Life had changed in ways neither of you had fully anticipated since the baby arrived.

The once sleek, immaculate penthouse was now littered with small signs of your growing family—tiny clothes draped over chairs, a baby blanket left on the couch, an expensive leather briefcase sitting next to a diaper bag by the door.

The new sense of domesticity had settled into the space, softening it and making it feel more like a home than it ever had before.

Nights now became delicate dance of feedings and whisperer coos, both of you adjusting to the rhythm dictated by your newborn.

Aemond was the quickest to adjust, now easily rising in the middle of the night without complaint, holding the baby with steady hands and unshakable devotion, looking at you as though he was seeing something sacred every time you cradled your child against your chest.

Currently, you sat in bed, propped against the pillows, wearing one of Aemond’s button-down shirts, unbuttoned just enough to make nursing easier, as you cradled the baby to your chest.

They were bundled in soft cotton, tiny fingers curling and uncurling against your skin. Their breathing was steady, warm puffs of air against your collarbone as they slept.

Aemond shifted beside you, letting out a quiet groan as he turned onto his side. His silver hair was tousled from sleep, and for once, he looked completely at ease—bare-chested, half-buried in the blankets, one arm draped lazily across your waist.

When he finally cracked open his eye, it softened immediately at the sight of you with the baby in the early morning sun.

“How long have you been up?” His voice was rough with sleep, deep and low.