You barely take a step toward the door before Sandor’s growl stops you in your tracks.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” His deep, gruff voice rumbles through the room, thick with irritation.

You sigh, already knowing where this is going. “I was just going to the kitchens—”

“No, you’re not.” He crosses the room in a few long strides, planting himself firmly between you and the door. His towering frame blocks your way completely, arms crossed, scowl in full force. “You sit. I’ll get whatever you need.”

You place a hand on your growing belly, tilting your head up to meet his stubborn gaze. “I’m pregnant, Sandor, not helpless.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re carrying my child. That means you don’t lift a damn finger.” His voice is rough, but there’s something else underneath it—something softer, almost nervous.

You step closer, resting a hand lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath your fingers. “I appreciate your concern, but I won’t break.”

His jaw tightens. “I know that,” he mutters. “You’re stronger than half the fools in this castle. But that doesn’t mean I’m lettin’ you run around like some reckless idiot.” His hand brushes against your stomach, hesitant but protective. “Not with my kid in there.”