The arguing over syrup had mellowed into shared giggles as Kailaa drizzled a careful spiral over her toast, only for Elias to promptly dunk his entire slice straight into the bowl.

  “Momma” he said, mouth half-full, “this is how you really get flavor.”

  I raised a brow. “That’s syrup soup.”

  Apolloh leaned in, whispering just loud enough, “He’s innovating. A true visionary.”

  I gave him a look and nudged his leg beneath the table. “Don’t encourage him.”

  Kailaa grinned and leaned over toward my bump. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make you real food when you’re big enough.” She placed her hand gently across my belly, her palm warm and steady. “You’re not gonna like syrup soup, are you?”

  Elias gasped. “Don’t listen to her! It’s the best!” He leaned in too, eyes wide with a kind of awe that never quite faded when he looked at me now. “You’ll get your own bowl.”

  Their laughter filled the room again—light, boundless, the kind that spilled over and took all the air with it in the best way.

  I caught Apolloh watching them, a softness in his eyes that mirrored everything I felt.

  “You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?” I said gently.

  “About them growing up together?” he replied, reaching over to brush a crumb from my chin. “Yeah. Every day.”

  Zia wandered in a few minutes later with her hair half braided and a mug in hand. “Who’s feeding Jaxe? Because he’s dramatically pretending he’s wasting away in the hallway.”

  “I gave him the heel of the bread,” Elias said proudly. “He said it was ‘a cruel injustice.’”

  Zia took a sip of her tea and shrugged. “Sounds like him.”

  After breakfast, the group naturally drifted into their own little corners of comfort.

  Zia perched by the window with her mug, sunlight catching the loose ends of her braid as she flipped lazily through a book she definitely wasn’t reading. Apolloh took the pups to the common room where he claimed there would be “light training,” but I heard more laughter than anything that sounded remotely disciplined. My guess? Pillow obstacle course.

  I stayed behind to tidy up, though “tidying” mostly meant standing at the sink and slowly washing dishes while the baby nudged gently beneath my ribs. I hummed under my breath as I worked, and somewhere in the middle of rinsing off syrup-soaked plates, I caught myself smiling.

  Not because of anything particular. Just… because.

  Eventually, I wandered into the common room to find Elias wrapped in a blanket like a cape, standing on the back of the couch with a wooden spoon pointed at Apolloh.

  “You’ll never take the kingdom!” he declared.

  Apolloh bowed dramatically, one hand over his heart. “Then I shall rule with honor… from exile.”

  Kailaa, standing on a cushion, added, “I banish you to the dining hall!”

  “Not the dining hall,” Jaxe groaned from where he lay upside down in an armchair. “That’s where the tragedy happened. The dry bread incident.”

  Elias lifted his spoon. “We do not speak of the Heel.”

  That sent everyone into another round of laughter, and I sank onto the couch beside Zia, who offered me the last of her tea with a quiet smile.

  “You doing okay?” she asked softly, her voice low enough to keep it between us.

  I glanced around the room, at Apolloh balancing both pups on his back while pretending to faint dramatically into a pillow, and nodded. “Yeah. I really am.”

  Zia leaned in. “You look really good.”

  I gave her a look. “Are you hitting on me?”

  She snorted into her mug. “Shut up. You’re glowing and it’s annoying.”

  ——

  The afternoon stretched wide and warm, like even time itself was taking a deep breath. No rush, no demands—just the quiet pulse of a home that had everything it needed.

  Jaxe eventually rolled up from his dramatic flop and joined the kids in building a fort out of blankets and chairs, following a set of very specific magical rules that only Kailaa seemed to fully understand. At one point, Zia dove in too, declaring she’d been “sent by the Council of Pillows” to ensure structural integrity.

  Apolloh and I stood in the hallway for a while, fingers loosely laced as we leaned into each other, swaying gently. We didn’t say much—we didn’t have to.

  “I like days like this,” I murmured.

  He nodded. “It’s the quiet in-between that I’ll remember.”

  I glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Not the epic battles and banishments?”

  His smile tugged soft at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe. But mostly the way you look when you’re watching them.”

  I turned my gaze back to the fort just in time to see Elias launch himself in front of the doorway, declaring it protected from a pretend invasion of frogs. I smiled.

  “You think they’ll remember this?” I asked.

  Apolloh’s hand brushed along my side, then settled on the gentle swell of my belly.

  “They already are.”

  Later, as the sun dipped lower and everything outside softened, I settled into the garden courtyard with Zia and the pups while Apolloh and Jaxe went back inside to grab a few things. It was one of those evenings that asked nothing of us—just quiet air, soft light, and the easy kind of stillness that so rarely lasted.

  Kailaa sat behind me, threading daisies into my hair like she was crafting something sacred. Her face was the picture of focus.

  “You have to wear it for dinner,” she said seriously. “It’s a celebration crown.”

  I smiled. “What are we celebrating?”

  “Being happy,” she said with a shrug. “And that you made a baby. That’s hard work.”

  A laugh broke out of me before I could stop it. “You’re not wrong.”

  Elias was nearby, gently poking at the soil like he was trying to get it to speak. “What happens when the baby gets here?” he asked. “Do we all still fit?”

  I reached out, taking his hand in mine and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Always.”

  His shoulders eased just a little. “Good. ’Cause I’m not giving up my spot.”

  “Wouldn’t let you,” I said softly.

  By the time the sun started dipping low, casting long shadows across the garden, I’d all but melted into the warmth of the day. Kailaa had finished my daisy crown and was now weaving a second one for herself, her tongue poking out a little in concentration. Elias had migrated to Zia’s lap, sleepily leaning against her while she combed her fingers through his hair like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  It felt too perfect to move—but then I heard Apolloh’s voice from the doorway, warm and playful.

  “Anyone up for a little walk before dinner?”

  I looked up at him and raised a brow. “You asking, or was that a gentle nudge?”

  He smiled. “Both.”

