Ever since the doctor had left a week ago, the atmosphere in the house had shifted from high-tension security to something more suffocating: reverence.
Alexei hadn’t let me out of his sight for more than an hour at a time. He didn’t hover—that wasn’t his way—but I felt his presence like a physical weight in every room. He watched me with a terrifying, quiet intensity, his hazel eyes tracking the way I walked, the way I breathed, the way I pushed my food around my plate. To the rest of the world, he was an heir to an empirebuilt on bone and iron. To me, in the quiet of our suite, he was becoming something else. A protector who didn’t know how to be gentle without being a jailer.
I pushed myself up, and my head throbbed with the dull, familiar ache of a night spent half-awake, listening to the house breathe.
“You’re awake.”
I didn’t jump. I had learned that Alexei didn’t enter rooms; he practically materialized in them. He was standing by the window, already dressed in a charcoal suit that fit him like armor. He was silhouetted against the morning light, a dark god framed in gold.
“I am,” I said, my voice sounding scratchy to my own ears. “Good morning.”
He moved toward the bed, his footsteps silent on the thick rug. He sat on the edge of the mattress, the weight of him dipping the surface. He reached out, his hand large and warm as he cupped my cheek. His thumb traced the line of my jaw with a slowness that made my heart stumble.
“Good morning. How do you feel?” he asked. It wasn’t a casual question. It was an interrogation into my well-being.
“I’m fine, Alexei. I’m not made of glass.”
“You are carrying the future of my house,” he said, his voice dropping to that low, melodic rumble that always made my skin hum. “That makes you more precious than glass. It makes you irreplaceable.”
He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine for a heartbeat. It was a gesture of intimacy that still felt like a claim. Then, as quickly as he had moved toward me, he stood up. “Anya is waiting for you in the breakfast room. I have meetings with the council. Stay inside today. The wind is picking up.”
“I’m always inside,” I muttered, but he was already turning toward the door.
He paused, his hand on the handle. “Mila.”
“Yes?”
“Eat. All of it.”
He left before I could find a witty retort. That was the new reality. My life had become a series of commands wrapped in concern.
The breakfast room was a glass-walled sanctuary that overlooked the frozen gardens. Anya was already there, buried in a plush chair, scrolling through her phone while a silver teapot steamed.
“There she is!” Anya chirped, tossing her phone onto the table. “The Woman of the Hour. Or the Year. Possibly the Decade.”
I sat down, the smell of fresh croissants and fruit making my stomach do a slow, uneasy roll. “Please don’t start, Anya.”
“Start what? I’m just being a supportive sister-in-law.” She grinned, but her eyes were sharp, scanning my face. She reached over and pushed a plate of sliced mango toward me. “Eat. You look pale. And before you say it, yes, I know you aren’t porcelain, but Alexei has already threatened to fire the entire kitchen staff if you lose so much as a pound this month.”
“He’s being ridiculous,” I said, taking a small piece of fruit.
“He’s being a Lobanov,” Anya corrected, her tone softening. “We don’t get many things that are… untainted. This baby? It’s the first thing in a long time that doesn’t feel like part of a war. To him, you’re the sun, Mila. Everything else just orbits you.”
I looked out at the snow-covered pines. “It’s a lot of pressure, being the sun. What happens when it gets cloudy?”
Anya laughed, but it was a dry, knowing sound. “Then we all freeze. But seriously, how are the cravings? Anything weird? Pickles and chocolate? Or do you just want to punch Alexei inthe face? Because I had a cousin who wanted to do that for nine months straight. Totally normal.”
I giggled. As always, Anya was the only one who bridged the gap between the terrifying reality of my situation and the normalcy I craved. But even with her, I felt the shift. She treated me with a cautious lightness, as if she were afraid that if she leaned too hard on our friendship, I might break.
I was no longer just her friend or her brother’s wife. I was the keeper of the next generation. I was a monument in the making.
**********
The mail arrived an hour later.
It was a mundane ritual in an extraordinary house. A silver tray was carried into the library by a silent steward. Bills, invitations to galas that felt like minefields, business correspondence that Alexei would filter through tonight.
I was sitting in the window nook, trying to focus on a psychology textbook that felt increasingly irrelevant to my life, when I saw it.
