Morning came softly.
The sun rose behind a veil of pale mist, spilling golden threads through the open curtains of Madam Helen's house. The storm that had threatened the night before never came—only a calm, fragrant dawn, filled with the quiet hum of life.
Inside, all was still.
Nerine slept peacefully, her hand resting against her stomach. The faint glow of morning light touched her face, brushing her lashes, softening the shadows beneath her eyes. Kael sat beside her bed, elbows on his knees, gaze unmoving.
He hadn't slept. Not even for a moment.
Every time he closed his eyes, the physician's words echoed again:
"Lady Nerine is with child."
A child.
His child.
He had faced wars, centuries of blood and duty, but this—this quiet revelation—terrified him more than any blade. The thought of something so small, fragile, and theirs pierced straight through his defenses.
