Page 152 of Destined Dawn

I peek down at my feet and wince.

“Here, Mama,” Mabel says, dragging a foot stool across the room and then struggling to lift each of my legs and place them on the cushion.

“Thank you, sweetie,” I say, patting the space next to me and inviting her up for a cuddle.

“Baby not come yet?” she asks, poking the dome of my stomach. The baby kicks back.

“Nope, not yet.”

“It’s okay. Baby stay there,” she tells me. I laugh, running my fingers through her curls. I take it she likes being an only child.

“Don’t worry. Being a big sister is going to be awesome.”

She looks at my belly, definitely not convinced, and then pops her thumb in her mouth, curling up against my side.

Soon, we’re dozing off, and I only stir when someone gently nudges my shoulder.

Azlan.

“Dinner’s ready,” he tells me before kissing me.

“Did Renzo cook or …”

“No, I did.” He lifts Mabel up into his arms and she stirs too.

“Dinner time. Daddy cooked,” he tells her as she yawns.

“S’getti?”

“You bet.”

“Up!” she commands, and he tosses her high up into the air and catches her as we walk through to the dining table.

She shrieks with delight, making him do it five more times before she consents to the high chair, still giggling wildly. I’ve been trying to teach her to use a fork, but she’smuch happier to use her magic to wiggle the pasta through the air and into her mouth. I’m amazed how much she can do already. I think she’ll end up a fearsome magical.

I peer down at my belly. I think this one will be, too. If they ever decide to emerge.

“How was the council today?” Spencer asks Tristan and Azlan, as Stone and Renzo amuse our daughter by turning their own dinners into wriggling plates full of worms.

“Trade negotiations,” Tristan says. He rolls his eyes, like he doesn’t live for that stuff. No more battling out on the dueling pitch. These days all his battling is done around negotiation and deal tables. “They weren’t budging on the custom levels, but we got there in the end.”

A lock of his fair hair falls into his face. He doesn’t wear it so messy these days, attempts to slick it back. It’s a losing battle.

It makes those butterflies in my stomach flutter again.

“Azlan?” I ask.

He twirls his fork around, eyes flicking towards Mabel. Satisfied she’s distracted, he says, “We have a lead on the criminals who imported dodo feathers into the republic. We’re going to be making arrests.”

“Good job, Captain,” I say, smiling at him and raising my glass of juice.

Tristan rests his hand on my thigh.

“How about you, Piglet?” After all this time, he still insists on calling me that. Obviously, I pretend I hate it. I don’t. “How was your day?”

“Well …” I say, opening my mouth to tell him.

But then a sharp pain sears through my stomach. I peer down at my belly.

“How about I tell you another time?” I say, because this baby is finally on its way.

The End