Chapter 26: Royal Lullabies
Sleep was a black, bottomless pool. Rowan sank into it gratefully, the aches and fears of his body dissolving into nothing. For a time, there was only silence and weightlessness.
The sound that pulled him back was a vibration more than a noise. A deep, resonant rumble that seemed to emanate from the stone itself. It wasn't threatening. It was steady, rhythmic, almost like a massive engine idling.
Rowan surfaced slowly, blinking in the low light. He was disoriented, his body one solid ache. Then he remembered. The birth. The attack. Kai.
He turned his head on the fur pillow.
Mark was still in the chair, but he was no longer reclining. He sat bolt upright, stiff as a statue, his eyes wide with a kind of horrified panic. In his arms, held at a careful, rigid distance from his body, was a squirming bundle of blankets. From it came thin, reedy whimpers.
Kai was crying.
Mark looked like he was defusing a bomb. His enormous hands were splayed under the blanket, completely immobile, as if the slightest movement might break something. The low rumble was coming from him—a pure, instinctive Alpha response to a distressed pup. But the man attached to the instinct appeared utterly lost.
"Uh," Mark said, to the crying bundle. He jiggled his arms a fraction. The crying hitched, then continued. "Shh."
The command, usually so effective on warriors and courtiers, had zero effect on his newborn son. Mark’s brow furrowed. He tried a different tone, lower, more pleading. "Please stop."
A weak laugh escaped Rowan before he could stop it. It hurt his stomach, but it was worth it.
Mark’s head snapped toward him, blue eyes flashing with relief and embarrassment. "He started. I didn’t wake him. I just… he started, and I picked him up. Was that wrong?"
"He's probably hungry," Rowan said, pushing himself up on his elbows. Every muscle protested. "Or needs changing. Here."
He held out his arms. Mark crossed the short distance and deposited Kai into them with unmistakable relief, his big hands lingering for a second to ensure the transfer was secure. The moment Kai was against Rowan’s chest, the whimpering quieted to a soft fussing.
"See?" Rowan murmured, adjusting his tunic. "You just have to listen."
Mark didn't return to the chair. He hovered at the edge of the dais, watching intently as Rowan nursed Kai. The frantic energy from before was gone, replaced by a focus so absolute it was unnerving. He watched the way Rowan’s thumb stroked Kai’s cheek, the way the tiny fingers splayed against his skin. He didn't speak.
After a few minutes, Rowan broke the silence. "You’re good at that. The rumbling. It helped, I think. Before he really started crying."
Mark glanced at his own chest, as if surprised by the noise it had made. "It’s automatic. Can’t control it around a crying pup." He said it like a confession of weakness.
"It’s nice," Rowan said softly. He was too tired for filters. "Makes this place feel less… shiny and cold."
Mark’s eyes swept the sterile silver walls, the clinical gleam of the fixtures. His nose wrinkled slightly. "It’s a hospital room. Not a nursery. We’ll move you to proper quarters tomorrow. Somewhere with windows. And a door that locks from the inside."
The promise, delivered in that gravelly, matter-of-fact tone, sent another wave of that fragile warmth through Rowan. He looked down at Kai’s peaceful face. "Okay."
He must have dozed off again, because the next thing he knew, Kai was being gently lifted from his slack arms. He jerked awake, a spike of panic lancing through him.
"It’s just me," Mark’s voice was a low hum. He had Kai cradled against his shoulder, one broad hand supporting the baby’s head with a surprising tenderness. He was pacing a short, slow path along the foot of the dais. "He was finished. You were asleep. Keep resting."
Rowan watched him through heavy eyelids. Mark’s pacing was deliberate, a patrol in miniature. His head was bent, his nose almost touching the fine hair on Kai’s head. He was breathing in the scent of his son, deep and slow. The stern lines of his face had softened into something unfamiliar. Awe, maybe. And a profound, bewildered kind of pride.
"He has your nose," Rowan mumbled into the furs.
Mark stopped pacing. He looked at Rowan, then carefully tilted Kai to study his face. "He has your eyes. The color. Amber."
"How can you tell? They’re all squinty."
"I can tell," Mark stated, with absolute authority. He resumed his pacing. After two more laps, he spoke again, the words seeming to come from far away. "James cleared the west wing. The ones who got inside were a distraction. The main force was trying to tunnel under the east wall. They’re all dealt with."
Dealt with. Rowan heard the unspoken finality in the phrase. He thought of the blood on Mark’s hands, the savage focus in his eyes when he’d burst into the birth chamber. A shiver that had nothing to do with cold traced his spine.
"You knew," Rowan said quietly. "You knew they’d come for him. That’s why you were here."
Mark didn’t deny it. His hand moved in a slow circle on Kai’s back. "A king’s heir is a target. An omega-born heir, perceived as weakness, is a greater one. I knew they’d try. I didn’t know when." His jaw tightened. "I almost wasn’t fast enough."
The guilt was back, thickening his voice. Rowan understood it now. It wasn’t just about protection; it was a fault line in Mark’s perception of his own power. He’d calculated every threat, but the variables—Rowan’s early labor, the precise point of attack—had nearly cost everything.
"You were fast enough," Rowan said, with more force than he intended. "We’re here. He’s here."
Mark finally stopped his ceaseless movement. He stood in the middle of the room, a giant holding the smallest possible promise of the future, and looked at Rowan—really looked at him. Not as an omega, or a responsibility, but as the person who had just stated a simple, undeniable truth.
"Yeah," Mark breathed, the word almost soundless. "You are."
A comfortable silence settled, filled only by Kai’s soft, snuffling breaths. Rowan felt sleep tugging at him again, but he fought it, wanting to live in this strange, quiet moment just a little longer. Mark eventually sat back in the chair, this time letting Kai rest on his chest. The baby curled into the heat, a tiny knot against the vast landscape of his father.
Rowan was on the cusp of dreams when Mark spoke again, his voice rumbling through the dark.
"We’ll call him Kai, then."
Rowan’s eyes fluttered open. He’d chosen the name weeks ago, in the quiet of his mind, never daring to say it aloud. "You don’t mind?"
"It’s a strong name. Means ‘sea’ in some of the old tongues." Mark paused. "He will need to be strong. But not today."
Today, he was just a pup, sleeping on his father’s chest in a room that still smelled of antiseptic and old blood. Today, that was enough.
Outside the double doors, Rowan could just make out the faint shift of boots on marble—the guards changing shift. The world and its dangers were moving on, planning, plotting. But in here, for these few precious hours, a different kind of order was being established. One built not on fear, but on the steady rhythm of three hearts, slowly learning to beat in time.