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“Happy Birthday, Princess.” Sloane outright coos as she leans forward, placing a kiss on the baby’s dark curls as she does so. Before her she places a cupcake, artfully layered white cake with blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries sandwiched between tiny layers. It is a perfect miniature of the round cake on the other table, down to the white buttercream rosette border. The berries are not fully in season in Aretia, but that did not come between Sloane and her passion for the traditional Tyrrish birthday dessert.
Little miss Aurora Riorson is sandwiched between her parents, her father holding her where she stands excitedly on the kitchen table, clapping her little hands as absolute squeals of delight escape her. Violet leans in, brushing her nose against her daughter’s cheek before her lips graze her angel soft skin. She rests her face against her daughter’s for less than a moment, but it’s all the time she needs to remember her exactly a year ago, the feeling of her baby’s skin against her own for the first time after days of pain, bleeding, and prior months of uncertainty. How she had grown in the last year, from that five pound scrunchy baby to the full year old toddler full of giggles and mischief, who wakes up every day asking for dragon rides and goes down every night wrapped in her father’s shadows.
“Happy Birthday, sweetheart.” Violet holds up the tiny cake, offering it towards her daughter. “Look! It’s got your favorite berries on it!”
Aurora’s hazel eyes are wide and blue as she reaches an unsure hand out, using the entirety of her hand to squeeze at one of the blueberries atop the cake. She squishes the icing between her fingers, before turning to Xaden with an awestruck smile. “Dada?”
“Yeah, Aurora?” Xaden is greeted by a toddler hand striking his cheek gently, smearing the frosting and icing over his right cheek as his daughter misses his mouth entirely, before she gently pats his cheek to rub in the cake further. “...thank you. That’s so nice of you to share.”
Across the room, Garrick has to stifle a laugh behind Bodhi’s back, narrowly avoiding Imogen’s displeased elbow aimed at his rib cage.
“Don’t laugh, you’ll encourage her.” Imogen lectures her boyfriend, narrowing her eyes to a scowl as she comes to stand at Sloane’s side across the room, a position of protectiveness she had developed over the past thirty some weeks. It was admirable, really, how Imogen had appointed herself unofficial Sloane-sitter the past nine months. How Sloane had finally had the one thing she dared to allow herself to want, dared to allow herself to have in a world where everything had been taken from her, and Imogen had made it a point not to barely ever leave her side. As if she would be damned if one more thing was taken from Sloane Mairi.
“Oh come on, we just watched Xaden say thank you for a face full of cake. If I tried that he’d take out my knees.”
“Yeah, you aren’t his kid, Gare.”
“Do we get to have cake now, Sloaney? I’ve been waiting to get a piece of that berry cake for weeks.” Garrick redirects, eyes flickering towards Sloane’s masterpiece. It was the much larger version of Aurora’s perfect little miniature, perfectly frosted and stuffed with fresh berries and Sloane’s home-made jam.
It was tradition and one Sloane absolutely would not let die. The berry chantilly cake had been at the birthday party of just about every Tyrrish person in the room, most importantly being their first. Some of them, Xaden of course being one, had grown to prefer other cakes, but this was a sacred tradition as far as Sloane was concerned. All she had to do was give those sad blue eyes at just about anyone, remind them they were all orphans who had to be each other’s family, and she got what she wanted.
Not that anyone needed much convincing.
Sloane looks to Xaden and Violet, about to ask them if they wanted to proceed. However, neither of them seemed to have a care in the world for anything but each other and the little girl sitting between them, alternating fingers worth of icing that she offers back and forth to her parents. Love radiates off of the pair of them, eyes locked only on their daughter, with occasional awestruck glances between them. Violet laughs brightly as Aurora’s little hand digs into Xaden’s shirt, covering him in a sticky layer of berry and cake.
She doesn’t have the heart to interrupt them, her heart settling deep in her chest at the sight of the little family that consistently defied every odd stacked against them.
Instead she just nods to Garrick, signaling that he can begin fighting over the best slice of cake.
