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Our daughter arrives with the first true heat of summer, when the air hangs heavy with the scent of roses and even the ancient stones of Millrath remember warmth. The healers tell me she fought her way into the world like a storm breaking—all the windows broke when she first screamed into the warm air of our chambers, little lungs working as magic cascaded out against the walls. I remember only fragments: pain that felt like it might kill me, Arvoren's fever-hot hands clasping mine so tight it made my bones creak, the sound of his voice around my name.

"She's strong," the healers whispered as they placed her in my arms. "She’s healthy. Your daughter.”

Now she sleeps against my chest, impossibly small and terrifyingly perfect. Her skin burns with her father's heat, but I can see already that she looks like me. She’ll be slight for a draconic shifter. But already I can feel her magic pulsing like a second heartbeat—something intent and dual, something perfectly harmonized. The power that runs through her blood should be impossible, should tear her apart. Instead, she exists in perfect equilibrium, as if the ancient magics that warred for so long were only waiting for her to show them how to dance together.

"Look what she does when she dreams," I murmur to Arvoren, who hasn't left my side since the labor began. Tiny snowflakes spiral above our daughter's sleeping form, catching sunlight like diamonds before melting in the warm air.

He leans closer, one hand spanning our daughter's tiny back while the other traces idle patterns on my arm. Steam rises where his skin meets the cool air, but his touch stays gentle, controlled. Through our bond, I feel his fierce joy warring with bone-deep fear—not of her power, but of failing her somehow. Of not being worthy of this miracle we've created together.

"I never thought…" He breaks off, smoke curling from between his teeth. "When you first came here, when I first saw you in that village…"

"We were different people then." I catch his hand, pressing it over our daughter's back where her tiny heart beats steady and strong. "Both of us."

Sunlight streams through tall windows, painting patterns across the massive bed where I rest. The chamber that was once my prison now feels like sanctuary, filled with the scent of summer blooms that my apprentices bring fresh each morning. Even the dragon skulls that watch from shadowed walls seem to smile, as if they, too, have been waiting for this moment.

A knock at the door makes Arvoren tense, scales rippling beneath his skin, but it's only Mari, my most dedicated apprentice. She carries a basket of fresh herbs, their sharp green scent cutting through the sweeter flowers.

"The gardens send their blessings, Your Grace," she says softly, setting her burden aside. "The yarrow bloomed this morning, and the roses—you should see them. It's like they're celebrating too."

I smile, remembering those first days after reclaiming the throne, when Mari helped me restore the castle gardens from winter's ravages. "Thank you. Would you like to meet her?"

Mari approaches cautiously, her eyes widening as she takes in the frost patterns still dancing around our daughter.

"She's beautiful," she breathes. "Like summer and winter all at once."

I think she’s right.

"She needs a name," Arvoren says after Mari withdraws. "Something worthy of both her bloodlines."

I study our daughter's face, memorizing each perfect detail. She has my dark hair but Arvoren's sharp features, softened by sleep and innocence. When she opens her eyes, they shift between storm-gray and dragon-gold, unable to decide which parent to favor.

"Aurelie," I say finally, testing the shape of it on my tongue. "It means—"

"Golden light." Arvoren's voice holds wonder. "Like sunrise after endless night."

"Yes," I agree softly. “Our little light.”

He kisses me then, tasting of smoke and summer air. Through our bond, I feel everything he struggles to express—love and gratitude and endless devotion, tempered now by wisdom hard-won.

Another knock interrupts us, and this time it's Darian, coming to report that the Lords have all sent messages of congratulation. Even our bitterest rivals offer gifts and good wishes for the princess.

"The city celebrates," he tells us, keeping his voice low as Aurelie sleeps. "They say she's a sign of true peace."

"What do you think, old friend?" Arvoren asks. "You've seen enough of politics to know symbols aren't always enough."

Darian studies us—the king who learned to love instead of possess, the queen who chose to stay when she could have run, the child who bridges ancient magics.

"I think," he says carefully, "that some symbols carry their own power. I’m happy for you, Arvoren. And you, of course, my queen."

