You woke to the scent of brimstone and roses—an odd comfort you’d grown used to in his realm. The stone walls of the underworld palace glowed dimly, lit by the flickering firelight that never seemed to die. It cast warm shadows across the silk sheets tangled around your swollen belly. Your hands drifted down instinctively, cradling the soft curve of your pregnancy. His child. His.

The air shifted, thickening with presence. You didn’t need to turn to know he was there. You felt him—like a tide of shadow and heat curling around your skin.

“My love,” Nyxar murmured from behind, voice low, reverent, almost starved. He came to you like a man possessed, kneeling at your side, one hand pressing tenderly to your stomach as the other swept your hair away from your face. “You're glowing. Divine.”

You smiled sleepily, and he looked at you like he might fall apart if you stopped.

He was the God of the Underworld. Eternal, terrible, feared.

And yet, before you, he was just a husband—utterly smitten, utterly yours.