  I laughed under my breath and pushed myself up, brushing some grass from my dress. My bump felt heavier today—fuller, more noticeable beneath my hand. Not uncomfortable, just… present. Real.

  “Alright,” I said, reaching out for the pups. “Come on, let’s go stretch our legs.”

  Kailaa slid her crown onto her head and darted toward Elias before he could fully doze off. “Adventure time!” she whispered, like it was a mission she couldn’t wait to begin.

  We slipped out through the side gates of the fortress, following the familiar dirt path that led to the low hills nearby. The air was still warm from the sun, but cooler now, with the faint scent of something sweet on the breeze—wildflowers, maybe, or just the kind of clean air that only comes at the end of a peaceful day.

  Jaxe walked ahead, very obviously pretending he wasn’t scouting out safe racing zones for the pups. Zia stuck close to me, throwing little side-glances at my belly now and then like it still hadn’t quite sunk in for her. Apolloh walked on my other side, our arms brushing occasionally—little touches that said everything without needing words.

  The kids ran ahead and circled back every few minutes, shouting out shapes in the clouds.

  “That one’s a dragon!” Elias yelled.

  “No, it’s a potato!” Kailaa countered. “A flying one!”

  I grinned. “A potato dragon?”

  Both of them gasped in delight like I’d just said something sacred and important.

  We walked until the hills turned gold with the fading light, and I could feel the baby shifting again—slow and steady. I paused and rested my hand against my belly.

  “You’re part of all this already, aren’t you?” I whispered.

  Apolloh must’ve heard me. He reached over, his hand resting gently above mine.

  “They always were,” he said quietly.

  ——

  Dinner was simple, warm, and exactly what I needed. The scent of herbs and roasted vegetables filled the kitchen as Zia and Jaxe brought in the last of the dishes, and the pups hurried to take their seats—Kailaa wearing her daisy crown proudly like it was a royal headdress.

  “This one’s yours,” Elias said, sliding a plate toward me with a serious nod. “Extra carrots. The baby probably likes carrots.”

  I smiled, taking it from him. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’m sure the baby appreciates your thoughtfulness.”

  Apolloh helped me into my seat before sitting beside me, his hand resting lightly on my back as we all dug in. The soft clink of utensils and quiet chatter made it feel like the kind of dinner people wrote stories about—nothing grand, but unforgettable all the same.

  Kailaa chewed thoughtfully for a moment before asking, “Did you pick a name yet?”

  “We’ve got a few,” I said. “But nothing final.”

  “Can we help again?” Elias asked, already sitting up straighter.

  Apolloh grinned. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”

  “Soraya,” Kailaa said after a pause. “It sounds like a star.”

  Elias frowned in thought. “What about Evander? That sounds strong. Like a hero.”

  Zia smiled. “I’ve always liked Seren. It means ‘star’ in the old tongue.”

  “Talone,” Jaxe suggested with a shrug. “Just in case they come out fierce.”

  Apolloh raised an eyebrow. “You’re not wrong. That could happen.”

  I laughed and shook my head, hand resting over my belly as I listened to the names fill the space around me. “You hear that, little one? They’re already thinking of you.”

  A soft moment passed, the kind that didn’t need to be spoken aloud. We were a family already—just making room for one more.

  ——

  After dinner, the light outside dipped into soft gold, washing the fortress in warmth as we all drifted into the quieter rhythm of the night. Dishes were rinsed, dried, and set aside, the scent of herbs still lingering faintly in the air.

  Kailaa brought over a stack of books, balancing them dramatically in her arms. “Story time,” she declared, plopping them down on the rug near the hearth. “But only the good ones.”

  Elias sat cross-legged beside her. “We should each pick one. That way no one can complain.”

  “That you always pick the longest ones?” Kailaa said with a smirk.

  He grinned. “Exactly.”

  Zia and Jaxe settled in on one of the nearby cushions, and I eased down beside them, stretching my legs out carefully. Apolloh sat behind me, pulling me back against his chest, his arms wrapping around my middle—his hands instinctively resting over the bump.

  Kailaa handed me a worn, familiar book. “You read first, Mama. Your voice is the coziest.”

  I opened the cover and smiled at the slightly wrinkled pages, remembering how often we’d already read this one. Still, it never got old. I began to read, my voice soft, steady, filling the room with words that wove through the crackle of the fire and the easy breaths of the people I loved most.

  When I finished, Apolloh took the next story, his voice low and warm, every word wrapping around us like a blanket. The pups leaned into each other, eyelids growing heavy but determined to stay awake for just one more page.

  By the time Jaxe closed the last book, Elias was curled up against Zia’s side and Kailaa had dozed off with her head in my lap, fingers still tangled in the hem of my shirt.

  “I think they’re done for,” I whispered.

  Apolloh kissed the top of my head. “So are we.”

  But there was no rush. Not yet. We stayed there a while longer—quiet, content, and whole.

  ——

  The halls were dim and hushed as we carried the pups to bed, their limbs heavy with sleep. Kailaa mumbled something about “guarding the daisies” as I laid her down and tucked her in, smoothing back her hair. Elias was already out cold, one arm flung dramatically across his pillow like he was mid-adventure in his dreams.

  Once their door was closed, the quiet deepened, settling like a blanket over the fortress. Apolloh and I walked back to our room slowly, hand in hand, our steps unhurried.

  Inside, the fire had dwindled to soft embers, casting a warm, flickering glow across the walls. I eased down onto the edge of the bed, pressing a hand to my belly as a soft kick nudged against my palm.

  “They’ve been active all day,” I murmured with a tired smile.

  Apolloh knelt in front of me, his hands gently settling over mine. “They’re already part of everything we do.”

  He leaned in, resting his forehead against my belly, and I ran my fingers through his hair, holding him close.

  “I keep thinking about the quiet,” I said softly. “How lucky we are to have this—right now.”

  He looked up at me, his eyes steady, full of love. “We’ll hold onto it. For as long as we can.”

