Chapter 212

Chapter 212: Chapter 212

Lysander’s pov

Morning light spilled through the tall arched windows, painting the golden-oak floorboards of the master suite in long, quiet stripes of amber.

The cold mountain winds were still howling against the stone outer walls of the estate, but inside the suite, the air was warm, smelling faintly of sweet chamomile, blooming jasmine, and the clean, rain-scented heat of Drake’s aura.

I rested against a stack of soft velvet pillows on the massive bed, watching Drake across the room.

He stood by the small wooden tea table, dressed in a loose, dark linen shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The High Sovereign, the fierce pureblood warrior who could shatter iron gates with a single wave of his hand was currently measuring spoonfuls of dried herbs into a steeping pot with meticulous focus, as if balancing the delicate blend were the most vital territorial task in his domain.

A quiet smile touched my lips, my hand moving naturally beneath the soft wool blanket to rest over the distinct, rounded curve of my stomach.

Three weeks had passed since the night Drake tore through the cellar walls and brought me home. Three long, quiet weeks of peace that felt like a sweet, impossible dream after the months of terror, secrets, and cold iron doors.

Drake turned toward the bed, holding a steaming porcelain cup in his hand. His eyes swept over me, softening instantly from their sharp pureblood intensity into a warm, devoted gaze that made my heart flutter against my ribs.

"It needs to steep for another minute," Drake said softly, stepping toward the bed with slow, deliberate grace so as not to startle me. "Dr. Star said the chamomile root will ease the tension in your lower back."

"I feel fine, Drake," I murmured, though the small, fond curve of my mouth betrayed me. "You don’t have to wait on me like a servant."

"I am not waiting on you like a servant," Drake replied smoothly, sitting on the edge of the mattress beside me. He set the steaming cup on the nightstand, then extended his large, rough hand, resting his palm flat over my lower middle. "I am tending to my mate and my child. There is no higher duty in this house."

The moment his palm pressed against my linen tunic, a rich wave of magic flared gently beneath his skin.

Deep within my core, our baby responded instantly. A distinct, energetic flutter thrummed against Drake’s palm—a greeting from the tiny life inside that was growing stronger, larger, and more vibrant with every passing day.

Drake’s breath caught in his throat, a soft, breathtaking smile breaking across his sharp jawline. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against my stomach for a brief, reverent moment, his eyes closing as he bathed our child in his protective warmth.

"They are active today," Drake whispered into the soft fabric of my tunic, his broad hand moving in gentle, soothing circles over my skin. "Strong pulse."

"That’s because their father refuses to let me lift a single finger," I joked softly, my fingers sliding through his dark hair, gently tugging at the strands near his nape.

Drake raised his head, his eyes locking onto mine with a look of such raw, unshielded tenderness that it took my breath away. He reached up, cupping my cheek in his large hand, his thumb stroking softly over my cheekbone.

"After what you endured in that dark cellar," Drake rasped out, his voice dropping into a low, quiet register filled with fierce devotion, "I would carry you on my back across this entire mountain range if you asked me to. You will want for nothing in this sanctuary, Lysander. Ever again."

He leaned in, pressing his lips to mine in a slow, lingering kiss that tasted of sweet honey and fresh tea.

I leaned into him, letting my eyes flutter shut as I wrapped my arm around his broad neck. I clung to him, drawing in the solid, unyielding heat of his frame, letting the lingering ghosts of Gideon’s chains and the witch’s dark oil melt away into nothingness.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t move far. He shifted his long frame onto the bed beside me, pulling me into the crook of his broad arm so my head rested comfortably against his chest. He reached down, pulling the thick wool quilt over both of us, his hand returning to its permanent resting place over my stomach.

For hours, we simply stayed like that in the quiet room.

There were no council meetings called in the master suite. No guards posted inside the threshold with cold, watchful eyes. No whispers of Darius’s border threats or court politics. Drake had sealed the private wing, giving us a precious, sacred haven where time seemed to stand still.

He fed me small pieces of sweet fruit from a silver dish, kissed my temple whenever I let out a tired sigh. "Do you think they will look like you?" I asked quietly, resting my hand over his where it lay against my bump.

Drake let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated pleasantly against my back. "I hope they inherit your heart, Lysander. Your fierce spirit. Your stubborn refusal to bow down to dark magic."

"I hope they have your eyes," I admitted softly, looking up into his face. "The way they burn when you look at me."

Drake’s expression softened, his gaze searching my face with an intensity that made my chest ache with happiness. He leaned down, pressing a warm kiss to the center of my forehead, then another to the tip of my nose, and finally another long, sweet press against my lips.

"They will have the best of both of us," Drake promised softly against my mouth. "And they will grow up in a world where no one can ever hurt them."

I closed my eyes, resting my cheek back against the steady, heavy rhythm of his heartbeat.

Outside the high lancet windows, the winter clouds were beginning to gather again over the distant peaks, hinting at fresh storms waiting beyond the mountain pass. But wrapped in Drake’s arms, feeling his heat surrounding me like an unbreakable shield, I knew no storm could touch us here.

I squeezed his hand, curling my body closer into his chest, letting the deep, peaceful sanctuary of our home carry me into a quiet, dreamless sleep.