"I'm coming with you," Isabella insisted, her hands planted firmly on her hips as I packed the last of my supplies into the weathered leather trunk.
"Isabella," I said, turning to face her, "we've discussed this. You can't possibly—"
"I know what we discussed," she interrupted, her eyes flashing with determination. "But this is our battle, Alaric. Together, we've faced every threat to our family. Why should this be different?"
I gently took her hands in mine, my thumb brushing over the subtle swell of her belly—barely noticeable to anyone who didn't know to look for it.
"This is exactly why it's different," I whispered, pulling her closer. "Four months pregnant, Isabella. Our fourth child grows inside you."
Her shoulders slumped slightly, and I saw the conflict in her eyes—the fierce protectiveness of a wife battling with the equally fierce protectiveness of a mother.
"I hate feeling useless," she admitted, resting her forehead against my chest.