  He stood then, helping me the rest of the way into bed before crawling in beside me. The sheets were cool, but his arms were warm, his presence anchoring me like always.

  We didn’t need words. Not tonight. Just the sound of each other’s breath, the thrum of life beneath my skin, and the silent promise that whatever came next—we’d face it together.

  Morning came slowly, the kind that tiptoed in through the windows in soft gold streaks and took its time warming the stones. I stirred before the others, tucked safely in Apolloh’s arms, the steady rise and fall of his breathing a lullaby I wasn’t quite ready to leave.

  But the baby had other plans, fluttering just enough to remind me that stillness only lasted so long.

  I smiled to myself and shifted carefully, pressing a hand to my belly. “Good morning,” I whispered.

  Apolloh stirred behind me, voice thick with sleep. “They up already?”

  “Mhm. Just saying hello.”

  He hummed and kissed the curve of my shoulder. “We should stay here a little longer. Just us.”

  I let my eyes close again, just for a moment, savoring the quiet before the day truly began. But sure enough, soft footsteps padded up the hall—then a knock that was more of a tap.

  “Are you awake?” Elias’s voice came muffled through the door.

  Kailaa’s followed instantly. “We made something!”

  Apolloh groaned playfully into my shoulder. “They’ve discovered mornings.”

  I laughed and sat up slowly. “Come in!”

  The door creaked open and the two of them shuffled in, carrying a tray that looked like it had survived a small storm of syrup, toast, and something vaguely resembling scrambled eggs.

  “We made breakfast,” Kailaa said proudly. “Sort of.”

  “It’s for the baby too,” Elias added, like that made up for the questionable egg texture.

  I looked at Apolloh, who was trying very hard not to laugh. “Guess we’re up.”

  After a heartfelt attempt to eat at least some of the eggs, we tidied up the tray together, laughing more than complaining. Elias was convinced the toast would’ve been perfect if the butter hadn’t “fought back,” and Kailaa kept describing her eggs as “rustic,” like she’d learned the word from Zia and decided it meant “a little weird, but kind of special.”

  Eventually, I sat on the cushioned bench in the courtyard just outside the kitchen, letting the sun warm my legs while Apolloh helped the pups with a puzzle they’d dragged out onto the stone floor. The air smelled faintly of fresh herbs and damp earth from last night’s rain, and the only sounds were birdsong and Kailaa arguing with Elias about whether or not the edge pieces were cheating.

  Zia wandered by at some point, hair loosely braided and a mug in hand. “If this is retirement,” she said, flopping into the other bench, “count me in.”

  “Retirement from what?” I asked, smiling.

  She gestured vaguely. “You know. Chaos. Mystery stones. Surprise near-death experiences. All that.”

  “I’m pregnant, not retired.”

  “Fair,” she said, sipping her tea. “But this morning’s been suspiciously peaceful. I’m choosing to believe we earned it.”

  Later, Jaxe strolled into the courtyard with that usual grin of his and a light pack slung over his shoulder. “Thinking of heading to the fortress market,” he announced. “Could be a good day to stretch our legs and grab a few things before the crowds get wild.”

  Elias perked up immediately. “Do they still have the candied fruit sticks?”

  “They better,” Kailaa said, already hopping to her feet.

  It wasn’t long before we were all readying ourselves for the short walk through the fortress corridors and down toward the open plaza where the market buzzed gently with life. Nothing urgent—just some fresh air, warm pastries, a few useful supplies, and maybe something sweet for the kids.

  The fortress market was alive in its own quiet way—no shouting, no jostling crowds—just the steady hum of community. A few familiar faces called out greetings as we stepped into the plaza, the scent of warm bread and roasting herbs wrapping around us like a welcome.

  Kailaa made a beeline for the sweets stall, her eyes wide with purpose. “I’m only getting one,” she said, glancing at me just long enough to imply that I shouldn’t stop her.

  Elias was already negotiating with a fruit vendor, using the very serious tone he reserved for bartering… and bedtime. Zia handed him a coin with a flourish and said she expected change. He saluted, then immediately forgot what she’d said when the vendor handed him a skewered bunch of candied fruit.

  Apolloh and I walked slower than the others, his arm looped casually around my waist as we took in the familiar sights—baskets of woven cloth, colorful spices in clay jars, and rows of polished wood toys that made Kailaa gasp out loud when she doubled back to show me.

  “This one has to be for the baby,” she said, holding up a tiny carved wolf. “It’s brave and soft.”

  I ran a thumb over its smooth back. “Just like you.”

  She beamed, clearly proud.

  Jaxe tried to convince a vendor that one of the scarves looked better on him than anyone else in our group, even as the woman laughed and waved him off. Zia snagged two jars of tea leaves she claimed would “guarantee peaceful mornings,” though I wasn’t sure if that was magical or just hopeful.

  We didn’t rush. There was no reason to. Just quiet conversations and laughter, sun on stone, and the warmth of belonging as we made our way slowly back home, arms full of small treasures and hearts a little fuller than before.

  ?

  That night, the fortress felt even softer, as if the walls themselves knew we were all exactly where we needed to be.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  Kailaa and Elias curled up on the rug in front of the hearth, their heads tucked close as Apolloh read aloud from one of their favorite storybooks. His voice shifted gently with each character, and even Zia leaned back against the couch with her eyes half-closed, smiling as the tale unfolded.

  I sat nearby, wrapped in one of the lighter woven shawls we’d picked up at the market, my hand resting on the curve of my belly. The baby stirred again, light but steady, like they were listening too.

  Jaxe joined us last, bringing mugs of warm cider that he insisted were “flavored with charm and mystery.” Mine tasted mostly of apples and honey—but I didn’t argue.

  When the story ended and the room dipped into a hush, the kind that only exists between pages and dreams, Apolloh reached for my hand and brushed a kiss across my knuckles.

  “Still like the quiet parts best?” I asked him softly.

