The windows of the Royal Wing were thrown wide to catch the first, crisp winds of a Northern spring. The scent of melting snow mingled with the heady, sweet aroma of the jasmine vines that Kyon had insisted on planting beneath their balcony. It was a season of transition, of life pushing through the frozen earth, mirroring the heavy, expectant silence that had settled over the palace.
Inside the suite, the air was thick with a different kind of tension. Arion sat in a low, wide chair, his frame still powerful but softened by the late stages of his second pregnancy. He was a man who had led armies and survived chemical warfare, yet the rhythmic kick of the life within him brought a vulnerability that no blade ever could.
Kyon approached him slowly, a tray of warming tea in his hands. He no longer wore the Jade Heart; in its place was a bare, pale throat that showed the pulse of a man who was finally breathing his own air. Yet, as Arion had requested, Kyon had not fully purged the chemical stabilizers from his system. He remained a stabilized Alpha, his scent controlled by the tapering suppressants Arion had insisted he keep.
"The council ended early," Kyon murmured, placing the tea on the side table. He reached out a hand, intending to brush a stray lock of dark hair from Arion's forehead.
As his fingers drew near, Arion's shoulders jerked, a microscopic flinch that sent a ripple of tension through his body. It was an instinctive reflex—a ghost of the years of trauma and the memory of the night Kyon's hands had been instruments of control rather than comfort.
Kyon's hand froze mid-air. He didn't pull away in hurt, nor did he push forward with dominance. He simply waited. This was the dance they had mastered over the last year: the patience of the Serpent meeting the hyper-vigilance of the Tiger.
"I'm sorry," Arion rasped, his voice low. He forced himself to relax, leaning into the touch once he felt grounded. "The body remembers what the mind tries to forgive."
"You never have to apologize for your instincts, Arion," Kyon said, his thumb finally, gently, stroking Arion's temple. "I am the one who gave your body those memories. I will spend the rest of my life teaching it new ones."
Arion looked up at him. "You're taking the suppressants today? Your scent... it's steady. Like a mountain."
"I am," Kyon confirmed. "As you asked. I felt the urge to let the chemicals go, to let the world see the 'natural' King, but you were right. The Western Marquis is still whispering, and the South is watching for any sign of a 'weak' Omega. I will remain the Serpent for the kingdom, so I can be just Kyon for you."
Arion reached out, his calloused hand covering Kyon's. "Strength isn't just in the blood, Kyon. It's in the choice. You stay like this because we need a shield."
The labor began in the deep, blue hours of the morning, a sudden, violent surge that sent Arion into a warrior's focus. Unlike the birth of Aiden, which had been shrouded in secrecy and the Duke's cold fury, this was a royal event—yet Kyon had barred the physicians from the inner room until the final moments. He wanted this to be theirs.
For hours, Arion paced the room, his breath coming in sharp, disciplined huffs. Every time a contraction ripped through him, Kyon was there , a solid, unyielding pillar. He didn't use his Alpha pheromones to sedate Arion; instead, he used them to ground him. He projected a scent of sun warmed stone and rain, a steadying frequency that gave Arion something to fight against.
"Hold onto me," Kyon whispered, his arms wrapped around Arion from behind, supporting his weight as another wave of pain crested.
Arion gripped Kyon's forearms, his fingernails digging into the fine silk. He let out a low, guttural growl, the sound of a Northern Alpha refusing to be broken by the agony of an Omega's burden.
"I have you," Kyon repeated, his voice a mantra. "You aren't alone. Not this time. Never again."
In the nursery down the hall, Aiden and Lorcan were huddled together in a single bed, unable to sleep. Lorcan was whispering stories of Southern bravery to keep the younger boy calm, while Aiden clutched the wooden tiger Kyon had carved for him.
"Is the new pup coming?" Aiden asked, his eyes wide in the dark.
"The new Princess," Lorcan corrected with his usual Southern confidence. "And she's going to be the most protected girl in the world, Aiden. Because she has you, and she has me."
As the sun began to bleed over the horizon, painting the room in hues of gold and rose, a new sound cut through the heavy silence of the Royal Wing: a sharp, high-pitched cry that carried the strength of the North and the defiance of the Crown.
Arion lay back against the pillows, his skin slick with sweat, his chest heaving. Kyon was on his knees by the bed, his face wet with tears he made no effort to hide. In his large, trembling hands, he held a small, squirming bundle wrapped in the finest white linen.
"A girl," Kyon breathed, his voice breaking. "Arion... look at her."
Arion forced his heavy eyes open. The baby was small, but her spirit was loud. She had a shock of dark hair, but as she blinked her eyes open for the first time, Arion saw them—the unmistakable, startlingly clear blue-amber eyes of the Royal House of Elysium.
"A daughter," Arion whispered, reaching out with a shaky hand.
Kyon placed the baby against Arion's chest. The moment the infant felt the warmth of her father, her crying ceased, replaced by a soft, rhythmic snuffle. She smelled of wild jasmine and iron, a perfect, natural blend of the two men who had fought a war to bring her into the world.
"What shall we name the Silver Bloom of the East?" Kyon asked, his hand resting protectively over both Arion and the child.
Arion looked at the baby, then at the man who had stayed by his side through every agonizing second, never once letting his own Alpha nature overwhelm Arion's space.
"Celine," Arion decided, his voice gaining strength. "After the woman who started the song. We will give her the name your father tried to erase."
Kyon bowed his head, a sob escaping him. "Princess Celine of the North and East. A song that will never be silenced."
Later that morning, the palace was a whirlwind of celebration. Duchess Maeva and Lord Torvin had been admitted to see the new heir, and Aiden was currently sitting on the edge of the bed, carefully poking his sister's cheek while Lorcan stood "guard" at the foot of the crib.
Kyon stood by the window, watching his family. He felt a presence behind him.
"You're thinking about the stabilizers," Arion said, joining him. He was wrapped in a heavy fur robe, looking tired but revitalized.
"I am," Kyon admitted. "I saw her eyes, Arion. They are so bright. I don't want to be a lie for her."
"You aren't a lie," Arion insisted, leaning his head against Kyon's shoulder. "You are the man who held me for ten hours without flinching. The chemicals in your blood don't change the heart in your chest."
Arion looked back toward the bed where his children played. In the back of his mind, he thought of the real logbook, still hidden behind the panel in his wardrobe. He looked at Kyon's bare neck, then at the sleeping baby girl.
He realized then that he might never need to use that book. Not because Kyon was perfect, but because Kyon was trying. And in a world of serpents and tigers, the effort to be kind was the greatest power of all.
"We have everything we need," Arion whispered.
Kyon turned, taking Arion's hand and kissing the knuckles. "And we will have more. For every tear I caused you, Arion, I will give you a year of peace. That is my iron vow."
As the bells of the capital began to ring, announcing the birth of the Princess, the King and his Consort stood together not as a master and a servant, but as two broken pieces that had finally, through fire and secret, become a whole.