Extra Chapter 12 – The Name of the Heir (POV Rhydian)
The fire in our chamber burned low, casting flickering shadows against the stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of smoldering wood, moonflowers from the garden below, and something softer—the warmth of home.
Luna sat beside me, cradling our daughter in her arms, her fingers tracing absentminded patterns along the soft fabric of the swaddle. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the light whenever she moved, and her eyes—gods, those eyes—were softer now, filled with something I was still learning to name.
Love.
She had always loved fiercely, but this was different. Deeper.
It was a love that rewrote the very foundation of who we were.
And it terrified me.
Not because I feared what it meant, but because it was fragile. Because I had spent my life ensuring that nothing and no one could hurt the things I loved.
But how do you protect something so small?
My gaze drifted to our daughter.
She was sleeping soundly in Luna's arms, her tiny lips parted, her breath soft and steady. The weight of her existence pressed against my ribs, and for the first time since she had been born, I allowed myself to acknowledge the truth that had been clawing at my chest.
I had no idea how to be a father.
I had led armies, fought wars, built a kingdom from nothing but blood and steel. But this? This tiny, delicate life?
It undid me.
Luna must have sensed the storm in my thoughts, because she shifted slightly, adjusting the baby against her chest before looking up at me.
"We need to name her," she said softly.
I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. "I know."
Silence stretched between us, broken only by the occasional pop of the firewood and the distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs beyond the castle walls.
Luna adjusted her hold on our daughter, her thumb brushing over her cheek with infinite tenderness. "I want something that means hope," she murmured. "Something that speaks of light, of new beginnings."
Hope.
I clenched my jaw, glancing toward the balcony doors where the moonlight poured in, silver and cold. Hope was something I had never dared to hold onto, not fully. Not until her.
Not until them.
"What do you have in mind?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.
Luna hesitated, her brows drawing together. "I don't know yet."
I reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "It should be strong," I murmured. "Something that carries weight. Something worthy of her."
Luna tilted her head, considering me. "You mean something that sounds like it belongs to the heir of the kingdom."
I didn't deny it.
She sighed, a soft, knowing sound. "She is more than just our heir, Rhydian. She is our daughter first."
I swallowed hard.
She was right, of course. But I had spent so long preparing for the weight of the crown, for the expectations, for the legacy. It was difficult to separate the two.
Luna's fingers brushed against mine. "I know you want her to be strong," she said gently. "But strength is more than just power. It's more than war and strategy. Strength is kindness. It's resilience. It's love."
I closed my eyes for a brief moment, letting her words settle into the deepest parts of me.
Luna had always seen the world differently than I did. Where I saw threats, she saw possibilities. Where I built walls, she opened doors.
And our daughter—our daughter would carry both of us within her.
"Tell me about your mother," Luna said suddenly.
My chest tightened. "What?"
"You never talk about her," she continued, her voice cautious, as if testing the boundaries of a wound neither of us could see. "I know she meant something to you."
I let out a slow breath, leaning back against the headboard.
"My mother was fierce," I admitted. "She was not a queen, but she carried herself like one. She ruled our home with quiet strength, the kind that didn't need to be proven."
Luna listened, her fingers still tracing idle patterns against our daughter's blanket.
"She always told me that names carry power," I continued. "That what we call someone shapes the way the world sees them."
Luna hummed softly, thoughtful. "And what did she name you for?"
I let out a rough chuckle. "Rhydian means fireborn."
Luna arched a brow. "How fitting."
I smirked. "She always said I was born in the middle of a storm. That I came into this world fighting, and that I would never stop."
Luna's lips parted slightly, her expression softening. "She was right."
I reached for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. "Tell me about your mother."
Luna's eyes darkened with something older than time. "She was... different," she admitted. "She saw things others couldn't. She believed in fate, in destiny."
"And you?"
She exhaled. "I believe in choice."
I nodded, understanding her more than she probably realized.
Silence stretched between us again, but it wasn't empty this time. It was filled with memories, with ghosts of the past, with promises of the future.
Then, Luna looked down at our daughter, a slow smile curling at her lips.
"Aurora," she murmured.
The name settled in the air between us, light as a whisper, heavy as fate.
I inhaled sharply, the syllables curling around my ribs. "Aurora," I echoed, testing the weight of it on my tongue.
Luna glanced up at me. "It means dawn."
Dawn.
Hope.
A new beginning.
It was perfect.
I looked down at our daughter, at the way the firelight danced across her tiny features. "Aurora," I murmured again, this time softer, reverent.
Luna smiled.
Something inside me shifted.
The world was still dangerous. The kingdom was still filled with threats I would spend my life guarding against. But here, in this moment, in this room, there was only us.
And there was her.
Aurora.