  He looked at me like I was the only thing in the room. “Always.”

  The fire had burned low by the time we tucked the kids in, their limbs sprawled and tangled in blankets, completely unaware of the way Zia and Jaxe had paused in the doorway to watch them with the kind of quiet that didn’t need words. They slipped off to their rooms soon after, still talking in hushed voices, letting the night settle fully over the halls.

  I leaned against the balcony railing just outside our room, the stone cool beneath my palms as I breathed in the calm. Apolloh stepped out behind me a moment later, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin gently on my shoulder.

  The stars were out, pale and soft above the fortress walls. The baby shifted again, a quiet nudge from within, and Apolloh’s hand instinctively drifted to where they moved.

  “They’ve been active tonight,” I murmured.

  “They’re part of the story now,” he whispered back. “Listening. Dreaming.”

  I smiled, tilting my head slightly to brush my cheek against his. “Think they’ll be more like you or me?”

  He chuckled, low and warm in my ear. “Hopefully both. But if they inherit your stubborn streak, I’m in trouble.”

  “You’re the stubborn one,” I whispered, laughing softly as he kissed the corner of my mouth.

  We stayed there like that for a while, just holding each other beneath the stars. The world didn’t need anything from us in that moment. No questions, no decisions—just warmth and quiet and the weight of a love that had grown through every storm.

  When we finally slipped into bed, the sheets still faintly sun-warmed from the afternoon, Apolloh pulled me close and placed a hand over the curve of my belly.

  “Goodnight, little one,” he murmured. “We’re ready when you are.”

  And I believed him.

  The morning sunlight filtered in through the curtains in golden streaks, soft and warm. I stirred slowly, one hand instinctively resting on my belly, and the other reaching toward the space beside me. Apolloh was already up—probably letting me sleep in while he dealt with breakfast chaos.

  Sure enough, the faint sound of laughter drifted in from the hall, Kailaa’s bright giggle followed by Elias’ more serious declarations about toast not being “real” unless it was golden on both sides. I smiled and stretched, savoring the comfort of stillness for just a moment longer.

  When I finally stepped into the kitchen, Apolloh glanced up from the stove with a grin. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

  “I wasn’t sleeping,” I yawned, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind. “I was ignoring responsibility.”

  Kailaa peeked around the table and gasped. “Momma! Your hair’s like the sun today!”

  Elias added, “And your belly’s rounder again. Is the baby growing overnight or something?”

  I laughed. “Maybe they’re just excited for breakfast.”

  ~~~

  A few days later

  The change was impossible to miss now. My belly had grown significantly—fuller, more pronounced—and every movement took a little more patience, a little more care. I caught myself leaning on walls more, taking extra time with stairs, and accepting help more easily than I used to.

  “Here,” Kailaa said sweetly, running over to grab my hand as I moved through the courtyard. “You don’t have to go so fast.”

  “This is fast,” I teased gently, letting her tug me along.

  Elias trailed beside us, his hands clasped behind his back as he studied me intently. “You look like a queen.”

  I blinked at him, touched. “A queen?”

  He nodded seriously. “Yeah. Like, one of the pretty ones from the storybooks. But also kind of like a mountain. In a good way.”

  Kailaa shot him a look. “You can’t just call her a mountain.”

  He shrugged. “Mountains are strong and cool. I’d want to be one too.”

  I snorted, unable to help it. “I’ll take it.”

  Apolloh met us at the end of the walkway, eyes immediately softening as they dropped to where my hand rested over my belly. He brushed a kiss to my temple and helped me sit, his movements careful and practiced.

  “You’ve never looked more beautiful,” he murmured, just for me.

  I smiled, pressing my hand to his. “It’s a good thing you think so, because this mountain doesn’t move very fast anymore.”

  ~~~

  The days blurred softly together, stitched with sunlight, slow meals, and quiet conversations that lingered long after the plates were cleared. My growing belly had become a constant companion in every moment, the gentle weight a reminder that things were changing—and soon.

  But instead of feeling strange or distant, the pack seemed to draw even closer.

  Everywhere I went, someone had something kind to say.

  “Glowing, Laika,” a young scout said one afternoon as I passed through the training yard, her eyes wide with admiration. “You look like you stepped out of a dream.”

  At the market stalls within the fortress walls, the baker handed me a warm honeyed roll with a grin. “For you and the little one. I swear, you get more radiant every time I see you.”

  Even the stoic blacksmith paused his work one evening to nod my way, brushing soot from his forehead. “You carry life well. Strong.”

  I wasn’t used to the attention—wasn’t one to seek it out—but something about the way they looked at me now made me feel… grounded. Seen. Celebrated. Not just as a Luna or a mother-to-be, but as myself, changed and still changing.

  And Apolloh, always nearby, always watching—he didn’t say much in those moments. But his hand would find mine, or rest at the small of my back, and I could feel the quiet pride in every touch.

  By the time evening settled over the fortress each night, I’d be worn out in a way I hadn’t known before—but I carried every compliment, every smile, every whispered “you’re almost there” like soft threads wrapped around my heart.

  We were getting closer.

  And I wasn’t walking toward it alone.

  That night, I settled into the large armchair near the hearth, the flickering fire casting slow, amber shadows across the room. My feet were propped up on a pillow (courtesy of Kailaa’s insistence), and the moment I leaned back, Elias climbed up beside me with a book hugged to his chest.

  “Story time,” he announced.

  “Of course it is,” I smiled, pulling him close.

  Kailaa joined a moment later, claiming her spot on the other side of me with her favorite blanket already wrapped around her shoulders. She rested her head against my arm, careful of my bump.

  Apolloh sat on the rug in front of us, legs stretched out, leaning back on his hands as he looked up at the three of us. “Do we have a narrator tonight, or should I do the voices?”

  “I’ll do the frog king,” Elias said seriously. “I’ve been practicing.”

