The silence of the royal bedchamber was absolute, yet it was the kind of silence that precedes a landslide. Outside, the moons of the Trinity hung suspended in a sea of ink, casting long, skeletal shadows through the arched windows. Inside, the only sounds were the synchronized breaths of the three lovers and the faint, rhythmic ticking of a clockwork mechanism on the mantel.
Gwen lay in the center of the massive bed, her body heavy with the seventh month of her pregnancy. The "Electric Prince" within her had finally stilled, his volatile energy humming at a low, resting frequency. To her left, Kaelen was a mountain of warmth, his steady heartbeat a grounding force. To her right, Lucien's presence was a cool, violet shadow, his fingers loosely entwined with hers even in sleep.
They felt safe. They had warded the doors. They had checked the vents. But they had forgotten one thing: a serpent does not need a door to enter a nest.
Gwen woke not to a sound, but to the absence of air.
