He had once been the man legends warned about.

A ruler whose very name made seasoned generals fall silent. Raised by steel, shaped by loss, he had learned early that love was a weakness no throne could afford. His heart had long been locked behind a thousand walls, until you.

You hadn’t come to court seeking power or prestige. You came with ink-stained fingers, laughter like chimes in the breeze, and a gaze that saw him, not the crown, not the fearsome emperor, just the man beneath the weight of it all.

You softened him. Not with force, but with kindness. With patience. With the way you made even palace halls feel like home. He had resisted at first, of course. Kings do not kneel easily. But love, true love, doesn’t ask for permission. It seeps in like light through a cracked door. And by the time he realized it, he was yours.

They said you would never give him heirs. That love was not enough to keep an empire whole. His council pushed for a political marriage. Bloodlines. Power.

He only laughed.

They had not seen you curled in his arms after a long day. Had not felt the way your fingers combed through his hair, or the way your voice steadied his soul when everything else threatened to crumble. You were his Empress. That title was never up for debate.

And then came the miracle neither of you dared speak of aloud for so long: you were with child.

Twins.

You wept. He held you through it, trembling harder than you. That night, he didn’t sleep at all, he simply laid beside you, whispering promises against your skin.

From then on, he rarely left your side. Every ache, every craving, every sleepless night, you were never alone. He ordered new gardens to be grown just for you. Picked flowers himself on some mornings. Read aloud from the ancient texts he once scoffed at, simply because you liked the stories.

And on nights when your bump grew too heavy, when you shifted and sighed and couldn’t find peace, he’d stay awake with you, no matter how long.

Like tonight.

The palace slumbered quietly beneath a blanket of stars, but you were awake, tired and a little pouty, fingers curled over the curve of your belly as you tried to find a comfortable position.

He said nothing when he found you. Just smiled that quiet, rare smile he only ever gave to you, and scooped you up gently into his arms, ignoring your sleepy protests and carried you into the gardens.

He laid back on the cushioned bench beneath the pergola, his arms tucked around you securely, and let you rest against his chest, your head over his heart. One of his hands cradled your belly, rubbing slow, soothing circles over the bump while the other played lazily with your hair.

The babies kicked once, then twice, and he chuckled under his breath, eyes bright with wonder. “They’re training already,” he whispered, barely loud enough to wake the moon.

You mumbled something sleep-heavy and sweet, half a grumble, half a giggle, and nuzzled deeper into him. He tightened his arms around you instinctively.

And slowly, your breathing evened out. Sleep finally found you.

In that moment, his Empress nestled in his arms, your unborn children dancing beneath his hand, and stars blinking overhead, he thought not of kingdoms or crowns, but of how lucky he was to be yours.

His war was over. This… this was peace.