  We took turns reading—sometimes swapping lines, sometimes getting distracted by the kids’ commentary (“Why would anyone ever kiss a frog?” or “He should’ve turned into a dragon instead!”). By the time the story ended, Kailaa was half-asleep, and Elias was valiantly trying to keep his eyes open.

  I ran my fingers through their hair, letting the silence take over. My body was heavy, tired in a way that ran deep—but full. Complete.

  Apolloh rose and gathered the pups with practiced ease, one in each arm. “I’ll tuck them in.”

  As he carried them toward their room, I stayed behind in the quiet, watching the fire crackle low. A hand moved over my belly, slow and thoughtful, and I whispered into the stillness, “Almost there, little one.”

  A few minutes later, Apolloh returned, dimming the lanterns as he passed. He crossed the room and sank into the chair beside mine, one hand finding mine, the other settling gently over our child.

  We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to.

  The night was calm, and so were we.

  ~~~

  Morning light spilled in through the tall windows, golden and soft, warming the wooden floor beneath my feet as I moved slowly through the room. Every step took more care than it used to. I wasn’t clumsy, not exactly—but I was aware. Aware of the weight I carried. Of the curve of my belly. Of the way Kailaa’s eyes followed me with wonder as she perched at the table, chewing a bite of honeyed toast.

  “You look even bigger today,” she said, wide-eyed and smiling like it was the best compliment in the world.

  “Do I?” I laughed, hand resting on my bump. “I think you’re right.”

  Elias poked his head around the corner, a spoon still in his mouth. “She looks beautiful.”

  Kailaa nodded in agreement without even a hint of teasing, and I had to pause—just for a second—at how tender their words always felt.

  By the time breakfast was finished, we moved at our own pace. There was no rush. No plan. Apolloh helped clear the table while humming something low and tuneless, and Zia stopped by to check in, dropping off a fresh bundle of herbs “just in case.”

  “You look like a goddess, by the way,” she said before leaving, with a wink that made me roll my eyes and smile all at once.

  The rest of the day unfolded slowly. I took breaks when I needed to. Let myself move with the quiet rhythm of the fortress, where everyone seemed to understand that rest was just as important as readiness.

  And all around me, the world kept gently reminding me that I wasn’t alone in this—that I was surrounded. Loved. Safe.

  ——

  It started with whispers.

  I could hear them from the hallway—Kailaa’s urgent shh, followed by Elias muttering something about “timing” and “perfect positions.” I paused just outside the doorway, one brow raised, but didn’t interrupt. Whatever it was, they were invested.

  Apolloh joined me a second later, his expression amused. “Should we be concerned?”

  “Maybe,” I murmured. “But it’s usually harmless.”

  We peeked in.

  The pups had rearranged the cushions and blankets into a kind of throne, a pillow fortress with fresh-picked flowers scattered around it and two wooden spoons crossed ceremonially on the floor in front.

  “Sit,” Kailaa instructed, gesturing at the throne like it was obvious.

  I blinked. “Me?”

  “Yes, you,” Elias added. “It’s for the Momma Queen.”

  Apolloh snorted softly beside me, clearly trying not to laugh. I gave him a look, then waddled—yes, waddled—toward the makeshift throne and lowered myself carefully into it with their help.

  Kailaa reached into her pocket and produced a crown made of twisted ivy and dried petals, which she placed gently atop my head. Elias stood proudly at my side.

  “You’re the bravest,” he said. “So we made you a throne. For doing all the hard parts.”

  My throat tightened. I reached for them both, pulling them in close as best I could. “Thank you,” I whispered, voice thick.

  They stayed by my side for a while, chattering about baby names and whether or not the baby would be born with magic or “just be really loud.” Eventually, they wandered off in search of snacks, leaving Apolloh to take their place beside me.

  He knelt at my side, hands resting on my legs, his face tilted up toward mine. “I second their decision,” he said softly. “You are the bravest.”

  I smiled down at him, brushing my fingers through his hair. “You make it easier to be.”

  He pressed a kiss to my knee, then to my belly, and finally to my lips—slow and certain.

  For a moment, everything was still.

  We weren’t preparing for anything. We weren’t protecting or planning or bracing ourselves.

  We were simply here.

  And that was enough.

  ——

  Dinner was simple, warm, and made with too many helping hands—but that was part of the magic. The pups had insisted on helping Apolloh, which mostly meant flour in odd places and apples sliced with suspicious enthusiasm. Still, somehow, everything came out tasting like comfort.

  We sat on floor cushions around the low table in the courtyard, the lanterns flickering to life above us as the sky melted into dusk. The air was mild, the kind that drapes itself over your shoulders like a soft blanket. I leaned back against Apolloh’s side, one of his arms curled protectively around my waist.

  Elias tapped his fingers on the edge of his plate, deep in thought. “Okay. New name idea.”

  Kailaa perked up. “Ooh! Me too. You go first.”

  “Cloud,” Elias declared. “Because it’s soft and floaty, but also big and important. You always notice a cloud.”

  Zia snorted quietly into her drink. Apolloh gave a thoughtful nod. “That’s actually not bad.”

  “Okay, okay, my turn,” Kailaa said, practically bouncing. “What about Marin? I heard someone say it once. It sounds gentle.”

  I smiled, brushing a hand over my belly. “That’s beautiful.”

  Jaxe raised a brow. “You two are taking this job very seriously.”

  Kailaa gave him a look that could’ve rivaled Zia’s. “This is our baby too. We have to help.”

  I couldn’t help it—I laughed, heart full and aching in the best way. “We’re grateful. Really.”

  A few pack members passed through the courtyard during the meal—one bringing a loaf of fresh bread, another pausing just to ask how I was feeling. I caught the look in their eyes, that soft spark of recognition. The same kind I’d seen in the mirror lately—when I caught my reflection and barely recognized how round I’d become, how slow my steps were, how different I felt.

  But they didn’t see inconvenience. They saw something closer to reverence.

