Page 16

VAEL

T he walk back from Mireva's is silent, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Trinity's face remains carefully composed, but her fingers keep drifting to her stomach, an unconscious gesture that draws my gaze each time.

Twins. My mother will be ecstatic—two heirs instead of one, doubling our chances of continuing the bloodline with strength.

I should feel triumphant. Instead, my chest feels tight, constricted by something I can't name.

By the time we reach home, the red sun hangs low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the stone path. I unlock the door, holding it open for Trinity. She slips past me, her scent—honey and warmth with that new undercurrent that must be the pregnancy—brushing my senses.

"Jackie?" Trinity calls, but the house remains silent.

"She mentioned visiting her wife today," I remind her, watching as she sets her cloak aside. "She left food prepared in the kitchen."

Trinity nods, but makes no move toward the kitchen. Instead, she stands in the center of the living space, looking strangely lost. Her fingers twist together, then separate, then find their way back to her still-flat belly.

"Are you hungry?" I ask, desperate to break the silence.

"No." She meets my eyes briefly before looking away. "You?"

"No."

More silence. I move to the stone hearth, igniting the fire with a gesture. The flames leap up instantly, bathing the room in amber light that softens the edges of everything, including Trinity's tense features.

"Twins," I say finally, the word hanging in the air between us.

"Twins," she echoes, a small, incredulous laugh escaping her. "Double trouble."

"Double success," I correct her automatically, but the words feel hollow.

Trinity sinks onto the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. The firelight plays across her face, highlighting the faint circles beneath her eyes, the slight pallor of her skin. She looks exhausted, vulnerable in a way that twists something in my gut.

"Are you disappointed?" she asks suddenly.

The question catches me off guard. "Disappointed? Why would I be disappointed?"

"It's not what we agreed to. One baby, not two. It... complicates things." Her eyes, when they meet mine, are searching.

I cross to the cabinet where I keep the stronger drinks, pouring myself a measure of Amerinth. The purple liquid catches the firelight, shimmering. "It doesn't change our agreement," I tell her, keeping my voice steady. "Two, one... the terms remain the same."

What I don't say is how the image of her with two infants— my children—keeps flashing through my mind. How the thought of her leaving once they're born suddenly feels like a wound I can't cauterize.

"Good," she says, but her voice lacks conviction.

I take a long swallow of the Amerinth, welcoming the burn. "Are you concerned about the delivery?"

She shrugs one shoulder. "I'm concerned about everything. One baby was terrifying enough. Two feels... impossible."

Without thinking, I move to sit beside her on the couch. "Nothing about this is impossible. I'll ensure you have everything you need. The best care, the finest healers."

"It's not just that." She stares into the fire. "I never wanted to be a mother. I told you that. And now I'm going to birth not one but two children that I'll have to walk away from."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "You won't have to walk away. You get to walk away. That was the deal." My voice comes out harsher than intended.

Trinity's eyes snap to mine, narrowing. "Are you changing the terms, bounty hunter?"

"No. I just—" I run a hand through my hair, frustrated by my inability to express what's churning inside me. "I'm simply saying that the option remains open. Stay or go. Your choice."

She stares at me, confusion clear in her expression. "Why would I stay?"

Why indeed? I have no answer that makes sense, even to myself. No answer I'm willing to voice.

"The children will need feeding," I say instead. "You could... remain until they're weaned."

Trinity's laugh is sharp. "Right. Because I'm just a handy milk source."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean, Vael?" Her voice softens unexpectedly. "What are you really asking?"

I drain the rest of my drink, welcoming the burn down my throat. "Nothing. It was merely a practical suggestion."

But practicality has nothing to do with the knot in my chest, the way my mind keeps conjuring images of Trinity singing to our children, of her smile first thing in the morning, of her presence becoming a permanent fixture in these rooms that have always felt too empty.

"I need to check on something," I mutter, standing abruptly. "You should eat something. For the... for them."

I retreat to my study before she can respond, shutting the door behind me.

Leaning against it, I close my eyes and exhale slowly.

What is wrong with me? This arrangement is perfect—exactly what I wanted.

An heir—now two—without the complication of a permanent mate.

No emotional entanglements. No vulnerability.

Yet here I am, shaken to my core by the healer's revelation. Not because it complicates our deal, but because it makes Trinity's eventual departure seem even more... wrong.

I don't want her to leave. The realization hits with the force of a physical blow.

When did this human woman—with her sharp tongue and stubborn spirit—become someone I can't imagine my life without?