Chapter 123 Fight

Chapter 123 Baby names

EVANDER POV 
"One of them moved today," Zephyra says softly, her fingers tracing a slow, hypnotic circle over the taut skin of her belly. I go perfectly still, my breath hitching in my throat.
"When?" I ask, my voice dropping to a gravelly whisper.
"During the third petition. The one about the border territories." A small, secret smile pulls at the corner of her mouth.

"I think she didn’t like the man’s voice. He was droning on about tariff hikes, and she gave me a sharp kick right to the ribs."

"She has good instincts already," I murmur, pressing my palm against the spot she indicated. I feel a tiny, fluttering thud against my skin—a connection that defies all logic, all logic that I, a man of cold facts and pharmaceutical empires, usually live by.
Zephyra gives a short, genuine laugh. It’s a sound of pure sunlight, nothing like the measured, guarded responses she gives the council in the Hall. It reminds me of the girl in the forest, the one who saw the world as a playground rather than a battlefield.
"Shouldn't we start choosing names for them?" she asks, her eyes searching mine with a mix of exhaustion and excitement.
I look at her, really look at her. The last two weeks in this palace wing have been a blur of stress, failed intelligence reports regarding the criminal wolf-snatching ring, and the surreal reality of watching my wife bloom into the mother of our heirs. I lie flat on the bed, pulling her head onto my chest so she can hear the steady, rhythmic beat of my heart—her anchor.

"What name do you have prepared?" I ask.
"Nothing," she replies instantly. My brain takes a quick pause then a loud roar set in.
I look down at her face, which is pressed against my collarbone.
"Nothing?" she tilts her head at me.
"Zephyra, we are months away from them being here. You’ve had five months to ponder this."
"Can I choose our baby's name without my husband?" She tilts her head, her hair cascading like spilled silk over my arms.

"I thought this was a team effort." Oh. Ooooh. True. Now I feel bad because I've pondered on so many names.
I press a lingering kiss into her hair, inhaling the intoxicating, floral-musk scent of her pregnancy. It’s a scent that drives me half-mad with protectiveness, but also settles my wolf like nothing else on earth.

"Daybreak, we will visit the royal library. We’ll look through the archives of the ancient Kings and Queens."
She makes a move to sit up, but I nudge her back down, pulling her closer until our heartbeats seem to sync.

"Library? Evander, it’s a name, not a PhD dissertation. We aren't researching history, we’re naming humans."
"They aren't just humans, Zephyra," I correct, my tone sharpening.
"They are Arnaulds. They are the future of our pack. Their names must carry weight. They must hold the history of our ancestors, the strength of the mountains, and the bite of the winter."
She rolls her eyes, but keeps smiling. "Evander, I heard someone call their child 'Black' in Paris. It can be as simple as that. It’s a strong name."
My skin prickles with immediate, visceral rejection.
"I am not naming my child a color. We are not furniture."
"It’s not just a color, it’s a personality!"
"It sounds like a label for darkness, grimness, and chaos," I counter, my jaw tightening.
Her mouth falls open in mock horror.
"So, you wouldn't like 'Wall'? Or perhaps 'Wells'?"
I close my eyes and take a deep, stabilizing breath. She laughs...a loud, uninhibited sound that makes me open my eyes to find her shaking with amusement.

"You really hate the idea of a simple name, don't you?" she notes, her chuckle deepening.
"We are wolves, Zephyra," I say, my voice dropping into an authoritative, low rumble.

"We are not humans. Our children need names that reflect the blood that runs through their veins. They need names that sound like thunder and look like steel."
She sighs, a sound of mock-defeated surrender, and snuggles back into my chest. Her stomach is heavy, her body lush with the miracle of our creation. I watch her, mesmerized by the way the moonlight catches her eyelashes.

"What of 'Shadowbane'?" she murmurs, drifting toward sleep.
"Too dark."
"Nightshade?"
"Do you have a pathological obsession with dark, brooding names, Zephyra?"
"They aren't dark," she whispers, her voice growing thick with fatigue.
"You’re the one classifying them that way. To me, they sound like protection."
I listen to her breathing even out, her hand resting over mine on her belly. I remain awake, watching her, guarding her sleep. I don't tell her that I’ve spent every night since we returned from Paris whispering names to the dark, waiting for one to feel right. I want a name that sounds like the stars she once watched from the trees.

We spend the next two hours listing out names. Well, Zephyra listed and woefully, they all doesn't sit well with me.
She resigned and fell asleep.
I watch her. The way she breathes. Moves closer to me. I take it all in until sleep pulls me in as well