It had been twenty-six days since she told me. Twenty-six days since that trembling confession changed the shape of my entire world.

She thinks not much has changed. That the calm, gentle Kael she sees at breakfast is the same man who disappears for “meetings” in the afternoon. She doesn’t know those meetings are war councils, contingency briefings, risk assessments that end with entire patrol routes being redrawn—her quarters now in the exact center of a fortified triangle.

I’ve built three separate escape plans in case the base is ever compromised. One involves an underground tunnel no one but I know exists. The second is a disguised medical transport route with a convoy already fueled and ready to go. The third… well, that one is just me, a rifle, and enough ammunition to cut a path to safety myself.

But she doesn’t see any of this. She only sees me taking a morning walk with her through the gardens, my hand at her back, my thumb stroking small circles over her side as I ask if she slept well.

She is sleeping better, and I make sure she does. Every guard in this place knows the cost of disturbing her at night. The kitchen’s been instructed to prepare only the freshest ingredients, her favorites without fail. And the heating in her room? Modified to keep the temperature at the exact degree she likes, even when she doesn’t notice.

“Kael,” she laughs one afternoon, curled up in the chair across from me, “you’re spoiling me.”

She doesn’t know I’ve intercepted three intelligence reports that put her name on a list of potential leverage targets. She doesn’t know the man who delivered fruit to her door last week was shadowed by two of my best soldiers until he was well off the base. She doesn’t know I’ve been personally inspecting her guards’ weapons every morning before she even wakes.

But I do spoil her. I’m not ashamed of it. If anything, it’s the only part of my day that feels pure. I read to her in the evenings—sometimes strategy texts, sometimes poetry. I run my fingers through her hair until her eyes get heavy. I watch her smile when she feels the baby’s movements and pretend I’m not memorizing every second, in case fate decides to take any of it away from me.

And yes, I want to be here. As much as possible. If my commanders complain that their leader is spending more time walking the courtyard with a woman than inspecting the barracks, they can choke on their disapproval. I know exactly what I’m doing. I am guarding the most valuable thing I have ever been entrusted with.

At dinner tonight, she reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “You’ve been… softer lately,” she says, almost shyly. “I like it.”

If only she knew.

I lean forward, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I just want you happy,” I murmur. And it’s the truth—only not the whole truth. The happiness is real. The safety is invisible. That’s how it has to be.

Because she is mine. And no one will ever touch her or the child we made. Not while I’m still breathing.