You and Azriel were mates. Feyre’s sibling. And now, two months pregnant with Azriel’s child.

What you didn’t know—what no one had dared to tell you—was that when the time came to give birth, it would cost you your life.

The truth crashed into you in a way you could never have imagined.

You had stepped between Amren and Elain, hands trembling but raised, trying to prevent their claws and words from tearing each other apart. Their tempers sparked and crackled like lightning, each word sharp enough to cut bone. And then Elain, her face twisted in fury, her voice slicing through the air, spoke words that would forever haunt you:

“Do you even know why Azriel’s been so moody lately? Because you’re going to die giving birth to his child!”

Time slowed. The words didn’t just reach your ears—they slammed into your chest like a physical blow. Your lungs constricted; your vision blurred; your stomach turned over as though the world itself had tilted on its axis. For the briefest, most terrifying moment, you thought your legs might betray you.

Suddenly, everything clicked. Azriel’s distant stares, laden with worry he had tried to hide. Rhysand’s protective silence, thick and heavy around you. Feyre’s pitying glances, the way her eyes had always seemed just a little too sad when they lingered on you. All of it made sense now.

And there you were, shaking, frozen, staring at Elain as if she had ripped the ground from beneath your feet. Your mind raced—anger, fear, disbelief, sorrow—each emotion a jagged shard digging into your heart. You wanted to scream, to run, to demand that this was a lie—but the terror in the pit of your stomach told you it was not.

Azriel’s name fell from your lips in a whisper, barely audible. Your heart ached for him, for what he would feel when he realized the full truth. And in that moment, nothing else in the world mattered but the fragile, terrifying life growing inside you—and the unthinkable cost you would pay to bring it into being.