelming territorial fury now rewiring my brain. Every instinct screams to secure her against all threats, real or imagined. The rational lord who's governed this territory for decades gets shoved aside by something more ancient—the alpha protecting his pregnant mate.

"Your status changes immediately," I tell her, voice deeper as my vocal chambers adjust. "You'll move to the royal consort chambers. Full access to inner territory. Enhanced nutrition to support hybrid development."

These practical details barely scratch the surface of what's changing. Politically, this pregnancy silences critics who questioned my bloodline's relevance. More immediately, rivals like Vexar will see both opportunity and threat—a vulnerable breeding pair versus strengthened political position.

But strategy feels secondary to something more fundamental: protecting what's mine. Not just territory or advantage, but continuation of self through genetic legacy. Throughher.

I reach for her again, palm resting against her stomach with reverent care.

"Our child will change everything," I tell her, words heavy with meaning. "For both our peoples."

Isla's POV

His words cut through the fog surrounding me like depth charges in still water.Our child. Two words that shatter any illusion of temporary captivity or eventual escape.

I stare at the glowing projection floating above my body—proof of my body's ultimate betrayal. Not just physical surrender during claiming or hormonal capitulation during heat, but this: new life created from our forced joining. My womb has allied with my captor's genetics to make something part him, part me, entirely other.

The universe apparently saves its cruelest jokes for last.

The embryo in the projection looks nothing like human pregnancy. It shows accelerated development, faint luminous traces mirroring the patterns permanently etched under my skin. The scanner highlights hybrid features—dual respiratory systems, enhanced neural pathways, cellular structures blending mammalian and cephalopod traits in impossible ways.

My hand presses harder against my belly, trying to connect with the life forming inside. The gesture comes from somewhere deeper than thought—ancient maternal programming activating regardless of conception circumstances.

"Fourteen days in seven," Neros continues, his scientific tone contrasting with the physical changes overtaking him. His skin has darkened dramatically, patterns blazing almost painfully bright. Tentacles emerge from arms and torso, forming protective barriers around the chamber.

I recognize this from resistance briefings—alpha mate-guarding, especially intense in royal bloodlines. It should terrify me, this reminder of his alien nature. Instead, I respond on some primal level my conscious mind can't control. My omega biology reads protective display as security, not threat.

"How long?" I whisper. "Until...?" I can't finish, reality still too overwhelming.

"Six to seven months instead of nine," he explains, hand replacing tentacle on my stomach. Contact sends warmth flooding through me, my body's response now hardwired. "Development accelerates early, then stabilizes. The child willhave dual capabilities—breathing air and water, enhanced senses, accelerated growth."

Pride colors his voice despite clinical words, fingers splaying possessively across my skin. I've never seen this expression—predatory dominance replaced by something equally intense but different. Protective rather than possessive.

"What happens to me now?" I need to understand my place in this new reality. Vessel to be discarded once useful?

"Everything changes," he says, reluctantly withdrawing his hand. "Status, quarters, freedom within my territory. You're not just my claimed mate anymore—you carry royal lineage. No human has held such position in the Sovereignty."

He begins adjusting environmental systems with meticulous precision. "Royal consort chambers will be prepared immediately. Air and water environments for hybrid pregnancy. Access to library, gardens, observation decks—previously restricted areas."

I should feel triumph at expanded freedom, elevation from prisoner to... what? Royal broodmare? All I can focus on is the life inside me—impossible merger of captor and captive, predator and prey. Emotions tangle into knots I can't untie—resentment at bodily invasion, unexpected wonder at new life, fear of what pregnancy will do to my already transformed body.

"What if I don't want this?" The words escape before I consider their wisdom. "Don't want to carry your child?"

Neros transforms instantly. Skin darkens to near-black, tentacles contracting defensively. Golden eyes narrow to predatory slits, pupils shrinking to points.

"That's not an option," he states, voice dropping to registers that vibrate through surrounding water. "This child is under my protection. Sovereignty law makes harming royal offspring punishable beyond your imagination."

I raise my hand, stopping his threat. "I'm not saying I'd hurt it. I'm asking what choice I have."

My clarification eases his aggression slightly, though protective tentacles remain extended.

"Choice ended when your heat synchronized with my rut," he says with absolute conviction. "Biology trumps preference. This is how all Prime species work."

His certainty should trigger my defiance, the resistance that's sustained me through captivity. Instead, I'm distracted by sudden sensation from within—not movement, the embryo is too small—but awareness, consciousness brushing mine with ghostly delicacy.

I gasp, hands flying to my stomach, eyes widening.

"What is it?" Neros demands, instantly alert. "Pain?"