Chapter 599: Daughter

Dean understood Caeus immediately.

Not the enigma part, nor the possibility that something old enough to have forgotten whether Caeus was even its real name had been sleeping beneath Alamina for centuries while generations of infected creatures built an entire existence around the forest above him.

The sleeping part.

That made perfect sense.

"He gets three questions because he wants to go back to sleep," Dean repeated from beneath the blanket, his voice muffled against the pillow. "Reasonable. I respect him."

Arion stood near the foot of their bed, removing his watch after returning from the northern expedition less than an hour earlier. He had already showered, washing away the damp earth and forest from his skin, and changed into loose brown trousers and an ivory shirt that remained unbuttoned at the throat.

"He ignored Dominic and several generations of infected elders."

"Because they were bothering him."

"He reached for our son."

"Theo probably bothered him more effectively."

Arion paused.

Dean opened one violet eye.

"You know I’m right."

Unfortunately, Theo had inherited persistence in quantities neither parent could reasonably deny.

At five, he had opinions about breakfast, clothing, books, which palace corridors were unnecessarily long, whether Boreas needed another blanket, and why his wooden dragon should be permitted on formal dining chairs if people were allowed decorative centerpieces.

An ancient creature trying to sleep through centuries had never stood a chance.

Dean pulled the blanket higher.

"I also want to be left alone for several hundred years."

"You have a meeting at eleven."

"I reject it."

"Your birthday planning at one."

"I reject that more."

Arion sat on the edge of the mattress.

Dean immediately shifted until his head rested against Arion’s thigh.

The movement brought vetiver closer, which his stomach continued to consider one of the few acceptable smells in existence.

Pregnancy had become deeply unreasonable.

Again.

Their daughter or son—whichever tiny creature currently occupied Dean’s uterus—apparently disliked coffee before noon, fried food at all hours, citrus tea, roasted meat, most perfumes, and one specific soap used in the eastern palace bathrooms.

Dean had vomited because Otto opened a container of smoked cheese three rooms away.

Arion’s scent, fortunately, remained safe.

Possibly because Dean’s body possessed some survival instinct.

Arion threaded his fingers through Dean’s pale hair.

"You slept nine hours."

"I’m pregnant."

"You also slept with Theo yesterday afternoon."

"He was tired."

"You fell asleep first."

Dean closed his eyes.

"That is irrelevant."

His birthday was approaching quickly, bringing with it the announcement that Otto and Minerva intended to retire and hand an empire over to Dean and Arion over the following year.

Apparently, the public deserved to receive this information while celebrating Dean’s birth.

Dean remained unconvinced.

The communications office had sent him three versions of the schedule that morning.

He hated all three.

One included the phrase symbolic transition between generations.

Dean had written absolutely not beside it and sent the document back.

Pregnancy had once again eliminated whatever small diplomatic filter he possessed.

Minerva blamed hormones.

Dean blamed bad writing.

Both could be correct.

His phone vibrated on the bedside table.

Arion reached for it before Dean moved.

"Seven."

Dean pushed himself upright, rearranging the pillows behind his back while Arion opened the message. His still-flat abdomen disappeared beneath a loose cream sleep shirt, though Dean’s hand settled over it instinctively anyway.

The prenatal screening had been routine.

Everything Seven could evaluate this early looked normal, which mattered far more than anything else.

The sex had been optional.

Dean had requested it immediately.

Not because he cared which answer they received.

He simply hated unanswered questions when the answer already existed somewhere in a laboratory.

Arion opened the report.

Dean watched his face.

Nothing.

His husband could stare down armed councils and corrupted beasts without betraying a thought, and apparently laboratory results about their unborn child received the same treatment.

Dean nudged his thigh.

"Stop reading everything before the part I care about."

"I’m checking the medical results."

"Seven already called yesterday and told us they were normal."

"I prefer reading them."

"You are becoming Victor."

That earned him a look.

Dean leaned closer until their shoulders touched.

Arion scrolled.

His thumb stopped.

Dean immediately noticed.

"Well?"

A very small smile appeared at the corner of Arion’s mouth.

That was all Dean needed to know that whatever the screen said had pleased him, although either answer would have done that.

Arion turned the phone toward him.

Dean read the line.

Female.

For a moment, his mind went surprisingly quiet.

Not because he had expected a boy.

Theo had never created an expectation that another child should resemble him, and Dean had spent very little time imagining secondary characteristics beyond healthy fingers, healthy organs, and preferably a pregnancy that stopped making him vomit eventually.

A girl.

Their daughter.

Dean’s hand moved across his abdomen again.

"Oh."

Arion watched him.

Dean read the line once more, purely because seeing it written made the idea settle differently.

"We’re having a daughter."

Arion’s smile deepened.

His hand covered Dean’s where it rested against his stomach, broad and warm over Dean’s fingers.

"A daughter."

Dean looked at him.

There was something almost absurdly soft in Arion’s face now, the same expression Dean remembered from years earlier when he first placed newborn Theo into his arms and watched a man capable of controlling monsters become terrified of holding something too gently.

Dean smiled.

"You wanted a girl."

"I wanted this child."

"That was carefully phrased."

"It was accurate."

Dean believed him.

Arion had never cared about gender. He had cared about Seven’s results, Dean’s scar, hormone levels, nausea, hydration, and whether Dean was getting enough sleep between the imperial transition and a five-year-old who still occasionally decided his parents’ bed was better than his own.

The rest was curiosity.

Exactly like Dean.

He leaned his head against Arion’s shoulder.

"Theo is going to lose his mind."

"He believes being an older brother gives him teaching authority."

"He prepared a curriculum."

Arion sighed.

Dean laughed quietly.

Theo’s list still existed in one of the family-room drawers.

A knock sounded against the connecting door before it opened several inches.

Theo’s dark head appeared through the gap.

"Papa?"

Dean looked toward Arion.

Arion looked back.

They had intended to wait until dinner.

Apparently privacy continued to be theoretical.

Theo entered carrying his wooden dragon beneath one arm, still dressed from his morning lessons in navy trousers and a soft green sweater. His gold eyes moved between his parents immediately.

"You look happy."

Dean held out a hand.

Theo came to the bed and climbed up between them, placing Dragon carefully beside the pillows before settling against Dean’s side.

Dean brushed the hair away from his forehead.

"We found out something about the baby."

Theo’s attention sharpened.

Dean smiled.

"You’re getting a little sister."

Theo stared at him.

His gaze dropped toward Dean’s stomach, where it remained for several seconds.

"A girl?"

"A girl."

The smile arrived slowly.

Bright enough that Dean felt his chest tighten.

"I can teach her."

Arion closed his eyes.

Dean started laughing.

Their daughter had existed as known information for less than five minutes, and her education had already been assigned.

Dean looked down at Theo pressed against his side, at Arion beside them with one hand still resting over Dean’s stomach, and decided Caeus could keep his centuries of sleep.

Dean would have appreciated a week.

He would have settled for an uninterrupted afternoon.

But this was better.