There’s just a flurry of love around her, the kind that helps staunch that aching feeling inside of her. There’s Bodhi in the background, lecturing Garrick over the proper size portion of the cake. There’s Imogen, audibly groaning as Garrick smears icing on her cheek just so he can dramatically lick it off. There’s Mira, who keeps swatting Ridoc’s hands away from a pile of gifts he desperately wants to begin watching Xaden open for Aurora. There’s Xaden, Violet, and the little girl who is the center of the universe for the two most powerful dragon riders to ever exist.
There is a giant, gaping hole where Liam should be. Where Liam would never be again.
“What’s going on in there, in that pretty head of yours, sweetheart?” His voice is velvet and silk, wrapping around her senses the way his arms snake around her body, until they both rest on the under curve of her stomach, lifting just enough to take the weight of their growing child off of her joints and into his hands. She audibly sighs, relaxing her back against his chest, letting her head fall back against his shoulder. She hadn’t even realized the sheer amount of tension she carried until he quite literally lifted it off of her. She makes a mental reminder to thank Violet for the recommendation she gave Dain, to do exactly this, later.
“They’re just really happy.” She mumbles, nearly moaning aloud at the way her body feels physical relief at his hands on her. How far they have come from Basgiath days. “Just look at them.”
“That will be your life soon, starlight.” The warm, pink bond whirls to life inside Sloane’s mind as Thoirt communicates with her. A wave of peace and that feeling again– sheer, overwhelming love– floods their connection. “Admittedly you have chosen a mate well, he’s a perfectly adequate father to your hatchling.”
“You know I hate that word, I’m not a dragon, we don’t mate, Thoirt.” Sloane’s nose scrunches in the slightest distaste, before she brings her hand to rest atop her belly. There, sandwiched between its parent’s hands, she feels her child attempting to stretch and shift in response to them. As if he– her boy, she just has a feeling– cannot wait to hold them too. “He’ll be more than adequate.”
“The only human I’m willing to call an exceptional parent is you.”
“I’m not even a parent yet.”
“The little heart living under your own says differently, love.”
“They’re practically fighting over that cake.” Dain’s voice pulls her back, and she is not sure if the change in topic is because she was too zoned out to hear him continue their prior conversation, or if he is doing her a favor before the emotions that have continued to overwhelm her finally spill forward. “Understandably, but I think Garrick is ready to actually throw a punch at Bodhi for taking the biggest strawberry.”
“It’s not even their favorite. You should see him with the chocolate one.” Sloane rests against her husband, absently stroking her thumbs over her cotton dress, settling into the feeling of her now awake and active child. It dawns on her, then, that despite their time together after the war, they’ve never adequately celebrated their own birthdays beyond small gifts. A side effect of rebuilding, she’s sure. Still, though, birthdays are important. “What’s your favorite?”
“I don’t have a favorite cake. This one’s pretty good.” Dain shrugs against her, resting his chin on the crown of her head after placing a soft kiss there.
“You have to have a favorite! What did they make you for your birthdays when you were little?” She cranes her neck back to look at him, offering him a small smile as she did so, her fingers gently tapping on the back of his hand.
“I never had a birthday cake.” He says it so simply, so easily, as if the words don’t rip through her like an alloy-hilted dagger to her core. “Like I said. This one is good.”
“...what do you mean, Dain, you’ve never had a birthday cake?” It hits her like a dragon tail to her chest, as she pictures it. Dain, with those big warm eyes, and those absolutely perfect curls, no bigger than Aurora today. He should have been adored, the absolute pride of his mother’s life. Someone should have been honored to watch him dig a chubby little hand into a personal sized cake, that enchanting little smile of his should be etched into someone’s most cherished memories.
“Maybe I had some desserts with the Sorrengails, or maybe I had one before my mom died but–” Sloane’s voice must be wavering with the way Dain so sharply changes course, one of his hands coming up to hold her cheek. “Hey, Hey Sloane baby, it's okay. I’m not upset about it.”
“But I am!’ Sloane’s voice cracks, tears coming to fill the lines of both of her eyes. “That’s not fair! You were a little kid, why did no one– why didn’t I? I should have thought of this before today, you should have been celebrated.”
“Sloane. Baby. You weren’t around when I was little.”
