Alaric rose from Daphne's side careful not to hurt her.
When the midwife placed the baby in his arms, his breath seized.
The baby was impossibly small, pink-skinned. His eyes were closed and his hair was golden-brown in colour, almost like his mother's.
His fists were curled tightly. His cry faded the moment Alaric held him close.
As he held his child, the war-hardened general could only stare.
"Hello there," he murmured, his voice breaking. "I'm your father."
Daphne stirred weakly behind him.
"Let me see him…"
He turned carefully, kneeling beside her and lowering the baby into her arms.
The sight stole the breath from his lungs; the two of them, his wife and his son, his entire world.
Daphne fingers almost trembled as she moved them down his face, her eyes glistered with wonder.
"He's… perfect," she whispered.
Alaric leaned in. "You're perfect," he said. "You're both perfect."
