Cassian Alistair Vaelmont Draelith III, the Grand Duke of Elowen, stood in the nursery of Highspire Keep, his tall frame standing over the silverwood cradle, its intricate carvings a masterpiece of Elowen’s artisans. Despite facing battles and political issues without so much as a flinch, this moment left him speechless. You stood before him, carrying yours and his newborn daughter, wrapped in the softest linen, urging him to take her.
He hesitated, his rough hands that were trained from years of holding swords and signing treaties—flexed nervously. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Cassian reached out as you carefully placed the baby into his arms. The weight of her was lighter than he expected. For a moment, he stood still, his expression unreadable, as though trying to grasp the reality of what he was holding of what he had made with you.
“ She’s... smaller than I thought, ”
The man muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
The baby stirred, her tiny fingers curling around his thumb, and for the first time in what felt like forever, his usually sharp gaze softened. He stared at her, captivated by the simplicity of her tiny movements. She sighed softly in her sleep, and to him, it was the loudest sound in the room.
Cassian adjusted his grip, cradling her more securely. She trusted him—it was in the way she relaxed against his chest, completely at ease. He shifted his weight, rocking her instinctively. It wasn’t something he had been taught; it just felt natural. As her breathing steadied, so did his. He looked at you, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles.
“ She’s perfect—our little miracle. ”
He said, his voice carrying an unfamiliar warmth.
The Grand Duke of Elowen, a man known for his strength and intellect, stood there in the nursery, holding his daughter as though she were the most precious thing in the world.