“But I’m around now, and in the last two birthdays I never thought to–”
“The first one you were still recovering from the burn out. The best gift I ever could have had that year was you waking up and pulling through, which you did. Then this year we were a little bit distracted, you know?” He drums his fingers lightly on her lower belly, as a gentle reminder of exactly what had distracted her so greatly that she didn’t think to even make him a tray of brownies. “It’s okay.”
“What happens when this baby looks at me and asks me what his daddy’s favorite cake is on his birthday and I have to say I don’t know because I'm the worst mommy ever?” Her voice shatters, and she has to stare up at the ceiling to prevent her tears from escaping down her cheeks.
“You will never be a bad mother,” He tells her softly, the hand still on her jaw gently thrumming. Grounding. “You said he again.”
“Nevermind that! I need to figure this out, Dain. I have like..a month. I have a month until this baby is here, so I need to figure it out before then. A cake a day, I can do that.” Sloane begins, standing up a little straighter as her thoughts and plans start to assemble. She brings the back of her hand under her eyes, using the heel to dab at the wetness on the apples of her cheeks.
“Baby you are nine months pregnant. You do not need to spend the next month baking–”
“Shut up, yes I do. I need to figure this out. You need to have a favorite. Everyone has a favorite.”
“Thats rather ambitious, and is going to cut into our fly time.”
The boys lurked. All three of them huddled in the doorframe like overgrown shadow children, simply waiting for their mother to turn her back so they could stick their grimey little hands into their dessert. She can picture, out of the corner of her eye, Liam there amongst them. A moment of sunshine in that group of storm clouds.
They were, after all, a group of boys who chose to be her brothers, stepping in to try to fill the Liam-sized gap in her life. There was no doubt they would strive their hardest to represent him well in the life of her child as well.
Xaden, Bodhi , and Garrick. They were, in all ways that could matter anymore, her big brothers.
It had made sense to tackle their favorite cake first. After all, the chocolate was clearly a hit amongst the men, maybe Dain would agree?
“Do you three want to hover like little gremlins over there or do you want to try it?” Sloane calls out, not even looking up as she adds a final swirl with the back of her flat spatula. It was far less ornate than even the simple birthday cake for Aurora yesterday, with a rustic vibe that comes from using only a spatula to decorate.
It’s comical, really, the way the three of them nearly push each other over trying to get to her first, as if she were an unspoken finish line they agreed to race to.
“I haven’t had this since Hedotis.” Xaden admits, just as a fork comes approaching at the cake from his right hand. “I’m hoping you can attach some better memories to it.”
“Don’t bring that up.” Garrick visibly shudders, and Sloane can’t help but wonder what happened on that island. Dain had never mentioned it, and Imogen tended to go quiet when the story was brought up.
“Have some decorum, this cake is to share.” Sloane bats their hands away, before wielding a large serrated bread knife. “Garrick don’t you dare dip that fork back in now that it’s been in your mouth– Children. You’re all acting like children.”
“We’re just giving you some practice,” Bodhi teases, with nothing but a warm edge behind his voice. “Isn’t this your dream, Sloaney? A kitchen full of people fighting over your cooking?”
“There’s definitely no poison in this one-” Garrick mumbles around a mouth full of cake, nearly shoveling another bite into his mouth.
“What did I say about the double dipping, you idiot!” Sloane scowls, pulling the cake stand away from them and into her own hands. “Wait what do you mean poison-”
“It’s nothing.” Xaden assures, before also sneaking his own fork into the cake to steal another bit of the cake. “He lived.”
“After you pretty much made out with him.” Bodhi earns an elbow in the ribs from his cousin at the comment, which resolves him to outright laughter. “Hey, what did Ims say about you copping a feel of Garrick before she got a chance?”
“Enough!” Sloane pulls the cake against her chest, practically shielding it. “If you can’t share, you lose cake privilege.”
“Damn, whatever you say mom.” Garrick grumbles, dropping his fork as Sloane smacks it from his hands. “I thought you’d be the fun parent.”
“My child will have manners.”
Ultimately, when Sloane takes the cake to her husband, he appreciates it, but the thin veil of negative nostalgia is unmistakable. He may not have been poisoned, but it was never going to be his favorite after that island.
Probably for the best.
