For hours, the master bedroom of the Iron-Wood Manor remained cocooned in a heavy, exhausted silence.
Fedor fed with desperate hunger as Roxy remained perfectly still against the pillows, her body surrendering entirely to the monumental task of sustaining her son. The rhythmic, soothing pull of his feeding, combined with the emotional drain of the past week, eventually dragged her down into a deep, dreamless slumber.
She woke slowly, pulled from the dark by the faint, agonizingly slow creak of the doors being pushed open.
Roxy blinked, her brilliant green eyes adjusting to the dim, shifting light of the late afternoon sun filtering through the frost-covered windows. She looked down at her chest.
Little Fedor was fast asleep. The tiny prince lay entirely vertical against her bare skin, his small, rhythmic breaths warming her collarbone.
She didn't remember when she woke up to adjust him.