  “You’re glowing,” one of them whispered before moving along. “She’s gonna be strong, just like you.”

  I didn’t correct her. We still didn’t know the baby’s gender, and somehow, it didn’t matter. The love in her voice carried either way.

  After dinner, Zia read aloud from an old, well-loved book while Kailaa braided my hair and Elias leaned against Apolloh’s legs, eyes fluttering shut. The story wove through the courtyard like a lullaby, and somewhere between the pages and the breathing, everything felt still.

  Not the kind of still that comes before something breaks.

  The kind that lets something grow.

  ——

  The fortress was quiet now. The last of the dishes had been put away, the pups tucked in and tangled up in each other’s warmth, and Zia’s book rested closed on a cushion near the garden wall. Night had fully settled, brushing every stone and branch with soft silver.

  I stood near the edge of the courtyard, one hand resting on the curve of my belly as the breeze danced through the lanterns above. The garden smelled faintly of lavender and something sweet from dinner still clinging to the air.

  Arms slipped around me from behind, and I leaned back into Apolloh’s chest, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of him—steady, warm, home.

  “Everyone’s asleep,” he murmured near my ear.

  “Mhm.” I swayed gently, without thinking. “And I’m not far behind them.”

  But I didn’t move to leave. Not yet.

  He turned me carefully in his arms until we were face to face. His hands found the small of my back, drawing me close without pressure. My arms looped up around his neck. We moved without music, without rhythm—just a soft, natural sway like seaweed caught in a gentle tide.

  “You’re radiant, you know that?” he said, voice low and thick. “I can’t stop looking at you.”

  I rolled my eyes, smiling despite myself. “You’re biased.”

  “I am,” he agreed easily. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

  One of his hands slipped between us, fingers brushing along the swell of my belly. “Every time I touch you here, it’s like the world goes quiet. Like there’s only this… only you and the little life we made.”

  I pressed my forehead against his, heart catching. “I’m glad it’s you. I don’t think I say that enough.”

  “You say it every time you let me hold you like this.”

  We stayed that way for a long while, just shifting in time with each other and the soft wind. My legs ached a little. My back protested. But none of it mattered—not while wrapped in the safety of his arms, the baby between us, the world a hush around us.

  Eventually, he guided me inside, helping me into bed with a kiss to my shoulder and another to my bump. But the feeling of dancing lingered long after sleep found me.

  ——

  The morning sunlight stretched across our room in warm ribbons, slipping past the curtains Apolloh had left half-drawn. I blinked slowly, the memory of his arms around me last night still lingering like a comforting weight, even now.

  The baby stirred gently as I shifted to sit up, one hand instinctively smoothing over my belly. It was fuller now—more round, more present. I moved slower without meaning to, like my body already knew to be careful even if my mind hadn’t caught up.

  From down the hall, I could hear Kailaa’s voice rising in that sing-song tone she used when she was definitely trying to wake Elias up in the most dramatic way possible.

  I smiled to myself and stood carefully, padding to the door. By the time I made it to the hallway, Apolloh was already there—shoulder leaned lazily against the wall, arms crossed, watching the chaos with fondness in his eyes.

  “She’s giving him the full morning performance,” he said, nodding toward the kids’ room.

  “She’s committed,” I agreed, leaning into him. “You should’ve seen her during dinner last night. She lectured the baby about choosing a good name.”

  He glanced down at me, grinning. “Did the baby respond?”

  “A kick, then a hiccup,” I said. “So probably yes.”

  Apolloh placed his hand on my stomach with gentle reverence. “Smart kid already.”

  He didn’t say it—but I caught the way his eyes lingered on the bump longer than usual, soft with awe. The changes were starting to show more now. And people had noticed—every day brought more kind smiles from packmates, more congratulations, more quiet murmurs about how beautiful I looked. I didn’t always know what to say to that, but I held it all close.

  As the kids came tumbling out of their room, wrapped in a blanket like a two-headed worm beast, I knew today would be another peaceful one. Different in the way time passes without us noticing—subtle shifts, quiet growth—but still full of light.

  Still ours.

  The morning settled into its rhythm without anyone needing to declare it. Elias insisted on helping make breakfast, which meant he stirred pancake batter with intense concentration while getting more on the counter than in the bowl. Kailaa set the table, adjusting the placement of each fork like it was a matter of state.

  I sat at the kitchen bench, a warm cup of tea in my hands and my feet propped up on a cushion. Apolloh moved behind me, occasionally brushing his hand along my shoulder or the back of my neck as he passed. It was the kind of touch that didn’t ask for anything—just steady presence.

  Jaxe wandered in eventually, tousled and still stretching, offering an exaggerated sniff of the air. “Is that breakfast or magic?”

  “Both,” Elias said without looking up.

  Zia followed shortly after, hair pulled up into a messy bun and sleeves rolled past her elbows. She gave me a once-over with a smile. “You’re glowing again.”

  I gave a soft laugh. “It’s either the tea or the baby using me as a stretching post.”

  “You wear both well.”

  By the time we sat down to eat, the table felt more crowded than usual in the best kind of way. Conversation spilled between bites—little stories, inside jokes, and a few more baby name suggestions, some sweet, some strange, and some delivered with such confidence it was hard not to consider them.

  “Okay,” Zia said with mock seriousness, “if it’s a girl, I say Marin. It means ‘of the sea.’ It’s soft but strong.”

  Kailaa perked up. “I still like Nova. Because it means star and also sounds cool when you shout it from a mountain.”

  “What about Talone?” Jaxe offered, grinning. “If it’s a boy. It sounds like someone who leads missions and wears a cool cloak.”

  “I vote for Evryn,” Elias added. “’Cause it sounds like everyone. Like all of us.”

  That one got a little quiet pause around the table.