The last thing Sloane needed was a fourth man nearly stabbing another over chocolate cake.
“Sloane, this is incredible.” Violet admits around a mouth full of cake, and if she weren’t fighting her hardest to be composed she may have even moaned around the treat. “What the hell did you put in this?”
“It's an earl-grey tea cake. Lavender frosting.” She explains softly, wiping down her work area as the lighting wielder sits and eats with her. In the week since beginning her journey she had found seemingly everyone else's favorite cake, yet her own partner’s continued to evade her. The only thing she had learned this week is that Ridoc loved cake with sprinkles baked into it, and Bodhi had a secret sweet tooth that resulted in him sampling every single cake she completed.
Dain seemed to like them all, but he never had that twinkle about them that Sloane was looking for. He’d praised them all, but none seemed to make him just..ooze joy.. in the way she was looking for.
“It’s the best cake I’ve ever had.” Violet admits, swiping icing from the corner of her mouth. “And that’s saying a lot, because you’ve made some crazy good cakes this week.”
“Dain still doesn’t have a favorite.” Sloane settles across the table from Violet, letting out a frustrated sigh as she runs a hand through her loose hair.
“He likes everything you make.” Violet shrugs, before taking another slice of the cake for herself. “He probably doesn’t want to admit he has a favorite, because he knows you're safe in the house if you’re baking. He knows you aren’t out there riding and having a baby on a dragon.”
“I’m still riding.” Sloane bristles at the suggestion otherwise. “My dragon, because Dain is not interested in me riding-”
“Nope, didn’t ask.” Violet cuts her off, shaking her head voraciously. “How could you possibly want that anyway?”
“I don’t. I feel tired and huge and frankly exhausted. I just love Thoirt so much,, and I don’t want to miss a moment with her. Since we don’t really fight anymore, I enjoy just being with her. Besides, maybe I'm hoping it kickstarts this whole process of getting this kid out.” Sloane swipes her finger through the light purple icing, sucking it off her finger tip lazily. “I don’t know how you did this.”
“I didn’t.” Violet shrugs. “I was literally never as pregnant as you are right now. I had had Aurora a week by now. She was like.. I think Tairn thought I was pregnant for about thirty six weeks? You’re past that. I quite literally cannot imagine how you are still riding a dragon because I was bedridden the last three weeks until I had her. It makes me scared to have another, you know? How could I take care of Aurora from bed?”
“Oh you know we would help you Vi– wait do you want another one?”
There is an undeniable warmth in Violet’s eyes and she gives the softest smile. “We do. Soon, hopefully. I’d like them to be close in age.”
“Damn. I can’t even finish one and you’re working on a second.” Sloane lays her elbow on the table, resting her face in her palm. “I have kind of a weird question.”
“Yes it hurts. Yes I thought I was going to die–”
“No, no. I know all that.” Sloane waves off with her hand, before she twists it around a lock of her hair. “Did you ever…you know…like dream of Aurora? Before you had her?”
“Not specifically? I don’t think so?” Violet places her fork back on the table, before she rests her own head in her hand as a mirror of Sloane. “What do you mean?”
“When you were younger, did you ever dream about what your baby would look like?”
“I guess maybe once or twice?”
“I think I know exactly what this baby is going to look like.” Sloane admits, running a hand over the side of her stomach, feeling the little shifts under her finger tips. “I know it’s a boy. I think he’s blonde, with my eyes…”
“Of course it could look like you, Sloane.” Violet assures, but Sloane continues.
“I’ve dreamed of this kid since I was fourteen years old. Like, actually dreamed about him. Every couple of months, and he would always look exactly the same. He’s never changed. I like to think this is him.” She glances down, away from the table and to the ground. “It’s stupid. I know. But, it kind of feels like that was one way we all existed together. That back when my parents and Liam were alive he existed in some way too, that in some way I actually had a family to offer him at some point– I know, it sounds stupid and crazy. I can't ask Imogen about it, because obviously she wouldn’t know what I mean. It’s a desperate attempt to feel like I have a family left, I don’t know. Or maybe if it is that baby I can pretend that my mom and my dad and my brother somehow knew him and sent him to me and–”
Sloane is cut off by her own desperate sob, one she didn’t know was building until it escaped past her lips. She didn’t notice at what point Violet gently took her hand, only that she was now holding it. “I miss them. I wish they were here. I wish I had a family to offer him.”
