"I feel like I need a crane," I muttered, but let him guide me up. The bed dipped under my weight as I finally made it onto the edge, breathing harder than I'd like to admit.
"Lie back slowly," he instructed, his hands moving to my shoulders as I attempted to recline. "I've got you."
The process was about as graceful as a drunk rhino doing ballet. Aidon had to practically lift my legs onto the bed while I used my arms to lower myself back against the pillows. My enormous belly made it impossible to see my own feet.
"There," he said softly, adjusting the pillows behind me. "Better?"
"If by better you mean I now resemble a turtle stuck on its back, then yes, absolutely." I tried to scoot toward the center of the bed and immediately regretted it. "Ow. Okay, no scooting. Scooting is the enemy."
Aidon's jaw tightened at my discomfort. "Here." He climbed onto the bed beside me, gently grasping my hips. "Let me help you get centered."
As if I weighed nothing, Aidon repositioned me in the middle of the mattress. The babies seemed to think this was an excellent time to start their own version of UFC fighting. One of them delivered a particularly vicious kick to my ribs.
"Oof. Someone's not happy about the change in position," I gasped, rubbing the spot where I'd been assaulted from the inside.
Aidon's hand immediately covered mine, his palm warm against my belly. "Easy there, little ones," he murmured to my stomach. I swear the babies settled slightly at the sound of his voice.
"Show-offs," I muttered. "They never listen to me like that."
Once I was finally situated—a process that had taken approximately seventeen years—I looked at Aidon's concernedface. "Jean-Marc's terrified he'll fail these babies the way he thinks he failed his father."
The muscle in Aidon's jaw jumped. "That boy has never failed anyone. Least of all his worthless piece of shit excuse for a father."
"That's what I told him. But I can't seem to escape the damage Miles left behind. Nina said something similar a few weeks ago. She’s worried she wouldn't be a good big sister, that she'll somehow screw it up." I shook my head, feeling the familiar frustration. "I hate that they’re walking around terrified they won't be enough for these little troublemakers."
"I get it," Aidon said quietly, settling beside me on the bed. "We want to be everything they need."
"Is that what's eating at you? I figured you were just worried about me dying in some spectacular fashion."
He stared down at our joined hands for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible. "When I was growing up in the Underworld, I used to wonder what it would be like to have a family. Separate from the endless political bullshit and power games."
Well, shit. That wasn't what I'd been expecting. Aidon rarely talked about his childhood. When he did, it was usually some passing comment about training, duty, or learning to intimidate people with a single look.
"My father loved me," he continued, still not meeting my eyes, "but he was grooming me to rule. Every conversation, every lesson was about building strength and authority. Even with Melinoe around, everything was still about duty and power. Hell, he got me Cerberus thinking a three-headed hellhound would teach me responsibility and control. I never had anyone who just needed me to be me, not the future ruler or the responsible older brother or the one who could command respect through fear."
My heart did this painful little squeeze. "Aidon?—"
"Let me finish," he said softly, finally looking at me. "I'm scared out of my mind, Queenie. Not of Lyra or her twisted magic or even dying in some epic battle. I'm terrified of failing our children as a father. Of being so obsessed with protecting them that I forget to actually love them. Of turning into my father. He was a good man, but one who saw his son as a future ruler first and a kid second."
The raw vulnerability in his admission made my eyes burn with unshed tears. This man—this powerful, intimidating god who ruled the Underworld and faced down demons without breaking a sweat—was terrified he wouldn't know how to be a dad. Ironically, it made him more human.
"You won't fail them," I said with absolute conviction. "You literally couldn't if you tried."
"How the hell can you be so sure?"
"Because you're sitting here scaring yourself stupid about it, you idiot. Bad fathers don't lie awake worrying about whether they'll be good fathers—they just assume they already are." I squeezed his hands. "And because I see how you already love them. You put your hand on my belly like they're the most precious things in the world. You talk about their future with this wonder in your voice. You get that dopey, soft expression. You already love them more than your own life. Just like you love Nina and Jean-Marc like they came from your own DNA."
His eyes went soft at that, and he nodded slowly. "I do. I love them like they're my blood, like I've been their father since day one. Nina and Jean-Marc are mine just as much as these babies will be."
He kissed me then, soft and desperate and full of all the emotions he usually kept locked up tighter than Fort Knox. My hormones started getting the better of me, and I was reachingfor the hem of his shirt. It might not be easy to work around my belly, but I needed him.
A soft knock interrupted us, followed by Clio's voice. "Sorry to interrupt, but we should begin the meditation."
I groaned as I tried to tamp down my arousal from his kisses and that damn vulnerable moment we'd just shared. "As ready as someone who looks like she swallowed a small planet can be. Come in," I called out to Clio.
The healer opened the door and breezed in with a bag slung over one shoulder. "Alright," she said briskly, completely oblivious to what she'd just interrupted, and immediately began pulling candles from her bag and placing them around the room. "I'm setting up the space for the meditation," she explained as she worked. "The candles will help focus your energy and create a calming atmosphere."
When she stopped by the side of the bed, she had a small glass vial in her hand that looked suspiciously like medicine. "Your mother thought you could use this to calm your mind," she said, offering me the potion.
