Chapter 589

Two days later—

Morning light slipped through the tall windows, pale and clean, touching everything with that quiet, deceptive calm Ivan had come to distrust.

He stood near the window, perfectly upright, posture immaculate despite the very unaristocratic situation he found himself in.

In his arms—

Ivanna.

Drinking.

No—devouring.

Ivan held the bottle with two fingers, as though it were something questionable rather than essential, his expression caught somewhere between resignation and refined horror.

“…You are excessively enthusiastic,” he informed her, watching the way she clung to the bottle with alarming determination.

Ivanna made a small, satisfied growl around the milk.

Ivan froze.

“…That was not a sound that should come from an infant.”

She kicked slightly.

Ivan adjusted her with stiff precision, clearly uncomfortable—not because he disliked holding her, but because he treated the entire act like handling something dangerously unpredictable.

Like silk that might tear.

Or worse—

Something that might suddenly move.

“…You are warm,” he added, as if that, too, was suspicious.

Ivanna responded by drinking harder.

Ivan narrowed his eyes.

“Yes. That is precisely the problem.”

Then—

A cry.

Sharp.

Clear.

Unmistakably offended.

Ivan went still.

Slowly—

Very slowly—

He turned his head toward the other crib.

Lana.

Crying.

Ivan stared at her like she had personally violated an agreement.

“…No.”

The word came out soft.

Controlled.

But deeply distressed.

“…You do not cry.”

Another cry.

Softer this time—but more insistent.

Ivan’s composure cracked immediately.

“I am coming,” he said, too quickly, shifting Ivanna with careful urgency before moving toward the crib. “There is no need for dramatics.”

He leaned over—

And paused.

Because touching her required a decision.

A deliberate one.

Like approaching something sacred.

Or fragile.

Or both.

“…You are composed,” he reminded her gently, voice lowering despite himself. “We agreed on this.”

Lana’s cry wavered.

Ivan reached in.

Carefully.

Lifting her with far more precision than he used with anything else in his life.

The moment she settled against him—

She stopped.

Silence.

Immediate.

Complete.

Ivan blinked.

“…Oh.”

He looked down at her.

Then at Ivanna.

Then back at Lana.

“…So you respond to reason,” he murmured, clearly relieved. “Good. That is preferable.”

Ivanna made another small noise.

Ivan glanced at her.

“Yes, I hear you. You respond to chaos. I have noted the difference.”

He stood there now—

One child in each arm.

Still too straight.

Still too controlled.

Like he refused to admit this was natural.

“…I am managing,” he muttered under his breath. “This is manageable.”

“You look like you’re negotiating a treaty.”

Ivan closed his eyes briefly.

Of course.

He didn’t even turn immediately.

“…Your timing is consistently unfortunate.”

Kaelan leaned against the doorway, watching him with open amusement.

“I heard my favorite bat crying.”

Ivan turned sharply.

“…Your what?”

Kaelan pushed off the wall and walked toward him.

“My favorite.”

Ivan looked horrified.

“How do you even know which one is crying?”

Kaelan stepped closer, glancing at the babies with ease.

“That one is sharper,” he said, nodding toward Lana. “Shorter breaths. Controlled lungs.”

Ivan stared at him.

“…You identified her by her breathing pattern.”

Kaelan shrugged lightly.

“It’s obvious.”

“It is not obvious.”

"It is to me.”

Ivan looked deeply offended by that.

“…Of course it is.”

Kaelan reached out and took Lana from him, smooth and natural.

Effortless.

Lana settled instantly.

Again.

Ivan watched that with narrowed eyes.

“…She is selective.”

“She likes me,” Kaelan replied simply.

Ivan scoffed.

“She likes competence.”

Ivanna shifted again, still in Ivan’s arms.

Ivan adjusted her immediately.

Careful.

Precise.

Still holding her like something that required supervision rather than affection.

“…I carried them,” Ivan said suddenly, tone shifting—more pointed now, more dramatic, like he was remembering a personal injustice.

Kaelan glanced at him.

“I’m aware.”

“I endured months of discomfort.”

“Yes.”

“I altered my diet.”

Kaelan nodded, already smiling.

“Tragic.”

“I consumed human food.”

Kaelan’s mouth twitched.

“Heroic.”

Ivan lifted his chin.

“And now I am expected to stand here—” he gestured slightly with Ivanna, careful not to disturb her “—holding bottles like a housewife.”

Kaelan blinked once.

Then—

He laughed.

Not quietly.

Not subtly.

Openly.

Ivan looked personally attacked.

“This is not amusing.”

“It is a little amusing.”

“It is a great deal unacceptable.”

Kaelan stepped closer again, still holding Lana, his voice softer now.

“You’re doing fine.”

Ivan stiffened slightly.

“I am doing more than fine.”

“You are.”

A pause.

Then, quieter—

“They’re safe with you.”

Ivan didn’t answer immediately.

His gaze dropped—

To Ivanna.

Still drinking.

Still stubborn.

Still very real.

“…They should be,” he said at last, tone returning to something calmer, something steadier. “I did not suffer for them to be anything less.”

