He gave a slight, almost regal nod.
Steeling herself, she walked further into the cell, every movement feeling hyper-aware under his intense, silent scrutiny. She could feel his gaze like a physical weight on her back as she bent to place the tray on the stool. The air around him was cold, carrying a faint, clean scent of ozone and frost, a stark contrast to the damp mildew of the dungeon.
As she straightened up, his voice came again, laced with a subtle, mocking amusement. "Is it poisoned?"
Anger, hot and familiar, flared within her, burning away the last of her awkwardness. She spun to face him, her eyes flashing. "What? Do you think we would stoop so low? We are not you. We have honor."
He chuckled then, a low, rich sound that was strangely pleasant, which only infuriated her more. "Honor. A fascinating concept. It often gets in the way of practicality, don't you find? Your 'honor' keeps me alive, when a quick death would be far more… practical for your safety."
"We are not executioners of bound prisoners," she retorted, crossing her arms. "And your death would tell us nothing. Your life, however, might."
"Ah," he said, his silver eyes glinting. "So I am to be a source of information. And you think a bowl of stew will loosen my tongue?"
"I think a bowl of stew is what one living being offers another so they don't starve. The state of your tongue is your own concern."
A genuine smile, small and sharp, touched his lips. It transformed his face, making him look even more dangerously attractive. " I wondered if the battle had burned all the spirit out of you. It is good to see it has not."
"Don't act like you know me," Alexa snapped, taking a step back towards the door. The conversation was straying into dangerous territory. He was engaging her, disarming her with words as effectively as he ever had with a blade.
"I know of you," he corrected softly, his gaze drifting to the crook of her neck. His eyes were now dark.
He took a small step forward, the chains pulling taut with a soft clink. "Tell me, Alexa, may I call you Alexa? Does it ever frighten you? The Power inside? The knowledge that one misstep, one moment of rage, and you could take down everything you are trying to protect?"
His words struck a chord so deep and so true that she felt a chill that had nothing to do with the dungeon's cold. It was a fear she harbored in the quietest hours of the night, a secret terror she had never voiced to her brother or mother, who saw her power only as strength.
She refused to let him see it. "My control is not your concern. Enjoy your meal. It's likely the last warm one you'll get for a while."
She turned and walked out of the cell, her spine straight, refusing to look back. As the guards swung the heavy door shut and locked it, she heard his voice, barely a whisper, yet it carried perfectly to her ears.
"Until next time, kitten."
---
The ride to the city for the ante-natal checkup was a study in harmony. Ren drove the sleek, black automobile with a quiet, focused efficiency, the powerful engine a low purr against the backdrop of rolling green hills recovering from the recent conflict. The morning sun was bright, washing the world in a clean, hopeful light.
In the backseat, Allison and Beatrice sat side-by-side. Beatrice, who had been so tightly wound the night before, seemed to have relaxed slightly, soothed by Allison's presence and the simple normality of the outing.
"Are you nervous?" Allison asked, glancing at Beatrice's hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap.
Beatrice let out a slow breath. "A little. It's… different this time. With Tianlei, it was all so… fraught. There was so much fear." Her eyes flickered towards Ren's profile in the rearview mirror, a complex history passing silently between them in that glance. "This time, I want it to be about hope. About… joy."
"It will be," Allison said firmly, placing a reassuring hand over Beatrice's. "We'll make sure of it."
Ren's eyes met Beatrice's in the mirror again, and this time, he held her gaze for a long moment. There was no smile, but the usual harsh lines of his face had softened into an expression of quiet intensity. It was a look of commitment, of a man silently swearing to protect the hope she carried.
The clinic was a clean, modern building. The midwife, a kind woman named Elara, was efficient and gentle. She examined them both, her hands skilled and reassuring.
"Everything looks perfect," Elara said to Allison, smiling as she listened to the baby's heartbeat with a small device. The rapid, rhythmic whoosh-whoosh-whoosh filled the room, a sound of profound, miraculous life. Allison eyes welled with tears, and she gripped Lucian's hand, he had insisted on arriving separately to meet them there, unable to stay away.
When it was Beatrice's turn, she lay on the examination table, her face a mask of anxious anticipation. Ren stood by her head, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed on the screen as Elara performed the ultrasound. When the grainy, black-and-white image appeared, showing a tiny, bean-shaped form with a flickering little heartbeat, Beatrice gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Ren's breath caught. He leaned closer, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the table. He said nothing, but the look on his face was one of pure, unadulterated awe. It was the first time Beatrice had ever seen him look truly vulnerable.
"A strong heartbeat," Elara confirmed warmly. "You're about four weeks along. Everything is progressing exactly as it should."
" What is that ?" Lucian asked as he looked intently at the ultrasound. Elara looked closer and her eyes popped out.
" Congratulations once again," she turned to Beatrice. "It's a twin."
" Ha.." Allison's mouth was left agape. Beatrice was overjoyed, Ren was speechless.
As they left the clinic, the world seemed brighter, the future less daunting. They stopped at a small café, sitting at an outdoor table under a striped awning. Lucian ordered tea and pastries, and for a precious hour, they were just two couples, two families, expecting children. They talked about names, laughed about Tianlei's suggestion of "Thunder," and made plans for the nurseries.
It was a perfect, peaceful interlude. A balm on the wounds of the difficulties in their lives.
But as Ren drove them back towards the estate, the green hills giving way to the familiar, fortified walls, the real world began to seep back in. Beatrice's hand rested on her still-flat stomach, a protective gesture, her thoughts likely on the son she already had, the one with a terrifying power sleeping within him.
They pulled through the main gates, the shadow of the great house falling over them. The war was not over. Elarian was still out there. A dangerous prisoner was in their basement. And a little boy held unimaginable power at his young age.