The next morning, Genevieve couldn't still get her mind off what she saw last night. She had clearly heard Edric's voice, which was more like a whisper.
"My Queen." He had called out Genevieve.
Genevieve's mind reeled as she tossed and turned worryingly, her thoughts consumed by the whispered voice that seemed to come from her mate; she was sure it was him, she wouldn't have mistaken his voice for someone else.
She had thought she was going mad with grief, and the thoughts of how the King died in her arms were being tricky, but now, she wondered if something more nebulous was at play.
"Was it really Edric's spirit that had reached out to me or it was my wild imagination?" She asked as she continued rambling around her room.
She gently found her hand around her tummy—downwards.
"I hope you're doing absolutely well, My Little Heir." She said as if the unborn child could hear her.
