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"Ashni," Gale murmured from the doorway, her name a breath of warmth in the quiet morning. His smile softened into something fond at the sight of her cocooned in jewel-toned sheets, arms folded fiercely—almost reverently—over the gentle swell of her belly.
A drowsy groan drifted back to him. Gale laughed under his breath.
It was a rare thing to find her in bed so late into the morning, but pregnancy had insisted on revisions to her usual—or rather, unusual—sleep schedule. And truly, he had never been more pleased to witness it. He was ever attempting (and failing) to bully her into more rest, but their child—their child, he grinned—had outmaneuvered him entirely in that pursuit. He was more than willing to surrender the victory and let them both sleep.
Except today.
This particular morning, he was to ensure she rose in time to greet her brother. And so with a fond smile, he swept across the room to rouse her.
"Beloved," he whispered, sliding onto the bed, he propped himself on one arm as he curled himself against her. A kiss, feather-soft, brushed her shoulder. His hand sought hers and found it, their fingers weaving together over her belly.
"How are you feeling?"
Ashni shifted, turning toward him just enough to glare. The discomfort painting her features was theatrical in its misery.
"This is your fault," she accused with a wounded whine. "You did this to me."
Gale snorted a laugh, unable to help himself.
"My most humble apologies, love." He withdrew his hand from hers and brushed wild black hairs away from her face before pressing his lips to her forehead. "And, I am at your service."
She huffed and turned sharply, pulling his arm around her.
"Five more minutes."
He sank fully into the bed beside her and offered no protest. How could he? Selfishly, he loved her like this—when she whined, when she needed, when she softened enough to let someone in. Time and devotion had drawn Ashni from her shell, but these moments of vulnerability remained rare, intimate offerings. Nothing compared to the quiet honor he felt whenever she entrusted him with a worry or want, no matter how small, no matter how mundane.
Wrapped firmly around her, he felt the heavy thrum of her heart and the restless twitch of her tail. Her hand lingered at the center of her chest, knuckles twisting against the invisible weight of an anxiety she did not speak, buried somewhere beneath bone and breath.
Pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, he laid his hand over hers, a silent acknowledgment and offering in the same touch. Without words, her fingers shifted. She yielded, letting him take over. His thumb moved in steady, grounding strokes along her sternum—strong, rhythmic motions against the anxiety gnawing in her chest.
Ashni exhaled, her body loosening beneath his palm. His other hand settled over her belly and together they breathed, in quiet unison as she had once taught him—slow inhale, slow release into the palm of his hand.
At last, she broke the silence.
"She might look like me." The words came in a fragile whisper, revealing old wounds made raw as the shadow of her childhood loomed over her.
Instinctively, he drew her closer, then eased back just enough to guide her toward him. His hand cradled her cheek, his voice low and reverent.
“Come here,” he murmured. “Look at me.”
He wanted to see her—but more than that, he wanted her to see him.
Her starry eyes were misty and clouded beneath the arch of a worried brow. He pushed himself upright again and gathered her head into one hand, his palm a quiet shelter. The other traced the line of her cheek, reverent, humbled by the privilege of holding her.
Amber eyes met hers—warm and unwavering, surrounding her in a swell of devotion so vast as to shame the sea.
"She will be extraordinary." He whispered, "And, she will be so immeasurably loved." Stroking her cheek, a smile tipped his lips, singing a tenderness greater than the oldest love songs. He kissed her then, soft and sincere.
"Extraordinary, and loved." He repeated against her lips, nudging his nose against hers. "Just like her mother."
Ashni reached for him then, settling her hand into his hair, and cradled his head against her own. She inhaled, long and steady. Drinking him in like fresh air to soothe a deep, quiet ache. When her eyes opened again, they burned bright once more, constellations sharp and shining.