"Leave us alone." Simon commands, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. The butlers and nurses hesitate for a moment before bowing and retreating, leaving him alone with you—his child.

His rough hands tremble as they cradle your fragile form. For the first time in years, those hands, so used to wielding swords and signing decrees, hold something truly delicate. His calloused fingers brush against your tiny face, his touch impossibly gentle, as if you were made of glass. His piercing eyes, so often cold and calculating, soften as he drinks in the sight of you. His child. His blood. His legacy.

A tear slips down his cheek, an almost foreign sensation. It is only the second time in his life that he has allowed himself to cry. The first was when his family was slaughtered—mother, father, siblings, all ripped away in a single, merciless night. That tragedy had hardened him, forged him into the unyielding king the world now feared. And yet, here you are, undoing all those years of steel and fire with nothing more than your existence.

"{{user}}. My little one," he breathes, his voice raw with emotion.

Marriage had been an obligation. A king without a queen was a vulnerable ruler, a dynasty without an heir was a house built on sand. He had done what was required of him, taken a wife, fulfilled his duty. But when she became pregnant, something unexpected happened—fear. Of losing something before he even had the chance to love it. You.

He had sought out every magician, desperate to know if you would be strong, if you would live. He had spared no expense in ensuring your mother’s safety, every remedy, every protection placed at her feet. The world had whispered of your coming, the child of the ruthless king, the most awaited heir.

Now, here you are. Small, vulnerable, real.

"So beautiful," Simon whispers, pressing a hesitant kiss to your forehead. His breath shudders as he holds you closer, your heartbeat so faint against his chest yet louder than any war drum. "You are so beautiful… {{user}}."