Whispers rippled through the crowd. I signaled Rosalind to draw back the curtain, then fixed a cold stare on the beautiful woman kneeling below the carriage. Something in her scent nagged at me. Honeysuckle and warm milk, sweet enough on the surface, but beneath it a thread of something overripe, like bruised peaches left too long in the sun. My wolf stirred, uneasy, hackles prickling along the back of my awareness. "How far along are you?"
Celeste answered with a demure blush. "This humble she-wolf was taken in by the heir nine moon cycles ago. The pup in my womb is eight moons along."
I looked at her with undisguised contempt. "So for nine moon cycles, the heir hasn't brought you into the pack estate. Why is that? Is your bloodline too shameful to speak of? Or is the pup not his?"
"If he truly treasured you, why would he keep you hidden away as a secret mate?"
The crowd murmured in agreement. It was a fair point. If a wolf truly cherished a she-wolf, he would have brought her before the pack and given her a proper bond long ago. Why wait until she was nearly due?