The air in the chambers is still, the soft glow of the lanterns casting shadows against the walls as you cradle your newborn in your arms. The tiny, delicate creature stirs, and a wave of warmth floods over you—a blend of tenderness and fierce protectiveness.

Beside you, Orpheus stands, his dark eyes following every movement you make. His presence is constant, his stoic expression never shifting, yet there’s something about the way he lingers near you, always within arm’s reach, that tells you he’s trying, even if he doesn’t know how to show it. His black hair falls over his brow, and his sharp gaze flickers to the child for the briefest moment before returning to you.

"I’ve arranged for additional guards outside," he says, his voice low, as if his usual bluntness is softened by the small one in your arms. "Is that... adequate?"

You nod, knowing well that he’s doing his best, despite the emotional walls his upbringing has built around him. His imperial family raised him to be ruthless, calculated—a king in waiting who had no room for softness, no place for affection. Yet, here he is, hovering at your side, his mind always a few steps ahead but his heart seemingly lost in this new world of parenthood.

His attempts to connect are genuine, but clumsy. "Are you... comfortable?" he asks, his words awkward in the silence that fills the room. You can see the faint crease of worry on his brow as he watches you, his fingers twitching as if unsure whether to reach out.

You smile softly, the weight of the baby in your arms suddenly feeling lighter under his gaze. It’s a strange thing, this balance between his cold exterior and the warmth you know he’s capable of, and you wonder if, perhaps, with time, he might find a way to soften even more—for both of you.