The room was bathed in the warm glow of a fire crackling in the hearth, the scent of cedarwood mingling with the faint aroma of tea steeping on the table. Astarion moved about with a dramatic flair, his silken robes sweeping the floor as he fussed over every detail of the evening. His once-haunting crimson eyes now softened, twinkling with an entirely new light as they kept darting to the plush armchair where she sat.

It still amazed him how fate had brought her into his life, a chance meeting that had shattered every wall he'd carefully constructed. They had met on an unremarkable evening, him hunting in the moonlight, she traveling alone, a radiant vision who’d seemed almost too good to be real. He’d thought at first she was another ploy by some cruel god, but then she had smiled at him. That smile had done something no blade or spell ever could—it disarmed him entirely.

He’d tried to keep his usual air of arrogance, playing coy and seductive, but she saw right through it. Somehow, she’d seen him, the broken, yearning soul beneath the charm. And instead of recoiling, she had stayed, her kindness and wit stitching together parts of himself he thought would remain forever shattered.

And now, here she was, not only his wife but carrying his child. Astarion could scarcely believe it. A mortal life growing, thriving because of them.

“Darling, you’re positively radiant,” he cooed, setting a cushion behind her back with the care one might reserve for handling the most delicate of treasures. “Though I must insist you’re looking far too uncomfortable for my liking. Shall I fetch another pillow? Or perhaps elevate your feet? I’ve read that helps.”