Chapter 122: Baby names
The walk to our new quarters feels heavy, my feet dragging against the polished marble of the palace corridor. The sheer scale of this building is overwhelming, a sprawling expanse of history and stone that feels miles away from the warmth of our estate.
"Do we have to live here?" I ask, my voice small. Evander’s hand rests firmly on my lower back, his touch grounding me as he guides me toward the heavy oak doors. I look up at him, jutting my bottom lip out in a deliberate, practiced pout.
"I quite like our room, Evander. It’s familiar. It’s us."
He stops, his gaze sweeping over my face before he releases a long, slow exhale that ruffles his dark hair.
"A horse lives in a stable," he says, his tone maddeningly calm.
I furrow my brow, confused by the shift in his logic. "Okay?"
"An eagle lives in an aerie," he continues, his hand hovering over the ornate handle of the door as he speaks, though his intense gaze never leaves mine.
"A lion, a tiger, a panther, a bear - they all live in a den. And a king? A king lives in the palace."
I blink, letting the weight of his words settle in the quiet hallway.
"Wow. What a long way of telling me this is where I'll stay."
He pushes the door open, the heavy wood swinging inward with a soft, smooth groan of well-oiled hinges. "You’re the Queen of our nation, Zephyra. You are the head over every wolf pack in this country. This is your home, just as much as our estate. It’s time you live in your palace."
I exhale, a long, shaky breath leaving my chest, and I finally step across the threshold.
The room is nothing like I expected. It is a sprawling sanctuary of light and luxury, designed with a grace that feels almost ethereal. The walls are covered in silk tapestries of a soft, pale cream, embroidered with golden threads that catch the flickering glow of the crystal chandeliers hanging overhead. The ceiling is painted with a mural of the night sky, deep indigos and violets, with constellations traced in shimmering silver leaf that seem to pulse whenever the light hits them just right.
The floor is covered in thick, plush rugs the color of winter wheat, so soft they feel like walking on clouds. In the center of the room sits an enormous four-poster bed, draped in velvet curtains the color of crushed berries. The wood of the bedframe is hand-carved, depicting scenes of wolves running through forests under the glow of a full moon. To the left, floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the palace gardens, where the moonlight is currently turning the fountain into a dancing column of liquid diamonds.
It is breathtakingly beautiful, an aesthetic of quiet, regal power that seems to whisper that I truly belong here.
Evander closes the door behind us, the sound of the latch clicking into place echoing softly. He moves to the bedside table, where a single, oversized candle burns, casting flickering shadows that dance across his sharp features.
I walk over to the edge of the bed and sit, the mattress yielding under me. I feel like an imposter in a fairy tale. I look at him, my hands folding in my lap.
"It's a lot, Evander. Everything is so big. Sometimes I feel like if I wander too far into these hallways, I might just get lost in the sheer scale of our responsibilities."
He walks over and sits beside me, his thigh pressed against mine. He captures my hands in his, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over my knuckles.
"You aren't wandering alone. I am here. Always."
I look down at my stomach, my hands sliding over the curve of my dress.
"It’s not just the palace that scares me," I admit, my voice dropping to a whisper.
"The twins... they’re coming soon. And I can't shake this feeling. I’m so afraid that the war is going to start the moment I give birth to them. I feel like the world is holding its breath, waiting for the exact moment I’m at my weakest so they can strike."
Evander stiffens, his expression hardening, but his grip on my hands remains gentle. He pulls me toward him until my head rests against his chest, right over the steady, thunderous beat of his heart.
"Listen to me," he says, his voice vibrating through his ribcage.
"There will always be people who want what we have. There will always be shadows. But you aren't just an Anchor anymore, Zephyra. You are the mother of the future. The moment those children draw their first breath, they will be protected by every Alpha, every priest, and every soldier in this country. I have reorganized the palace guard. I have fortified the borders. I have seen to it that no one, not a single soul gets within a mile of our door without my knowledge."
He tilts my head back so he can look me directly in the eyes.
"If they want to start a war the day our children are born, let them. They will find that they aren't fighting a queen in labor; they are fighting a King who has prepared for this day his entire life. I will burn down everything they hold dear before I let a single scratch mar your skin or theirs."
I search his face, looking for any sign of doubt, any flicker of uncertainty. I find only cold, unadulterated resolve. He isn't just saying these things to comfort me; he truly believes he can hold the world back with his bare hands.
"I trust you," I whisper.
"Good." He leans down, pressing a lingering, reverent kiss to my forehead, then another to the bridge of my nose.
"Now, we name them. And I don’t want to hear any more talk of potatoes."
I let out a wet, shaky laugh, the tension in my shoulders finally beginning to bleed away. He pulls a small leather-bound notebook from his jacket pocket-the one he’s been scribbling in for weeks.