“It might look a little different than you expected, Sloane, but you absolutely have a family to give him.” Violet gives her hands a gentle squeeze, brushing her thumb over her knuckles. “And we are all so excited to meet him, Sloane.”
Something Sloane had forgotten, amongst the years of separation or the war or just generalized forgetfulness these last few months she couldn't seem to shake, was the way Imogen Cardulo loved sugar. She always had been the one to steal an extra cookie or brownie at a party, and the daily slice of cake she had religiously searched out the last three weeks was no exception. It made sense, of course, that this sugary, sickly sweet Caramel Cake was not Dain’s favorite, but it was certainly Imogen’s.
“Honestly, Sloane, this cake fucks.” Imogen praises, unabashedly moaning as the fork slides out from between her lips. “All of them have but this one takes the cake. Pun fully intended.”
“I’m glad someone likes it.” Sloane plops beside Imogen, not an ounce of grace left in her body. “I’ve made twenty two cakes and Dain just politely says they’re all good! Never says ‘oh this is life changing and has been missing my entire life!’ It’s kind of infuriating.”
“Have you considered they really all are great and he can’t pick a favorite.” Imogen licks the fork intentionally, before going in for another bite of the perfectly moist cake. “I can rate them for you if you want. This one is my favorite. The pink champagne one on day seventeen was a close second. I also liked the raspberry filled one from last week. The sprinkle one Ridoc liked was probably my least favorite–”
“I’m just trying to contribute some joy to Dain’s life, okay! What a sad, terrible life to not have a favorite cake. We were orphans but we still had birthdays! I can’t do much anymore, I can’t siphon, the least I can do is find a cake people like!” Sloane slams her hand down, unintentionally, earning a look with knitted eyebrows from Imogen. “Sorry– I just..”
“You’re baking a human and a cake a day, you deserve to give yourself some more credit.” Imogen pushes the cake away, before she leans on one elbow to look at Sloane. “You have undoubtedly brought more joy to that man than anyone or anything else in this world, Sloane. We had stuff when our parents were alive, because we had good parents. It’s not your fault that he didn’t.” Imogen brushes her hand out to tuck some of Sloane’s loose, free flowing curls behind her ear. “You could siphon, you just don’t need to right now though.”
“It hurts.” Sloane admits softly, glancing down at the table simply to avoid the pale green eyes of her longest female friend. “Ever since the end of the war and the burn out… it hurts to siphon. Like this deep ache that becomes sharper and sharper the longer I try. I avoid it and I feel frankly kind of useless, which is crazy, because I just spent years complaining about having to fight and now I feel like I can’t. It’s like I decided to bake and have a baby because I don’t have anything else to give.”
“Bold claim, as if you’re having a baby on purpose.”
“It wasn’t entirely an accident, I told him to do it. We just…didn’t think it was actually going to happen.”
Imogen pushes out of the chair she’s in, keeping her hand in Sloane’s hair as she comes to stand behind her. Her other hand finds the other side of Sloane’s head, and gently combs through the seemingly endless waves of blonde. “Do you know how I still picture you?” She starts, as her hands start to gently weave triplet strands of her hair into a soft but well made braid down the back of her head. “I still imagine the little girl, who used to carry around a baby doll while making Garrick fly her on his back, pretending he was her dragon. It’s been twenty years since you were that little girl, but I still see you like that.”
“It was all I wanted. To be like my mom. The more I think about it though, I don’t have it in me to be like her. She did it all, I only fly for fun now. And let me tell you, I've flown for hours a day to get this kid out and it’s not working.” She leans a little backwards, until her head is fully relaxed into Imogen’s hands as her back rests against her chest. “I really wish she were here.”
“You’re just like your mom. Exactly like her. Sloaney, you helped win the war your mother died fighting for. You’re everything she ever would have wanted. It’s an honor that we don’t have to fight the fight of our parents anymore, we won it.” Imogen continues to braid down Sloane’s back, before tying off the end with a hair band she keeps on her wrist. “I wish she were here for you, too. I won’t even pretend I know how scary it must be, to not have your mom here for this.”
