Born for Silk (The Cradled Common)

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Aster

I sit with my knees tucked to the side on his sofa.

Watching my huge, magnificent king sprawled out naked in bed, thick arm slung over his eyes, round bicep framing his chiselled face, is one of my new favourite things to do.

Shuffling in place, I gaze down to study his long, thick cock, lying heavily over his thigh.

It pulses, fills. Expands.

“I can feel the heat of your pretty eyes in my cock, little creature.” He doesn’t move, only talks through a husky first-light tone as his length thickens and rises to attention. “Why are you awake? The fire is barely orange.”

“I have something to ask you,” I whisper honestly, sitting higher and squaring my shoulders.

I had the same dream last night. The one with the little boy, but this time it was a girl with honey-coloured hair. She was lost in the tunnel with the flickering lights, cradling my upside-down bird.

And she looked just like Tuscany…

“Anything,” he mutters.

I smile. “The queen?—”

A disapproving growl rattles the room before I can finish my sentence. “Don’t talk about my sister right now?—”

“Now is the perfect time, my king. We have both had an excellent sleep.” I watch his cock deflate and find the entire appendage wildly interesting. So… autonomous.

“Please?” I add.

He stretches out like a great beast, awakening his muscles in a lazy yet powerful way. “What is it?”

“She wishes to see the Redwind and?—”

“Absolutely not!”

Words bunch on my tongue. “Rome. Please. I—” I pause, shaking my head; he is utterly unreasonable. Fur men and women, Common communities, and hundreds of people living outside gated sanctuaries still survive.

I press, “This may be the last time I am able to leave The Estate for quite some time. I am getting bigger. Please .”

“It is not safe. For either of you.”

I find a small growl in my jaw, letting it loose.

He sits up and stares at me. “Did you just growl at me? That was somewhat of a kitten call, sweet creature.”

I huff. “I do not believe in quarrelling with you. So, yes, maybe it is not entirely safe. But I do not wish to live in a glass dome. I grew up in one. And Tuscan—” I clear my throat when his brows furrow. “ The queen will adore the journey. Please. We could see the never-ending Windmill Forest.”

“No.” He rises from the bed, tension a tangible presence rolling across his muscular back. Walking to the drink cabinet, he manifests his dominance and authority with each heavy step. “You don’t know what you are asking of me. What if something happens to you? Or to her?”

I stand up on nervous legs, pleading. “What if something wonderful happens to me? Or to her? Imagine her smile when she sees the propellers?”

All his muscles freeze.

He goes quiet with his back to me, and silence cracks through the air as I wait. My hope flitters on the electrical current, encouraging my feet toward him?—

“No.”

I stop midstride. “Rom?—”

“I said”—he barks the word— “NO!”

My pulse leaps into my neck.

He hisses, “Fuck.” He spins around and heads straight at me, forcing my feet to shuffle backward as he charges.

He catches my neck and drags me to stand before him, using his thumb to crane my chin. Catch my wide-eyed expression. Stare. “I need your pussy pinned to my tongue until you obey and submit to me. It is not your place to heal wounds you know nothing about, not mine, not Tusc?—”

A knock at the door severs his warning.

My throat rolls within his fist, my eyes holding his blue stare. Fearless.

Stepping onto his feet, I reach to touch his rough jaw, not letting his temper scare me. He has never hurt me, never laid a hand on me that wasn’t welcome.

I gaze up at him. I am not afraid of you, Rome. I love you so wildly. “Please.”

“Boy,” Kong calls.

Rome stares down his long, dark lashes at me, his eyes searing heat that makes my core clench. His threat to dominate me until I submit swirls in his fractured blue gaze, but the love I radiate for him finds a mark. And digs in.

He softens. “ Aster …”

“Sire?” Kong tries again. “The Silk Girl is about to give birth. She is in the ward as we speak, and Cairo is less than an hour outside of The Estate. You need to prepare.”

My eyes veer to the closed door. “ Ana .”

Rome releases me, heading into the washroom. “Do not leave this room without me, little creature. Wait.”

I have every intension of obeying him as I dart around, gathering my clothes, dressing in a hurry, throwing on my favourite mauve silk gown.

Dressed. Ready. Cloaked.

I freeze. I stare at his closed washroom door but feel as if I cannot wait. Or perhaps, I don’t want to. Through this long pause, something tugs at me. To make my way to her. To be there for her.

Swallowing, I push through the bedroom door and rush past Kong and a Guard.

“Aster!” I hear Rome roar.

Needing to get to Ana, I sprint from the royal wing, down the paths and around the gardens, Odio coasting above me, his shadow a dark patch below my tread.

Inside, my nerves flutter.

That feeling heightens the moment I enter the Silk Girl Ward and see Daisy, Blossom, their Watchers, and Paisley with their hands pressed to a window, peering in.

I pace over.

Through the glass, Ana is lying awake on a high trundle bed, looking both exposed and brave, while a woman in white stitches a smile-shaped wound in her abdomen. Ana nervously chews on her lip but does not appear to be in any pain as she peers past the woman, desperate to find something.

I whip my gaze around the room. It is full of machines, bright lights, but still unsettlingly stark. A woman in coral colours—a Trade nurse—fusses around Ana, and a man in white holds a bundle of— My mouth drops open. A baby. He holds a lovely, tiny baby swaddled in a purple cloth.

I press my palms to the glass that divides us, feeling the floor under my feet shift. My heart twists, but I am unsure what emotion is causing this tight anguish. Happiness? Am I not utterly happy? What do I feel? There is something else, something I cannot identify. Something with a heavy, haunting presence.

What is it?

“Is she well?” I breathe.

“They both are,” Daisy answers.

A tear slides down my cheek as the doctor places the babe in Ana’s outstretched arms before moving to approve the stitches in her abdomen.

“Would the Silk Girls like to come inside and say a quick hello to the new baby boy?” A nurse is leaning through the door beside the viewing window, looking at us.

“Oh, yes, please,” Daisy answers.

And we waste no time at all, flocking into the room and surrounding Ana and her baby. My skin prickles as the cooler air wraps around me. It smells like fresh skin, blood, and lemons, but somehow, their mingling scent is pleasant.

“Look at you ,” Blossom coos softly, touching the babe’s flushing cheeks.

“He is divine,” Daisy gushes. “You have Meaningful Purpose, Ana. You did it.”

The tight feeling has followed me into this room, a dark phantom with no name. It coils itself around me as I reach out and run my fingertip down the inside of a chubby pink palm.

So soft.

Like a pillow.

“He is everything,” Ana says, her eyes flooding with awe, her smile filling with tears.

I want to speak but cannot find the words. Why don’t I have words for you, little one?

Then I see them.

Then I know why.

My eyes pan across as Rome—my Rome, my king—and Master Cairo enter the room, sending ice through my spine, provoking my hand to cradle the swelling at my abdomen. The phantom at my back hisses in my ear, ‘For The Cradle, I shall adore all its children equally and with quiet humility. I have no claim over what I provide for The Cradle.’

Daisy’s smile falls.

Blossom’s chin trembles.

I find a word. “No.”

No. No. Not now.

The baby is scooped from Ana’s arms by one of the women in coral and set into Master Cairo’s.

I look at Ana’s face.

I read in a book that we have over two billion muscle cells in our heart. I didn’t think it was possible to see them, but it is, because I just saw all two billion cells in Ana’s heart break.

“I know what The Crust is now,” Ana mutters as her newborn is taken away, her voice vibrating and hollow. “The Crust is a place with a baby that you can keep.”

And I know the name of the haunting emotion… The one twisting me, squeezing my heart and wringing it dry. It is grief.