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The breeze sweeping past the trees and bushes brought along with it the scent of spring. Everything in the garden was in bloom, a beautiful cultivation of labour and careful planning; a tapestry of colour and scent, carefully nurtured by patient hands and tender hearts. With a gentle caress, the wind rustled through her hair and dress like a lover’s touch.
Elain closed her eyes for a fleeting moment, breathing in the sweetness of blooming peonies, roses, and sun-warmed earth. She smiled at the scents surrounding her, feeling very much like a tiny faerie living inside of a flower.
In one hand was a small, empty wicker basket lined with ivory lace that she had sewn herself during quieter afternoons. It swayed gently at her side as she made her unhurried way towards the strawberry patch, where red plumpness gleamed beneath their leaves like little treasures waiting to be discovered. The strawberries had been calling her name since she woke up from a dream this morning, and she finally found the energy to answer its call.
Her free hand drifted instinctively to the curve of her belly, cradling it with a reverence that came as naturally as breath. The weight of her babe grounded her, tethered her to something deeper than the passing seasons.
“Mama is going to get you the strawberries you want,” she murmured softly, her hand rubbing over her bump.
Although she received no response, Elain adored talking to her babe like they were already here. There was a shared stillness, a deep connection between a mother and her babe growing in her womb. She had convinced herself, quite firmly, that her babe could hear her. She believed that they listened, learned, and knew her already. It made the world feel fuller somehow. Less lonely.
She loved the feeling of the soft grass and soil beneath her bare feet. It somehow helped with the aching soreness from how swollen her feet had gotten during pregnancy. Although her dutiful husband had offered massages and warm foot baths nearly every night, the ache rarely lifted. Perhaps it was the healing nature of being in nature, because Elain could almost swear that she felt the ache seep from the soles of her feet, absorbed by the earth.
With careful movements, she lowered herself to kneel among the grass and soil, one hand bracing lightly under her rounded belly as the other reached for the ripest berries. Elain set to work, picking and plucking the ripest and biggest strawberries from the patch, humming a song that she remembered from her childhood.
It wove itself into the garden, mingling with the breeze.
When her basket had grown pleasantly heavy and her limbs began to protest the strain, Elain rose with a small breath, one hand instinctively supporting the small of her back. It was getting more and more difficult each day to get back on her feet without feeling completely out of breath.
She lingered a moment longer, glancing over her garden with a humble admiration before turning toward the townhouse, her steps slow and careful, a gentle waddle betraying the late stages of her pregnancy.
She had only just reached the stone path when the light shifted.
A shadow, vast and looming, swept over the garden, blocking out the golden sunlight in its wake. It passed over the trees and flowers like a whisper of dusk in the middle of day, stirring the leaves into a sudden hush.
Elain stilled. Her heart lifted and a smile formed on her lips even before she looked up.
There, cutting through the sky with effortless grace and honed precision, was a figure she would recognise anywhere.
Azriel’s wings stretched wide against the pale blue sky, dark and magnificent, catching the light in fleeting glints as he descended. There was something inherently powerful in the way he moved, in the silent command of the air itself bending to his will. Yet when his gaze found her, that power softened, reshaped into something achingly gentle.
Something that belonged only to her.
He landed at the edge of the garden with a muted rush of wind, the force of it stirring the skirts of her dress and sending loose petals and leaves skittering across the ground. His large wings folded neatly behind him, shadows settling as though reluctant to release him, his attention entirely on her.
“Elain,” he breathed, the sound of her name low and reverent, as though it were something sacred.
He crossed the distance between them in mere moments, his presence enveloping her in a way that was both grounding and utterly consuming. Without a word, one hand came to rest lightly at her waist to steady her, his fingertips brushing against the edge of her belly, while the other reached for the basket in her grasp.
“You should have told me you wanted some,” he murmured, though there was no reprimand in his tone, only concern that was softened by affection. “I could’ve picked them for you before I left.”
“My love. I’m more than capable of picking some strawberries from our garden.” She replied gently, a hint of amusement threading through her voice as she allowed him to take it. “You had an emergency meeting regarding the state of the entire court.”
Azriel’s eyes flickered over her, quick and assessing, as though ensuring she was untouched by anything more than the sun and the breeze before settling again on her face. The tension that so often lingered in him eased, replaced by something almost unguarded.