He withdraws silently, leaving us in peace. Outside, I hear the sounds of revelry drifting up from the city—music and laughter carrying on the warm summer breeze. So different from the fearful silence that once filled these streets.

As evening approaches, Aurelie wakes hungry and fussing. Her magic flares with her cry—some strange force rattles around the room. I can already tell she’s going to rattle this castle almost to its knees with the force of her tantrums as she grows. But Arvoren and I take care of her, working together just as we've learned to do in all things.

"Shh, little one," I murmur, settling her to nurse. "You're safe. You're loved. You're exactly where you belong."

“She already looks like you,” Arvoren murmurs into my ear, lips near my cheek. “I regret so many things, my love.”

"We've all grown," I remind him, reaching for his hand. "All changed. And…look at her. What is there to regret, when we have this?”

He settles beside us, fever-warm and solid. "I can see that look in your eye. Tell me what you're thinking."

I consider the question, watching Aurelie's tiny fingers curl against my skin. "I'm thinking about that day in the underchamber, when you first brought me here. How terrified I was. How angry." I smile, letting him feel my contentment through our bond. "And I'm thinking about all the days that followed—every step that led us here, every choice that made us who we are now."

"Do you regret any of it?"

"No." The certainty in my voice surprises us both. "It wasn't easy, wasn't always right. But it brought us here.”

Arvoren looks at me searchingly. “Would you do it again?”

It’s a different question and we both know it.

“Yes,” I say, and I mean it.

Aurelie finishes nursing and yawns, sending tiny snowflakes spiraling through the warm air around us. Arvoren takes her with infinite care, his massive hands impossibly gentle as he settles her against his chest. Steam rises where their skin touches, but she only sighs contentedly, already used to the play of ice and fire in her blood.

"We'll teach her better than we were taught," I say softly. "Show her that strength comes in many forms. She’ll be so very loved.”

"Of course she will." His voice holds certainty now. "The future Queen of Kaldoria."

He kisses me again, deeper this time, and I taste the promise in it. Whatever comes next, whatever challenges our daughter's power brings, we face them together. No more prisons, no more chains. Only choice and trust and love, freely given and freely returned.

As night falls, torches flare to life in the city below—countless points of light like earthbound stars. Aurelie sleeps between us, frost and flame dancing in perfect harmony around her tiny form. Soon we'll have to face the world again—there are celebrations to attend, diplomats to greet, a kingdom to govern. But for now, in this perfect moment, we simply exist together. A family born from winter's fury and forged in dragon-fire, ready to write our own story at last.

"I love you," Arvoren murmurs into my hair.

"More than life itself?" I tease gently, remembering all the times he's said those words before.

His laugh holds notes of dragon-fire. He presses his lips to my temple. "Thank you for staying.”

It’s such a simple sentence, but it almost brings me to tears.

I turn in his arms, careful not to disturb our sleeping daughter. "Thank you for learning. For trying. For becoming the man I knew you could be."

Aurelie sighs in her sleep, and frost patterns dance across the blankets once more. This time, we let them spread—delicate spirals catching torchlight, a reminder of the magic that flows through all our veins. Not a curse to be controlled or a power to be feared, but a gift to be cherished. To be shared.

The future stretches out before us, endless as winter stars.

Together, we'll make it worth the waiting.

***

Six weeks later, after a long, exhausting day of caring for our baby, we retire to bed alone for once, leaving her with only our most trusted nurses for a while. Now that Aurelie is finally asleep, I know better than to anticipate being ravaged. Instead, because Arvoren knows how exhausted I am, we go slow.

He takes me to our bed, kissing me with a sweetness I didn’t know until recently he possessed the capacity for. His touch is gentle as he lays me on our bed, the sheets cool against my skin. He takes his time, fingers tracing patterns of frost and flame across my body. Each caress is reverent, worshipful, as if he's rediscovering territory both familiar and new.

I reach for him, but he catches my hands, pressing soft kisses to my palms.

"Let me," he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. "Let me show you how much I love you."

His lips follow the path his fingers blazed, leaving trails of tingling heat in their wake. He lingers at the places where pregnancy has changed me—the curve of my hips, the swell of my breasts, the silvery marks stretched across my belly. Through our bond, I feel his fierce pride, his endless wonder at what my body has accomplished.

