Count Raymond

Thorne is gone, off on one of his many errands. He left early this morning, more intense than usual, and now, as I bend down to trim the flowers, I can still feel the lingering ache in my body. A wry smile tugs at my lips. If I were a female omega, I'm sure I'd be pregnant by now. The thought makes me laugh softly to myself, imagining the chaos that would bring.

I pause, wondering when my next heat will hit. Soon, maybe? What about his rut? I know we've been circling around that moment, waiting for the right time for our cycles to align. That's when he'll mark me. My hand drifts up to touch the collar around my neck, where his mark will eventually be, and I find myself giggling at the thought like some lovesick fool.

Doris, my ever-stoic maid, raises an eyebrow but says nothing. She's used to my little outbursts by now, though she'd never let it show. Still, her silent presence is oddly comforting as I return to tending to the flowers.