Chapter 177 Big Ice for a Little Boy
Epilogue Part Two
Bella
Evenings in the castle have a routine now. The fire gets fed before the light fully fades. The shutters get latched because Damien likes the sound the bolt makes when it slides home. Jackson gets two warnings and one chance, which means he gets one warning and then chaos anyway. The staff moves through the halls as if they live for the chaos, and the walls hold warmth that doesn’t feel borrowed anymore. Jackson is sitting on the rug in the lounge room with a wooden dragon in one hand and a block in the other, brow furrowed like he’s solving a war. His little wings are out again, the icy white of them catching the firelight, fluttering every time he gets excited. He shifts too easily these days, with a flash of claw here and a tail that appears for three seconds there. Sometimes, a breath turns the air crisp when he forgets to keep it inside. I keep one eye on him while I feed paper into the typewriter. The keys clack and ink stains my fingers. A page curls slightly at the edge because it’s too close to the fire, and I refuse to move my desk again. Jackson looks up at me as if he can feel the moment my attention drifts. “Mama,” he says.
“Yes?” He points at my belly because he has started doing that lately, like he’s reminding me of something. “Baby.”
“Yes,” I say again, softer. He nods, satisfied that I now know and goes back to his blocks. Damien appears in the doorway like he’s been summoned by the word baby itself. He’s already changed out of training clothes, hair damp from washing his hands, sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looks at Jackson first, then at me, then at my belly, and his expression shifts into that quiet, pleased steadiness he’s worn ever since we found out this one is a girl. “How’s he behaving?” he asks. Jackson answers for me. “I’m good.” Damien’s gaze slides to the window, where a faint frost pattern still clings in the corner. “You iced the glass again.” Jackson’s eyes go wide. “No, not me.” I raise a brow, and Damien raises his. Jackson realises this will not work and changes tactics immediately. “I’m hungry,” he announces. Damien huffs a laugh. “Of course you are.” He crosses the room and crouches beside Jackson, hands gentle as he checks the wings and the way Jackson is holding his shoulders. “Wings in, little dragon,” Damien says.
Jackson puffs his cheeks. “I wanna fly.”
“Outside,” Damien replies automatically.
Jackson looks at him like he has suffered a betrayal. “Inside.”
“No,” I cut in, without looking up from the page. “You know the rules.”
Jackson’s mouth drops open, and Damien smirks at him, the traitor. “Your mother makes rules.” He scoops Jackson up, one arm firm around his back, the other supporting the wings so they don’t get bent. “Food first,” Damien says. “Then you can try flying again.” Jackson squeals, delighted, and immediately forgets he was protesting. Damien kisses the top of his head and carries him toward the kitchen like he’s hauling treasure.
I keep typing until the clicking stops making sense. My hand drifts to my stomach without thinking. The baby shifts sometimes now, it's more pressure than movement, a reminder that my body is doing something quietly monumental while my son tries to freeze windows for entertainment. A soft patter sounds from the hallway, and I glance up to see Gilfred. He sits on the doorframe like he owns it, eyes half-lidded, tail curled. He looks at me, then at my belly, then back at me. “You’re staring,” I tell him. He blinks slowly, which is Gilfred's way of saying yes. I snort and return to the page. Dinner is loud in the way dinner always is with a three-year-old who believes he is the head of the household. Jackson eats two bites of stew, declares it delicious, then tries to feed a carrot to his wings as if they are separate creatures. Damien catches the carrot, sighs, and eats it himself. “Daddy,” Jackson says, solemn. “Fly after.”
“After,” Damien agrees.
“And ice,” Jackson adds, eyes bright. “Controlled ice,” Damien corrects. Jackson squints at him like he’s negotiating. “Big ice.”
“No,” I say at the same time as Damien, resulting in Jackson slumping dramatically in his chair. Damien reaches across the table and taps Jackson’s nose gently. “Small ice. Then big ice when you’re bigger.” Jackson considers that, then nods as if this is an acceptable treaty.
After dinner and a little flying comes the bath, which is always a battle and always ends the same way. Jackson splashes until the floor is soaked. His wings vanish and reappear twice. He breathes a tiny puff of frost that makes the water skim with ice for half a heartbeat. Damien warms it immediately with a palm pressed to the tub as he’s done this a thousand times. I sit on the stool by the door, hair loose, belly heavy, watching them. Jackson laughs, head tipped back, water dripping down his face. Damien wipes it away with his thumb and looks at him like there is nothing in the world worth more. When Jackson finally falls asleep later, half-dressed and still damp behind the ears, Damien carries him to bed. Jackson’s head lolls on Damien’s shoulder. His little wings are gone now. He looks purely human in sleep, soft and small and unaware of what he is becoming. Damien tucks him in with a care that borders on reverence. Then we return to our room and close the door.
I sit on the edge of the bed, unpinning my hair, and Damien kneels to unlace my boots without being asked. He does it the way he does everything for me now that my belly is growing again. Like it’s his right to take care of me. When the boots are off, he rests his hands on my calves for a moment, eyes lowered, breathing slowly. “You tired?” he asks.
“Very,” I admit. He nods, accepting. His gaze lifts to my belly, and his expression softens in that way it only does for the children and me. “And happy?” he adds. I exhale a long breath and smile. “With you? Always.” Damien leans in and presses his mouth to my stomach through the fabric, a quiet touch that feels like a promise made with warmth instead of words. His hand slides up, warm over the curve, fingers spread as if he can hold the future there. “Good,” he murmurs. Outside, the castle settles. The fire burns lower, and down the hall, Jackson sighs in his sleep. Damien climbs into bed behind me and pulls me back against his chest, one arm around my waist, his palm resting over my belly. I close my eyes and let the day go. Tomorrow will come with training and work and laughter and rules that Jackson will try to break. The baby will keep growing. The world will keep moving, and we will keep living in it.