“I feel like I'm just not doing enough. Not for Dain, or for Xaden and this country, and all of you guys. My mom did it all.”
“You were the last step in winning that war, Sloane. You and Violet were what we needed. You saved us all. You’ve done more than enough for this country and this government and all of the people in it. We don’t want anything else from you Sloane, just that you’re happy. You’ve done more than enough. You have earned a life of dragon rides for fun, and baking cakes, and having all the kids you want. Don’t even get me started on how much you have given Dain. There’s quite literally nothing else you could possibly give that man. If he ever makes you feel like not enough Sloane I'll actually kill him.” Imogen wraps both her arms around Sloane’s shoulders, hugging her gently from behind. “We are all proud of you and thankful for you. Not just for the cake or the siphoning, but because you’re part of us. Your dad, your mom, they’d be so proud of you. Don’t even get me started on how excited Liam would be to meet this baby of yours, any day now hopefully.”
Sloane turns her face, burying it in Imogen’s arm with the softest sob escaping her. “You’ll stay with me when the baby comes, right?”
“There’s nowhere else I’d be, Sloane.”
Day thirty. Thirty cakes in thirty days, and she was over it. Ganaches and imported berries and inclusions in batters and none of it achieved her goal. All she had wanted was to see him light up just the right way, make him feel important and seen and loved and–
“Fuck it!” Sloane all but slams the little ceramic plate down in front of her husband, the fork clattering off of the serving dish and onto the table it now rests on with a clink. “I give up. I’ve pulled out all the stops, I found everyone else’s favorites, I’m out of ideas.”
And tired. She is so tired. Her lower back screams the longer she is on her feet, every breath feels like she has to siphon energy to take it, and she cannot remember the last time she had more than two consecutive hours of sleep. Her body yearns to be back to the athletic form she had come to love, that at least didn’t have chronic hip pain.
She could barely see to put her shoes on, even now choosing to stick only to socks that were surely dusted in a layer of flour from her baking excursions. Even her clothes, other than stealing Dain’s flight jacket for her time with Thoirt, she couldn’t even tolerate leathers at this point. Instead most of her time was spent in exactly what she wore now– some variation of long, cotton sundresses such as her current light yellow one– or Dain’s training shirts. Only his training shirts, because she had quite literally no other options.
She was tired. She felt huge. She was over it. And she just wanted the man to have a favorite fucking cake.
“C’mere, baby.” Dain’s arm snaked around the back of her waist, and in one fluid movement pulled her onto his left thigh, perching her there as if she were still the little cadet he had fallen in love with and not– well– so unbearably pregnant. “You know I have liked every single cake you’ve made,”
“But you haven’t loved any!” Sloane grumbles, bracing one arm around his shoulders as she ignores the consistent, aching tension in her belly that has persisted all damn day. “I want you to love it.”
“I do love them. Because I love you.” Dain rests his hand on her side, strumming soothing circles over her abdomen where his hand can reach. "No one has complained about your big cake adventure this month.”
“Yeah, yeah, no one complained, but you didn’t find a favorite.” Sloane bit at her bottom lip momentarily, waiting for that worsening tension to relieve. Within the minute, it did, and she let out the slightest breath of relief before sagging into Dain’s embrace. “That was the whole point.”
“They were all excellent, baby. Even more excellent was knowing you were safe inside and not having this baby on dragonback.” Dain murmured into her ear, contentedly eating his thirtieth slice of cake this month, without complaint.
“Oh please, Thoirt never would have let me do that. She literally kicked me off of her this morning after like twenty minutes, telling me I wasn’t allowed to have him on her, and that I could come back once he’s born so she can meet him on the outside.” She fully slumped into him, resting her torso against his. It was the one place in the entire world that she felt so at ease, despite the relative safety of the world, by being in his arms. “So I guess I'm formally grounded.”
“I assured you it would not be for long, if you would simply listen to your body, my love.” Filtered across the bond, and Sloane only sent a mental scowl in return.
