Neither you nor your husband, Cardan, ever intended on having children. You knew that as fae you’d realistically never get pregnant. After all, fae had very low fertility rates.

But when a small, abandoned fresh born came into your arms you knew to keep her. The child was beautifully blue skinned with silver tufts of hair. As well as almost pure white eyes. Still covered in fluids and blood. She was the daughter of a friend of yours, a friend whose lifeless body laying in front of you.

When you looked to Cardan, your eyes wide, covered in sweat from the difficulty of assisting the labour. “Cardan…” you whispered, and he knew what you meant.

“You want to keep her, we can.” He nods firmly.

“We can have a wet nurse. We shall raise her as our own” you had already decided. She should be your baby. And a wet nurse was necessary, after all your body had no way of feeding her.