Chapter 219: A Different Kind of Morning

*Runze’s POV*

Something hurts.

Not enough to frighten me or enough to make me panic. But enough to pull me out of sleep.

My eyes stay closed while I try to figure out what’s wrong. The room is warm, the blankets are heavy, and a dull, persistent ache settles low in my abdomen, pressing against me with an uncomfortable weight.

I take a slow breath. The familiar, clean scent surrounding me answers another question before I even ask it.

Bael.

His arm is wrapped securely around my waist, holding me against his chest. For a moment, the physical discomfort fades, my thoughts drifting back to last night. The empty nursery. His raw apology. The way he pressed his cheek against my stomach while promising that we’d figure things out together.

Heat creeps into my face. Then I shift, trying to adjust my legs, and a very different kind of soreness spreads through my body.

My eyes snap open. Right. *That* happened, too.

The sun is already up, bright enough through the curtains to reveal Bael’s shirt tossed over the armchair across the room.

I look away immediately. Absolutely not. I refuse to think about that this early in the morning.

Another wave of discomfort rolls through my lower stomach, and I place my hand over it instinctively. The ache isn’t sharp, and there isn’t any cramping. Nothing feels inherently *wrong*—I know enough by now to recognize that being pregnant comes with more unpleasant surprises than anyone ever warns you about.

Still... I feel exhausted. Completely drained. Even lifting my head feels like an unnecessary expenditure of energy.

Beside me, Bael shifts. His breathing changes, and before I can react, he leans over and presses a quiet kiss to the corner of my mouth.

"Runze." His voice is rough with sleep.

"Hm."

His fingers brush lightly across my stomach, resting right over mine. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing."

Silence.

I open my eyes and look up at him. I know that expression before my vision even clears. It’s the face he makes right before he turns a minor detail into a massive problem.

I close my eyes again. "It’s nothing."

His hand flattens firmly against my robe, right over where my fingers are resting against the curve of my bump. "You’re shifting around. And your face is pale."

"I just woke up," I murmur, trying to keep my voice even.

"Does your stomach hurt?" Bael asks directly, his tone dropping into that low, sharp register he uses when he’s assessing a risk. "Is it cramping?"

I sigh, forced to open my eyes again and face him. "No. It’s not a big deal."

"Is it sharp?" he continues, ignoring my brush-off completely. "Should we call the doctor?"

"Bael, no," I say, taking a breath as I try to soothe the sudden tension radiating from him. "It’s just a dull ache. It’s completely normal for seven months."

He doesn’t look convinced at all. His dark eyes scan my face, searching for any sign that I’m covering up something worse.

"How long has it been aching?" he asks.

"Just since I woke up," I mutter.

The mattress shifts beneath me as he sits up without a word.

"Bael."

He doesn’t answer. He reaches toward the nightstand and hands me a glass of water, waiting silently until I take it. Then he adjusts the pillows behind my back so I’m not lying flat, walks over to pull the curtains closer together to block the glare, and sits back down beside me.

His palm rests against my forehead for a second to check my temperature before sliding down to settle over my bump.

"It’s not serious," I murmur, taking a sip of the water.

"Hm."

"You aren’t listening."

"No."

I can’t help it, a faint laugh slips out. His thumb begins moving in slow, deliberate circles over my sleep shirt.

"You know," I whisper, resting my head back against his arm, "most people say good morning first."

"This is good morning."

"No, this is an interrogation."

His expression doesn’t change at all. "This is a medical assessment."

I roll my eyes. But before I can tease him further, a sharp movement twitches deep inside my lower stomach.

A second later, the baby delivers a firm, unmistakable kick right against Bael’s palm.

My breath catches at the sudden force of it. Bael’s hand completely stops, and his gaze instantly drops down to my bump.

*Thump.*

Another kick hits the exact same spot.

Neither of us says a word. His palm stays glued to my skin, and the entire room falls dead silent.

"Did you feel that?" I whisper.

He doesn’t answer. His dark eyes remain fixed on my stomach, completely transfixed.

"Bael?"

He finally looks up at me, his tone completely serious. "Do it again."

A laugh bubbles up in my throat. "I don’t control them, Bael."

He presses his hand down a little more firmly against my skin, waiting. Nothing. Ten seconds pass. Twenty. Thirty. Complete quiet.

Slowly, almost testing a hypothesis, Bael lifts his palm an inch away from my body.

*Thump.*

The baby immediately kicks hard against the inside of my stomach, right where his hand just was.

I burst into laughter. Bael narrows his eyes at my stomach, his stoic composure cracking into sheer disbelief.

"No," he says quietly.

Thump. Another kick.

I press my lips together, my chest aching from trying to hold back my amusement. "You offended them."

"I did not."

"You definitely did."

His hand settles against my stomach again, firm and stubborn. Complete silence. Nothing happens. His expression darkens in silent debate with an unborn child, while I laugh until my eyes water.

For the first time since waking up, the dull ache in my abdomen doesn’t seem nearly as important.

I lean my weight back against Bael’s chest, closing my eyes as the warm exhaustion settles over me once more. Bael doesn’t move an inch. His broad hand remains exactly where it is, as if moving now might somehow make him miss the next kick.