Born for Silk (The Cradled Common)

Epilogue

Aster

I have only ever seen him like this once.

And that was at the abbey.

There is something incredibly stirring about my Xin De King—a being so huge, hard and sharp, skin sliced and stitched, arms threaded with veins so prominent they could have their own angry intent— appearing fearful and anxious.

He strides across the surgical chamber where the doctor is already opening my abdomen, a storm brewing behind his blue gaze, and I reach out my hand to him.

“My king.” I breathe, smiling softly.

“Pain?” He punches the word out as if it took every ounce of strength to get it through his teeth.

“None. The doctor used La Mu before the spinal needle. I feel floaty.”

La Mu isn’t something available to the general citizens of The Cradle. The wrong dose or part of the plant, can shrivel veins like a flaming bloom. The right part, in the correct dosage, can make you float and hum. Rome and I use it a lot when he takes me from behind, and I enjoy it so much more than I thought I would.

He presses my hand to his bare chest. Warm muscular skin shifts beneath my touch. I span my finger out, using the tips to stroke him, to calm him. Feeling the heavy beat of his heart, I smile because it is about to double in size.

He often says, ‘It only beats for you’. For me. That I am a single strand woven through every cell of his humanity, but that is about to change.

I won’t be the only strand.

I gaze across to the internal viewing glass where Tuscany, Paisley, and my Collective—Daisy, Ana, and Blossom— await, eyes wide with excitement mixed with concern.

A soft smile meets my lips. I mouth, “You’re next,” sharing the silent message between Blossom and Daisy.

Standing behind them, Lord Turin Two offers me privacy, but his furrowed brows reveal his anticipation.

This is his heir, too.

The quiet room is punctured by the sound of medical equipment and soft conversation between the Trade doctor and nurse.

My lower half feels heavy, warm, and numb, but for the occasional tugging and pulling. It isn’t a natural sensation. It feels as if someone is controlling my body.

A tear forms in the corner of my eye, adrenaline spiking despite the La Mu.

“Pain?” The word threatens the room, his gaze tracking the tear as it slides down my cheek.

“No.” I flex my hand on his chest reassuringly. “Emotional, my king. That is all.”

The silence that follows could cut the room in two. His eyes seem unable to split from mine while we wait. I study his expression. It is not simply fear but helplessness. To see this titan of a man showing glimpses of helplessness makes me squirm…

Then…

A cry pierces the room.

And his fixed gaze darts toward his heir. His blue eyes become so wide I can practically see the immediate surge of affection flooding them.

Smiling through a heavy exhale, I peer down in time to see the doctor swaddling our baby in a purple cloth.

He presents the babe to Rome, and I smile, but Rome says, “No. Give the baby to Aster.”

A slither of sadness courses through me, but I ignore it. I understand. He will get there. He will be ready when he is ready.

I bundle the babe to my chest, my vision overwhelmed by a face made of ivory and cherries. And dark, open eyes, gazing up at me, reflecting the same wonder I feel inside all two billion of my heart cells.

“Hello…” I pause. “What’s the gender?”

“A boy.” The doctor announces. “The heir of The Cradle.”

His declaration raises hairs along my arms, sending skitters of significance through me.

I have Meaningful Purpose.

And you, sweet babe, are to reign.

Studying the flawless being, I shrug a little with an apology. “You’re not London. I don’t have a name for you yet, little babe.”

“Athens.”

I like it. I gaze at Rome, drawn to his choked tone, but a gasp fills my throat when I see glistening blue eyes, undeniably full of emotion. And I thought my king had no tear ducts.

Suddenly, my chest is so full it is hard to breathe. “Are you sure you don’t want to hold him, my king? He smells divine.”

He straightens, eyes lapping us. “No.”

“ Please , Rome.”

“Are you done?”

I smile at Athens. “Never.”

“Then, no. I will wait.”

Uncertainty nests inside my mind, so I blink up at Rome again. Why is he being so withdrawn? His body is stiff, like a statue, one twitch and a crack will race through his stony centre.

But his eyes…

His eyes glisten with truth.

“Why?” I press. “Why won’t you hold him?”

And then he says, “I doubt I’ll want to let him go once he is in my arms, sweet creature. It is unbearable each first-light to let you go.”

Sighing, I couldn’t feel more… More anything. I barely recognise his voice. It’s deep and gushing , and I swallow, trying to force the happy tears down, blinking my blurring vision away. I want to see his face. Want to see him hold our son.

“All done,” the doctor says—I’d almost forgotten he was in the room, too enraptured by Athens. And Rome.

The room empties.

“Here.” I edge the bundle toward Rome with my elbow. “I want you to hold him.”

Clearing his throat, he taps my nose and tries to quell all the heavy emotions I see sinking into his azure gaze. Handing Athens to Rome, I watch as the bundle fits entirely in his two palms.

“Incredible,” he mutters, eyeing Athens, awe-struck, and Athens equally as engrossed. “You are going to do great things, my boy.”

I almost feel Rome’s heart expand as the most vulnerable of things is literally held in the palms of his giant hands. In the warm, possessive hold of a man more beast than human, built to reign, to rule The Cradle, through fear and intimidation. Surely, holding a baby isn’t nearly as significant as his great Purpose.

THE END