“Nothing is more important than you.” He insisted in that solemn way of his that always made her want to either melt into him or prod at him to get him to loosen up.
Her husband could be a little too brooding sometimes.
She knew Azriel disliked being apart from her, though dislike hardly seemed a strong enough word for the restless tension that settled into him whenever she was beyond his reach. Especially when he knew that she would be by herself.
They had been inseparable since they accepted their Mother-blessed mating bond, their connection woven together so intrinsically that it sometimes felt like their souls were shared. Pregnancy, however, had transformed that attachment into something deeper.
Azriel had always been protective by nature, but now his instincts existed in a near constant state of vigilance, honed to an almost primal edge whenever it came to her and the babe growing within her. And his Illyrian instincts only added fuel to the fire. He became even more territorial and prone to aggression. Other males, especially, tested his thin restraint and patience that had grown dangerously short where his mate was concerned.
Not even his chosen brothers were safe. Choosing wisely to keep a respectful distance whenever she was in the vicinity.
Yet with her, Azriel was endlessly gentle.
“I had company.” Elain answered, her hand once more drifting to her belly, her thumb brushing absentmindedly over the fabric of her dress.
Azriel’s gaze followed the movement instantly, his expression shifting in a way few others ever saw. Wonder, quiet and profound, softened the sharpness of him. He crouched down on one knee, his free hand coming to rest just above hers, hesitant only for a heartbeat before settling with care.
“And did you help your mother pick these?” He asked, his voice gentler still, almost tentative, as though afraid to startle their little one.
The precious life they created together.
Elain smiled, her eyes bright with warmth. “They did. They’ve utterly compelled me to pick only the sweetest looking ones.”
A quiet huff of laughter escaped him, rare and fleeting, but entirely genuine. When he felt a kick beneath his palm, Azriel glanced up at her like she was made of starlight and magic. His hazel eyes were so bright with joy that she could see the speckled gold shining through the browns and greens.
He pressed a kiss on her belly, his thumbs caressing the curve of her hips reverently. When Azriel rose, he captured her lips in a kiss and Elain couldn’t stop the delighted sound from escaping her. She all but melted into the kiss, her mate’s hands around her waist the only anchor holding her upright. Her head tipped back slowly as Azriel rose to his full height, her eyes fluttering open just as their lips parted.
They remained silent for a moment, foreheads touching, as though time was standing still. Elain basked in the moment, etching everything she was feeling into her memories. The caress of the breeze, Azriel’s loving hold, the tender warmth of the sun on her skin and the scents mingling in their garden.
Their garden. Another precious thing that they had created together.
The garden of the Townhouse had become something sacred between them over the years. A place shaped by shared hands and quiet afternoons spent side by side beneath the sun. It was where their love had first blossomed, all those years ago, a seedling taking root before either of them noticed.
Elain had planned every corner meticulously, filling sketchbooks with delicate drawings and little notes written in neat cursive. From pathways, flower beds, to stone benches, vegetable patches and commissioned statues, everything in the garden was a long awaited dream brought to life.
Elain’s gaze softened as she watched Azriel now, tall and dark amidst the flowers, carrying strawberries in one scarred hand while sunlight gilded the edges of his dark wings.
There were moments when the contrast of him stole the breath from her entirely. The feared Spymaster of the Night Court, a large Illyrian warrior, standing amongst blooming gardens with dirt once beneath his fingernails because she had casually mentioned wanting more jasmine near the fountain and he had planted them in the middle of the night while she slept.
And when she had lamented about how she wished the tree was situated slightly more towards the back, so she could fit in another raised garden bed for some seasonal vegetables, Azriel had simply rolled up his sleeves and done it himself. Shadows and siphons working alongside raw strength until the massive tree stood exactly where Elain had envisioned it.
His touch lingered at her back as they began the slow walk toward the glass doors of the kitchen, his pace matched carefully to hers.
“I think,” she said softly, looking over the garden once more, “this might be my favourite thing we’ve ever created together.”
Azriel looked at the flowers, the winding paths, the sunlight pouring over the garden they had built piece by piece. Then his gaze returned to her. To the swell of her belly.
“For me,” he murmured, voice low with devoted certainty. “Our favourite thing is still on the way.”