Extra Chapter 11 – The First Night as Parents (POV Luna)
The castle was silent.
Not the kind of silence that brought peace, but the kind that trembled with anticipation—like the stillness before a storm.
I lay in our massive bed, my body aching, my mind restless despite the exhaustion that weighed on me like a thick fog. My arms felt empty even though just hours ago, they had cradled the most precious thing in the world.
Our daughter.
She slept now, nestled in the cradle beside our bed, swaddled in the softest linens the kingdom could provide. I could hear her tiny breaths, fragile yet steady, the rhythm lulling but not enough to calm the storm inside me.
I was a mother.
The realization kept hitting me in waves, each time stronger than the last. I was no longer just Luna, no longer just Rhydian's mate and queen. There was another life tethered to mine now, one so small and delicate, and I was responsible for her.
And gods, the weight of it threatened to crush me.
I turned onto my side, watching the outline of Rhydian beside me. He lay on his back, bare-chested, one arm thrown over his forehead. I knew he wasn't asleep.
He had barely closed his eyes since our daughter was born, his protective instincts keeping him on edge. I had seen it in the way he hovered as the midwives checked on me, the way his hands shook ever so slightly when he held our child for the first time.
He was strong—fierce and unyielding in battle. But tonight, he was something else.
Soft.
Vulnerable.
A father.
A sudden whimper shattered the fragile quiet.
My breath caught.
I sat up instantly, my pulse leaping, panic surging through my veins before I could think.
The cradle rocked slightly as our daughter stirred, her tiny face scrunching, her little fingers curling into fists. Then came the cry—a thin, reedy wail that sent something primal shooting through my heart.
She needed me.
I reached out, but before I could lift her, strong hands beat me to it.
Rhydian was already moving, already cradling her against his chest with a fluid grace that would have been enviable if I weren't so overwhelmed by everything.
"Shh, little one," he murmured, his voice hushed but deep, the rumble of it soothing. He swayed slightly, his bare feet gliding over the cold marble floor as he rocked her gently.
I watched, my breath catching as the cries softened—just a little.
"She's so small," I whispered.
Rhydian turned toward me, his dark eyes shadowed with exhaustion but still filled with something achingly tender. "She is," he agreed, his voice thick with emotion. "But she's strong."
I swallowed hard. "What if I do something wrong?"
He blinked, surprised by my question.
"I don't know how to do this," I admitted, my voice breaking. "I don't know how to be a mother."
Rhydian's brows furrowed. He came back to the bed, settling beside me with our daughter still in his arms. The warmth of them, the sheer presence of them both, made my throat tighten.
He reached for my hand, threading his fingers through mine.
"We'll learn," he said simply.
I looked down at our daughter's tiny face, her delicate features relaxed now, her breathing soft and steady. She was so perfect—so impossibly perfect. And I was terrified.
"What if—" My voice wavered. "What if I fail her?"
Rhydian exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "Luna," he murmured, tilting his head until our foreheads touched. "You won't."
I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing him in. "How do you know?"
"Because I know you," he said without hesitation. "I know your heart. I know the way you love." He pulled back slightly, pressing a kiss to my temple. "You are already everything she needs."
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it.
He saw. Of course, he saw.
He shifted, handing our daughter to me with infinite care, as though she were made of moonlight and mist. "Hold her," he urged softly. "Just hold her."
I took her, cradling her against me, feeling the soft rise and fall of her tiny chest, the way she nestled instinctively into my warmth.
And just like that, the fear didn't disappear—but it dulled.
"She loves you already," Rhydian whispered. "The way she calms in your arms... she knows you."
I let out a trembling breath, running my fingers over the wisps of dark hair on her head. My heart ached with how much I loved her, how much I would always love her.
Rhydian shifted beside me, settling back against the pillows, watching us with something reverent in his gaze.
"She's going to wake us up a lot, isn't she?" I murmured, a weak laugh slipping from my lips.
Rhydian smirked. "Most likely."
Another small sound came from our daughter, a tiny whimper as she stirred.
Instinctively, I rocked her, humming softly. It was a melody I barely remembered, something from my childhood—a lullaby I hadn't thought of in years. But as I sang, I felt her relax again, her breathing evening out.
Rhydian watched, his expression unreadable, but the warmth in his eyes told me everything.
"She's going to be stubborn," he said eventually.
I arched a brow. "Like her father?"
His lips twitched. "I was going to say like her mother."
A soft chuckle escaped me, and for the first time since she was born, the weight in my chest loosened just a little.
The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting a golden glow over us. The moon outside was high and full, its silver light spilling through the balcony doors, illuminating the room in a dreamlike haze.
And in the middle of it all, Rhydian reached for me again, his palm warm against my thigh. "We'll figure it out," he murmured, his voice low, steady. "Together."
I met his gaze, finding my anchor there.
And as I looked down at the tiny, perfect being in my arms, I realized—
We already were.