Father leaned over the crib. Solian’s silver eyes locked onto his grandfather’s face. Father stared back. Neither blinked. The standoff lasted eight seconds before Father straightened with a nod of approval.
“Strong will. Good. He’ll need it.”
“For what?” Mira asked.
“Everything. Being a Valdris is not for the faint-hearted.” Father caught my eye across the room with pride in his expression. “You’ve done well, son.”
Percy appeared in the doorway holding Percius, who was, predictably, asleep.
“Is that the child?” Mother descended on Percy, the way a hawk spotted prey. “Let me see him. Percy, you’re holding him too low. Support the neck. Like this.” She adjusted his grip with one hand while holding Mireille in the other. “Better. He has your coloring.”
“And my ability to sleep through anything,” Percy said. “Watch.” He clapped beside Percius’s ear. The baby didn’t move.
“Don’t clap near the baby,” Solomon said from the doorway.
“He can’t hear it. That’s the point.”
“He’s still a baby.”
The morning dissolved into the particular chaos that only occurred when my parents were in the same room as my children and my mates.
I found Mira on the balcony. The same spot I’d stood that morning, but the afternoon light changed the view.
She held Mireille against her shoulder. My mother’s knitted blanket wrapped around both of them, the Veyndral pattern catching the light.
“Your mother wants to move into the east wing,” Mira said.
“She already lives in the east wing.”
“She wants to move into the nursery wing of the east wing. She presented a floor plan.”
“Of course she did.”
“I said yes.”
“You don’t need my permission.”
“I know. I’m informing you as a courtesy. The way your mother informed us about the baby access petition.”
A smile pulled at my mouth. Mira caught it and smiled back, and the moment was so ordinary it felt sacred. Because ordinary was new. We’d had danger and near-death, the kind of love story that left scars. Ordinary was the reward.
“Lucian.”
“Mm.”
“I want to be turned.”
The words landed with no buildup or hesitation.
“I’ve been thinking about it since the coronation,” she said. “Watching the kingdom, our children. Watching you, Solomon, and Percy move through a world that you belong to, and knowing that I’m the only one in this family who ages.”
“Mira.”
“I’m not being morbid. I’m being practical. You’re five hundred years old. Solomon and Percy will live for centuries. Our children are lycan. I want to be there for them.”
“The transformation is not simple. It’s painful. The body restructures itself on a cellular level, and there’s no guarantee...”
“There’s never a guarantee. There wasn’t a guarantee when I walked into that compound.” She looked at me. Mismatched eyes both steady. “I’m asking for a chance to keep this. Forever.”