Kaelan watched him for a moment.

Then smiled faintly.

“Of course you didn’t.”

Ivan adjusted Ivanna again, just slightly.

Then glanced at Lana in Kaelan’s arms.

Then back at his own.

“…They are a great deal of work,” he muttered.

“They’re five days old.”

“And already demanding.”

Kaelan grinned.

“They take after you.”

Ivan didn’t even hesitate.

“Impossible.”

Then came a sound of hooves.

Rhythmic. Clean. Annoyingly official.

Ivan’s eyes snapped to the window.

“…No.”

Kaelan didn’t even look up.

“If that’s another complaint about milk temperature—”

Ivan was already moving.

Curtain—pulled.

Look—

Freeze.

Formation.

Carriages.

Crest.

Ivan let the curtain fall like it had personally offended him.

“…They are here.”

Kaelan walked over, glanced outside, then huffed.

“…That was fast.”

Ivan turned, offended on a spiritual level.

“That is my king,” he said, voice smooth and cutting. “He does not arrive late like a confused merchant.”

Kaelan smirked.

“Good thing I invited him, then.”

Ivan ignored that completely.

His attention had already snapped back to the babies.

Dangerous.

Focused.

Kaelan turned toward the door.

“I’ll go—”

“No.”

Kaelan stopped.

“…You’re going to say something ridiculous, aren’t you.”

Ivan was already moving.

Fast.

Elegant.

Unhinged.

“They are not going outside.”

Kaelan blinked.

“They’re wrapped.”

“They are barely civilized.”

Kaelan looked at the babies.

Then back at Ivan.

“…They’re five days old.”

“And already underperforming.”

Ivanna kicked.

Blanket—gone.

Ivan gasped.

Actually gasped.

“…You see?” he snapped, catching the blanket mid-air like it was a falling crown. “This is exactly what I meant.”

Kaelan folded his arms.

“She kicked a blanket, Ivan.”

“She exposed herself to the world like a barbarian.”

“She is a barbarian.”

Ivan looked at him slowly.

“…Choose your next words carefully.”

Kaelan grinned.

“I meant—wolf.”

Ivan turned back to Ivanna, fixing her blanket with tight, precise movements.

“You will not embarrass me in front of Dimitri,” he muttered to her. “You have been alive for five days. That is sufficient time to improve.”

Ivanna kicked again.

Ivan closed his eyes.

“…We will discuss this later.”

Kaelan snorted.

“She’s winning.”

“She is not winning,” Ivan said sharply. “She is being temporarily tolerated.”

Then—

Lana.

Perfect.

Still.

Already superior.

Ivan softened.

Barely.

“…Yes,” he murmured. “Maintain this.”

Kaelan leaned closer.

“You have a favorite.”

“I have standards.”

Ivan reached for Lana—

And immediately corrected Kaelan’s hold.

“Higher.”

“I am holding her fine.”

“You are holding her like stolen goods.”

“I did steal you.”

“That explains the technique.”

Kaelan laughed.

Ivan didn’t.

He adjusted Lana’s blanket, framing her face with exact care.

“There,” he said. “Dignity.”

Lana blinked slowly.

Approving.

Ivan stepped back.

Looked at both.

Head tilted.

Judging.

“…No.”

Kaelan dragged a hand down his face.

“What now.”

“They are uneven.”

“They are babies.”

“They are a presentation.”

He stepped in again.

Adjusted Ivanna.

Then Lana.

Then Ivanna again.

“…Now."

Pause.

“…Acceptable.”

Kaelan stared at him.

“You’re insane.”

“I am prepared.”

Outside, the horses were louder now.

Closer.

Reality approaching.

Kaelan moved toward the door.

“We should go.”

Ivan’s voice snapped—

“They are not ready.”

Kaelan turned.

“They are dressed, fed, and alive. That’s the checklist.”

“That is a low checklist.”

Kaelan walked back toward him, lowering his voice.

“You’re nervous.”

Ivan froze.

Then slowly lifted his chin.

“I am never nervous."

A beat.

Then—

“…Do not let her ear show too much.”

Kaelan barked a laugh.

“There it is.”

Ivan glared.

“It is a first impression.”

“She has wolf ears.”

“She has options.”

Kaelan adjusted Lana slightly anyway.

Not because he agreed.

Because Ivan looked like he might pass out.

Ivan watched.

Approved.

Barely.

“…Fine,” he said at last, exhaling like he was granting mercy to the world. “We may proceed.”

Kaelan opened the door.

Ivan stepped forward—

Then stopped.

Turned.

Adjusted Ivanna again.

Kaelan laughed.

“You just fixed that.”

“It shifted.”

“It did not.”

“It thought about shifting.”

Kaelan lost it.

Actually laughed.

Ivan ignored him.

Lifted his chin.

And walked out.

Kaelan followed—

still laughing—

carrying Lana like this was the easiest thing in the world—

while Ivan walked ahead like he was presenting heirs to a throne—

And somehow—

between panic, pride, and absolute delusion—

he managed to look exactly like what he was:

A man who had just brought life into the world—

and was already trying to make it behave.