"Beautiful," he breathes against my skin. His hands cradle my hips, thumbs tracing the skin there. "Perfect."

I shiver as his lips follow, kissing a reverent path across my belly. Through our bond, I feel his awe—not just at my body, but at everything it represents. The strength that carried our child, the magic that nurtured her, the love that brought us to this moment.

Arvoren takes his time, savoring each new curve and hollow. His touch is feather-light but leaves trails of tingling heat in its wake. When he finally settles between my thighs, I'm trembling with need.

"Arvoren," I breathe, fingers tangling in his hair.

He looks up, eyes dark with desire. He wants me so badly that I can almost taste it, a fierce, desperate desire for me.

"Tell me what you need," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh.

"You," I whisper. "Just you."

His tongue traces delicate patterns, frost and flame dancing wherever he touches. I arch into the sensation, magic thrumming beneath my skin. Arvoren takes his time, savoring each gasp and shiver as if committing them to memory.

When he finally presses his fingers inside me, it's with exquisite care. I tip my head back and moan softly in my throat, desperate for him, needing this so very immensely. Through our bond, I feel everything he can't put into words—gratitude, wonder, fierce protectiveness, and love so deep it makes my chest ache.

His hands caress my sides, tracing the new curves in amazement. His touch leaves trails of tingling warmth, chasing away any lingering aches. I arch into him, craving more of that soothing heat.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. His lips trace over me, pressing soft kisses to each stretch mark, each scar and blemish. Each patch of soft, unbroken skin.

I reach for him, but he cages me gently with his body, pressing us back against the pillows.

"Let me," he breathes against my skin. "Let me worship you properly."

He lowers back to my sex and his mouth continues its reverent exploration, lingering at the places most sensitive from nursing on his way down. The scrape of his teeth on my clit sends shivers through me, pleasure tinged with the faintest edge of pain, fingers still within me.

His touch grows more insistent, stoking the fire building within me. When his tongue presses hard against me while his fingers curl, I gasp, arching into the sensation. I tangle my fingers in his hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away from the almost overwhelming sensation. Through our bond, I feel his fierce joy, his pride in drawing these reactions from me.

"Arvoren," I breathe. The dual stimulation has me trembling on the edge.

His fingers curl again inside me, finding that perfect spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. His tongue traces intricate patterns, alternating between feather-light teasing and firm strokes that have me gasping his name. Frost spreads across the sheets in delicate spirals, catching the candlelight like diamonds.

Through our bond, I feel Arvoren's fierce joy at my pleasure, his pride in drawing these reactions from me. Steam rises where his fever-hot skin meets my cooler flesh, creating a sensual mist that carries the mingled scents of our arousal.

I arch into his touch, magic thrumming beneath my skin in time with the building tension. Arvoren hums in approval, the vibration sending new waves of sensation coursing through me. His free hand strokes my thigh, leaving trails of tingling warmth in its wake.

Arvoren's touch grows more insistent, his fingers curling inside me as his tongue traces intricate patterns. I arch into the sensation, frost blooming across the sheets in delicate spirals. Steam rises where his fever-hot skin meets my cooler flesh, creating a sensual mist that carries our mingled scents.

"Let go," he murmurs against my inner thigh, his breath scorching. "I've got you. Let yourself fall."

I surrender to the building pleasure, trembling as waves of sensation wash over me. My magic surges in response, frost and flame dancing across my skin. Arvoren groans, pressing closer as if he can't bear even an inch of space between us.

As the aftershocks subside, Arvoren gathers me into his arms. His skin burns fever-hot against mine, chasing away the lingering chill. I curl into his warmth, savoring the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear.

"I love you," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple. His fingers trace idle patterns along my spine, leaving trails of tingling heat in their wake.

I say something that terrifies me then, something I’ve wanted to say for some time but haven’t been able to bring myself to.

But despite it all, I need to know.

“Unless I ask, you won’t let me go?” I ask.

I feel him still for a moment. Then, he kisses the top of my head once more, lips pressing into my hair.

“I won’t let you go,” my husband promises. I believe him.

*****

THE END