She pushed herself to her feet with a quiet hiss. Her lower back immediately protested, and one hand flew to support her stomach on instinct.
Shelia looked up at once. "Do you need me to call someone?"
"No," Isabella said, already making her way toward the door. "If I call someone, they will all come and make a scene. Then Cyrus will pretend even harder that nothing is wrong. I need to catch him before his pride wakes up."
That made perfect sense.
The males in this village really did treat concern like a competitive sport.
By the time Isabella reached the back courtyard, the cold air hit her face sharply. Snow crunched under her shoes as she crossed the path as fast as her current body would allow. Which was not very fast, something she found deeply offensive.
"Why is pregnancy so undignified," she grumbled in her heart. "In stories, women glow. I am glowing too, but mainly from stress."
When she reached the edge of the training ground, she stopped.
Cyrus was still there.
