Chapter 150: Chapter 150: Children (1)

Days had passed, and by the time a full month slipped behind them like a closed door, Rafael found himself walking palace corridors again with a weight that was both familiar and entirely new.

Natalie was small against his chest, bundled in soft layers that smelled faintly of milk and clean unscented linen, her little mouth pursed in that serious way infants had – as if she’d been born already judging the world and finding it mildly inconvenient. Rafael kept one arm under her with the practiced care of a man who had learned quickly, and the other hand hovered at her back out of instinct, as if the palace itself might reach out and try to take her.

Beside him, the nurse assigned to assist – quiet, competent, and blessedly unchatty – matched his pace without forcing conversation. Rafael appreciated her for it more than he could say.

As a noble, and a high-ranking one at that, he had to present the first child of House Frasner to the Empress.

He’d intended to do it later. Quietly first, when Natalie was older, when her neck didn’t look like it could be snapped by a harsh breeze, when Rafael had more sleep in his bones and more confidence in his posture. He’d intended a controlled entrance, a controlled smile, and a controlled outcome.

Unfortunately, nothing about children was controlled. They arrived like weather – loud, unstoppable, and with their own schedule.

Gabriel’s wing came into view, and with it that subtle shift in atmosphere the palace never managed to hide: fewer courtiers, fewer decorative footmen, and more guards who looked like they’d break someone in half without raising their voices. The door opened before Rafael could be announced properly, because of course it did. Gabriel’s household did nothing the way other households did, mostly out of spite.

Rafael stepped in and immediately stopped.

Gabriel was there, exactly as he always was when Rafael least wanted to be perceived: composed, elegant, and with that faint, amused cruelty in his eyes that suggested he already knew Rafael had rehearsed three speeches in his head and hated all of them.

Alexandra was sprawled on the settee like she owned the wing, one leg tucked under her, hair falling sleekly over one shoulder, dressed in green because she treated color like a declaration of war. She was holding a small child on her hip with the confidence of someone who had never once feared being bitten.

And the child, Arik, looked up at Rafael with solemn, ancient interest, as if he’d been personally appointed to review the Empire’s newest citizen.

“Rafael,” Gabriel said, voice smooth. “You’re early.”

Rafael’s mouth opened and then closed again, because yes, that was technically how time worked. “I… decided it was better to do it now,” he managed, and hated how careful he sounded. He adjusted Natalie slightly, because she had begun to squirm with the offended determination of someone who did not appreciate being treated like fragile porcelain.

Gabriel’s gaze dropped to the bundle in Rafael’s arms. Something softened at the edges – only at the edges, and only for a second, like the sun appearing through a cloud and then remembering itself.

“Hello, Natalie,” Gabriel said quietly, as if speaking to her like she was already a person would make the world behave better around her. “So this is the new Frasner.”

Natalie chose that moment to yawn, wide and dramatic, her tiny fist flexing near her cheek like she was about to throw a punch in her sleep.

Alexandra made a pleased sound. “Oh, she has taste,” she declared immediately. “She’s already bored by court.”

Rafael tried not to smile. He failed.

“And you,” Alexandra continued, turning her attention to Rafael with predatory delight, “look like you haven’t slept since the war.”

“I’ve slept,” Rafael lied.

Gabriel’s lips twitched. “Of course you have.”

Alexandra leaned closer, then grinned down at Arik with conspiratorial intensity. “Arik,” she said, with the tone of someone about to commit a crime and call it education, “say it.”

Arik blinked at her.

“Come on,” Alexandra coaxed, bouncing him once on her hip. “Your first word. For me. I’m your favorite aunt. Say ’Ale.’ Or ’Al.’ Either works. I’m generous.”

Rafael’s brows rose before he could stop them. “Is this… a thing you’ve been doing?”

Gabriel’s expression turned bland in the way it did when he was about to be deeply unhelpful. “She’s been doing it for days.”

Alexandra gasped like she’d been accused of treason. “Excuse you. I have been investing in my legacy. Arik’s first word should be historically significant.”

Gabriel’s gaze flicked to her, dry as sand. “Historically significant would be ’no.’

”

Alexandra ignored him with the practiced ease of a woman who had survived an imperial childhood. She held Arik up a little higher, eye-level, and smiled so brightly it should’ve been illegal. “Ale,” she repeated, slowly. “Aaa-le.”

Arik stared at her mouth, fascinated. His own lips parted. His little hands grabbed at her collar as if attempting to drag the syllables out of her by force.

“That’s it,” Alexandra whispered, triumphant. “Yes. Focus. You love me. You respect me. You will give me my due.”

Rafael watched, half horrified and half entertained, while Natalie’s squirming increased, possibly from sensing that this room contained too much personality for her developing nervous system.

Arik made a sound.

It was not a word. It was the beginning of a word, the vague shape of language, a soft, wet babble that could have meant anything from ’aunt’ to ’revolution.’

Alexandra went still like a hunter.

“Again,” she breathed. “One more time. Ale. Al.”

Arik’s brows pinched with concentration. Then he opened his mouth and said, very clearly, with all the solemn authority of a future disaster:

“Ma.”

Alexandra froze.

Gabriel made a small, satisfied sound that Rafael could only describe as vindicated.

“Arik,” Alexandra hissed, scandalized, “I am not Mother.”

Arik blinked at her, unbothered. Then, with the same serene confidence, he reached up, patted Alexandra’s cheek, and repeated it – because apparently he enjoyed violence.

“Ma.”

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