  Apolloh reached across to squeeze my hand. “We’ve got time,” he said gently.

  And we did.

  After breakfast, the morning unfolded slow and kind. The sun was bright but not hot, and I could feel it warming the tops of my feet as I sat outside with Zia and the kids, watching them build towers of stacked stones and acorn caps. My belly felt heavier now, pulling me more upright when I leaned back, but I didn’t mind the way I had to shift or the way my steps had slowed.

  Every change was a reminder. Every movement, every soft compliment, every time someone touched my arm and smiled—it all added to the rhythm of this strange and beautiful waiting.

  The fortress garden was quieter than usual, the kind of hush that settles when everyone’s energy dips into a gentle lull. I moved slowly along the worn path, one hand bracing my lower back while the other brushed the tops of blooming lavender. The scent clung to my skin, calming and familiar.

  Zia was nearby, pulling weeds with practiced ease, her sleeves rolled and knees smudged with soil. She glanced up every so often, watching me more than the plants.

  “You okay?” she asked softly.

  I nodded, pausing to rest against a low stone wall. “Just moving slower these days.”

  “You make it look graceful.”

  I laughed under my breath. “That’s generous.”

  Across the courtyard, I caught sight of Kailaa and Elias sitting with Apolloh on the steps, their voices hushed. Elias had a stick and was tracing shapes in the dust while Kailaa leaned her head on Apolloh’s arm, half-listening, half-daydreaming. He said something that made them both giggle, and my heart pulled warm and full.

  Zia followed my gaze and smiled. “They’re already so proud of you.”

  I pressed a hand to the curve of my belly. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel real. Then someone says something, or I catch them looking at me like I’m… magic or something.”

  “You are magic,” she said without hesitation. “And don’t you forget it.”

  We stayed like that for a while—just women, just sisters, just still. I picked a few mint leaves for later and handed them to Zia, who tucked them behind her ear with a grin.

  Eventually, Apolloh crossed over, offering his hand without saying a word. I took it, easing upright, and let him guide me back toward the courtyard steps where the kids were waiting, legs swinging, eyes bright.

  “Momma, come sit!” Kailaa called. “I made you a cushion nest!”

  And sure enough, a pile of neatly arranged blankets and folded cloaks sat at the top step like a throne.

  “Your kingdom awaits,” Apolloh said, chuckling.

  I sank into it with a grateful sigh. “Now this is how royalty lives.”

  Elias nodded solemnly. “We’ve been told.”

  I shifted in my glorious cushion nest, stretching my legs out like the dramatically pregnant queen I was clearly born to be. Apolloh plopped down beside me with a grunt and stole one of the smaller pillows for himself.

  “Hey,” I said, giving him a playful shove. “That’s part of the structural integrity of my throne.”

  “You’ve got six other pillows under you,” he pointed out, completely unfazed. “I have one spine and no throne privileges.”

  “You’re lucky I like you,” I muttered, reclining further as I nudged him with my foot.

  “Lucky?” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice like we were sharing some grand secret. “You’re blessed to have me.”

  “Oh, right,” I deadpanned. “How could I forget? The blessed prince of sarcasm and blanket theft.”

  “Don’t forget expert foot rubber,” he added, eyebrows wagging.

  “That title is under review.”

  “Excuse me?” He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I gave your swollen feet the royal treatment two nights ago.”

  “Which ended with you falling asleep mid-rub. I had to finish it myself.”

  “That’s not fair,” he laughed. “I was pacing with you for hours before that. I burned, like, half a forest’s worth of calories.”

  I tilted my head. “Half a forest?”

  “Don’t question the math. You’re not the one lugging around thirty pounds of sympathy weight.”

  I snorted. “You did not just call your six-pack of snack cakes sympathy weight.”

  He shrugged, unrepentant. “I eat for two now.”

  “Who’s the second one?”

  “Our unborn child,” he said, with all the confidence of a man who absolutely knew he was lying.

  I laughed so hard I had to brace my side. “You’re the worst.”

  “And yet,” he said, pressing a kiss to my temple, “you keep inviting me to sit next to you.”

  “I might have a thing for the worst.”

  “That explains a lot.”

  Kailaa appeared out of nowhere, plopping herself right between us with all the subtlety of a flying squirrel. “What’s this about snacks?” she demanded, eyes narrowed at Apolloh.

  “He’s hoarding them,” I whispered behind my hand. “Sympathy snacks.”

  Elias, ever the shadow to her chaos, came up next, dragging one of his stuffed animals behind him. “That’s not fair,” he said, folding his arms. “If Daddy gets snacks for the baby, I should too. I’m the big brother.”

  “I’m the biggest sister,” Kailaa cut in quickly, “which means I get double snacks. For leadership.”

  Apolloh groaned and flopped back dramatically. “You see what you’ve done?” he moaned at me. “You’ve turned them against me.”

  “They were never on your side,” I said smugly. “You’re the snack bandit, remember?”

  “Snack king,” he corrected, raising a hand in the air like he expected applause.

  “You mean snack gremlin,” Kailaa giggled. “You hide the good cookies on the top shelf.”

  “They’re for emergencies!” he tried to defend himself, and Elias gasped.

  “You said those were gone!”

  “I said a lot of things in the heat of snack-based crisis.”

  I leaned over, mock-serious. “Is this why the honey cakes disappeared last week?”

  “I plead the fifth.”

  “We don’t even have a fifth,” Kailaa said, very seriously.

  Elias nodded. “Yeah, only four of us here.”

  Apolloh blinked. “Wow. Your logic is flawless. I can’t fight that.”

  “And I want pudding,” Kailaa declared suddenly, clearly done with the current topic.

  “You can’t just demand pudding in the middle of a snack trial,” I said, biting back a laugh.

  “Watch me.”

  Apolloh leaned toward me, voice low. “I think we’ve been overthrown.”

  I gave him a solemn nod. “Long live Queen Kailaa and her reign of pudding.”

  The rebellion wore off just in time for the pups to wind down. Elias curled up at my side, his head resting gently against the curve of my bump, as if he was trying to hear some secret he wasn’t quite ready to tell anyone else. Kailaa lay across my legs, arms spread wide, like she was trying to protect all three of us with nothing but sheer willpower and a sparkly headband.

