“Don't,” I say.
“I haven't said anything,” he mumbles against my palm.
“You were going to say Asmodai the Second.”
He tries blinking at me with innocence, and I punch him in the shoulder.
“Ouch,” he says, not even flinching.
“Name suggestions,” I demand. “Actual ones.”
Az drums his fingers on his knee, and I watch him really think about it. He rarely does things halfway.
“Valerian,” he says finally.
I try it out. “Valerian.”
Not bad.
“Or Alaric,” he suggests next.
“Alaric.” I say that one too. It has an ancient ring to it.
“What do you think?” Az asks.
I tilt my head and purse my lips. “I think neither of those is quite right for this baby.”
“Then what would you suggest, little fairy, since you've already vetoed the obvious and superior choice?”
I ignore that, narrowing my eyes in thought. “Leander.”
Silence.
I look at him. He's looking at me.
“Leander,” he says slowly.
“Oui.”
He tries it once more, quieter, like he's picturing him. “Leander. Yes.”
“Yes,” I agree.
The baby kicks again, just once.
“See?” I pat my stomach. “He agrees too.”
Az leans down and presses his lips to the top of my head. “Leander,” he says once more against my hair, and I can hear the smile in it. “Or Manon.”
“Or Manon,” I echo, and close my eyes, warm and heavy and almost ready.
A few daysafter Astarea’s visit, I’m woken up by a sharp pain in my abdomen.
“Merde,” I hiss through clenched teeth, shooting up in bed and hunching over.
“Simone?”
Az is immediately alert—for weeks now, he’s been watching me sleep like some immortal creep. But I’m so grateful he’s by my side now.