  Apolloh had taken up post behind me, one hand stroking lazily through my hair, the other resting on the side of my belly where the baby had just begun to stir with soft, fluttering kicks.

  “Your brother’s asleep,” I whispered to Kailaa, nodding at Elias’s barely-open mouth and the way his fingers twitched slightly in dreams.

  She nodded, lowering her voice too, which meant it was only slightly less intense. “He dreams loud.”

  “Loud dreams are the best kind,” Apolloh murmured from behind me, leaning forward to kiss my shoulder. “That’s how you know they’re the good ones.”

  I smiled, watching Kailaa’s eyes drift half-lidded. “What do you think our baby will dream about first?”

  Kailaa yawned. “Probably snacks. Or flying. Or riding frogs like horses.”

  Apolloh made a soft, delighted sound. “Honestly? I’d take that dream.”

  By the time we made it to dinner, the warmth of the day had settled into a soft golden hue, firelight flickering along the stone walls and casting dancing shadows over the table. The pups had perked up again, second winds kicking in just in time to tackle their food with the same energy they brought to everything else in life.

  Kailaa had her daisy crown tilted slightly to one side now, evidence of a very dramatic roll across the floor earlier, but she still wore it proudly like the tiny queen she was.

  “Okay,” she said around a mouthful of roasted vegetables, “we need more names.”

  Apolloh lifted a brow as he passed her a slice of bread. “We’re back on that?”

  “We never left,” she corrected.

  “I have one!” Elias sat up straighter, nearly knocking over his cup. “What about ‘Solin’? It sounds like the sun!”

  “Ooh!” I nodded. “That’s beautiful, sweetheart.”

  Kailaa squinted in thought. “Hmm… what about ‘Marcelline’? I heard it from that story with the knight and the mirror world.”

  Apolloh grinned. “Strong choice. Regal.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, grinning. “Let’s keep this going. Throw your best ones at me.”

  “Lyric,” Elias said.

  “Caela,” Kailaa followed, then blinked. “Wait, that’s kind of like mine.”

  “Talira,” I offered softly, the name rolling gently off my tongue. “It just… feels right.”

  “That’s pretty,” Kailaa agreed.

  “Soren,” Apolloh said suddenly, then gave a small shrug. “I’ve just always liked the way it sounds.”

  I smiled at him, heart aching in that warm, full way. “Me too.”

  There was a quiet moment—just the crackling of the fire, the clink of forks, and the hush of something sacred: family dreaming together.

  ——

  After dinner, the fire in the hearth was stoked once more, casting a soft amber glow across the main room. I stood slowly, stretching out the tension in my back as I set down my empty cup.

  Apolloh met my gaze from across the room, already smiling.

  He didn’t say anything—he just held out his hand.

  I took it.

  With the quiet hum of night settling around us and the low crackle of fire in the background, he pulled me gently into his arms. We swayed together slowly, rhythmless and steady, like the world outside didn’t matter. His hand rested low on my back, the other brushing my hair behind my ear before finding my side. His thumb stroked the curve of my bump with reverence.

  “You’re glowing,” he whispered. “Like starlight. Or maybe it’s just the way you look when you’re happy.”

  I smiled up at him, heart aching in that warm, overflowing way. “You’re getting awfully poetic, love.”

  “Can’t help it,” he said, leaning in to press a kiss to my temple. “You’ve always brought out the best in me.”

  We kept moving together, his hand firm but gentle, mine resting over his heart. The room was so calm it felt like we were floating.

  Then—

  “Hey! I wanna try!”

  We turned our heads to find Kailaa standing beside us, her hand already pulling Elias toward the center of the room.

  Apolloh chuckled, loosening his hold on me just enough to watch.

  Kailaa planted Elias’ hands where she thought they should go, then lifted her chin dramatically. “You have to look like you’re in love. Watch me.”

  “Oh no,” Elias muttered under his breath, but he followed her lead anyway, cheeks a little pink as they copied our steps in exaggerated slow motion.

  It was a mess. Their rhythm was off, Kailaa kept stepping on Elias’ foot, and at one point she spun herself and tripped—but they were laughing the whole time. Loud and free and so alive.

  I pressed my face against Apolloh’s chest, shaking with laughter as we watched them twirl.

  “I think we’ve created monsters,” I murmured.

  “Adorable ones,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “The very best kind.”

  Eventually, we all wound down together in a cozy heap near the fire. The pups nestled in with blankets and pillows, heads resting in laps and against shoulders. Zia pulled a book from the shelf and started reading aloud, her voice smooth and warm, every word drawing us further into a calm, magical world.

  I curled up with Apolloh behind me, his hand finding its usual place on the curve of my belly, fingers tracing gentle patterns as the story carried on.

  By the time Zia closed the book, Kailaa and Elias were both fast asleep, their little hands still clasped together.

  And in that moment, the quiet was a gift.

  The fire had burned down to a soft glow, casting flickering shadows that danced lazily across the walls. I didn’t dare move, not with Kailaa’s head heavy against my thigh and Elias’ fingers curled loosely around mine. The peace that settled over the room was the kind that wrapped itself around your bones, urging you to stay a little longer, breathe a little deeper.

  Apolloh’s arm remained draped across my waist, his breath slow and even at my back. Every so often, he brushed his thumb over the fabric stretched across my bump, a silent reminder of the little life growing between us. It made my heart ache—in the best way.

  Zia had stopped reading some time ago, her voice trailing off when it became clear that the only audience left awake was herself. She met my gaze from across the room and smiled quietly before easing herself into a more comfortable spot against Jaxe’s shoulder, the book resting closed on her lap.

  This was everything I didn’t know I needed.

  No ceremonies. No declarations. Just this—blankets and laughter, slow dancing and stories, a home full of warmth and wonder.

  And as my eyes grew heavy and the world around me softened into sleep, I knew—We were ready.

  For whatever came next.