“I have to agree with her on that one.” Dain muses, but he stops his fork halfway to his mouth as he feels her almost tense against him, so slightly it would be imperceptible if he were not so aware of her. He notices a similar tension under his other hand, if that's how he would describe the way her abdomen became almost..firmer? “Do you feel that, Sloane?”
“Hmm, feel what?” She mumbled into his collar, face buried there but eyes scrunched tight as her face betrayed–almost nothing. Nothing, if he did not know her.
“This–” He pressed his hand into her belly, making a point to emphasize the resistance he felt. “It’s a stupid question, I know you can feel it, because you’re clearly hurting.”
“I’m always uncomfortable. I'm like..a million years pregnant with a kid that’s–” She lets out another soft exhale of air, this time accompanied by an almost whine– “probably got your big head.” She fully relaxes as the tension passes completely.
“How long, Sloane?” He pushes the plate away entirely, and when Sloane opens her blue eyes at the sound of the scraping ceramic on wood those same eyes blow wide.
“Wait! You finished that entire piece!” She ignored the rest of his question, twisting slightly to look at his face. And there it was. Underneath the layer of the concern, the furrow of his eyebrows, the lines that came to his forehead, was the underlying shy, childlike smile she had been waiting to see. “Oh my god, Dain, you liked it!”
“Yes, I did. That’s not the point, baby, are you okay?”
“That’s the whole point! Dain, you liked it! You truly liked it!” Sloane all but twists in his arms, ungracefully as hell mind you, before she swings her left leg between both of his to face him as she full on straddles his thigh. “Dain!”
“Okay, yes, it was my favorite. In fact, I'd actually eat another piece if you weren’t–” He smiles almost shyly, the boy-ish admission that he did in fact love this cake.
“Of course it was your favorite.” Sloane scoffs, rolling her eyes playfully as she grabs his face in her hands. “That was plain vanilla cake with vanilla icing. Alllll the cakes i’ve made this month and the simplest, easiest was your favorite. Of course. That being said, it’s the only vanilla thing about you but–”
Dain cuts her off entirely with the press of his lips to hers, the hand that was on her side snaking up to hold her cheeks in his palms, holding her face against his. He kisses her for what feels like hours, in a whole, consuming way that feels like his body, his mind, his soul was wrapping around her own.
He leaves her breathless– which, admittedly, so does a walk from the bed to the bath these days–, when he pulls away and rests his forehead against hers. “Sloane.”
“Dain.” She whines, and if he did not know better he’d have assumed it was the needy little whine of Sloane wanting more. Yet, there is an unfamiliar, sharp edge, one that only comes when she’s uncomfortable. Or worse, actually in pain.
“How long have you been feeling that?” His voice is firm, not demanding but persuasive, as his hand trails back down to the front of her abdomen to feel, again, the tense hardening of her muscles.
“I dunno…I guess since before Thoirt grounded me this morning.”
“How often?”
“Every couple of minutes, I don’t know, I was distracted, I had a mission to complete.” Sloane takes a few deep breaths, resting one of her hands on top of his.
“Is it getting worse?”
“More frequently, I guess.” Sloane admits, and this time actually whimpers as the pain passes by her. The distraction– of baking, of Dain, of trying to reach a goal– had been perfectly enough to ignore what she assumed was just another new discomfort.
“Are you just planning on ignoring the fact you’re probably in labor, baby?” Dain’s voice wavers just enough for Sloane to hear it– the little bit of fear. Fear, Sloane realizes, is for her.
“I’m probably not–”
“You most certainly are, why did you think I grounded you. I could smell it on you.”
“Okay, maybe I am! But that's okay, we don’t need to go calling anyone yet.” Sloane insisted, but leaned forward into his arms, letting him take her weight as what she now knew– well, now was not afraid to name– was likely a contraction rolled into her.
“I can stay with you, you know?” He offers his wife so softly she almost does not hear him say so, as he strokes her hair gently down her back.
She debates it, right then and there, to fuck tradition. To ask him not to leave her, to not spend the foreseeable future pacing outside of their rooms, while she clung instead to Imogen.
“I don’t want you to see me like that.” Sloane admits against his shirt where her face is now buried, breathing into his skin. “I’m superstitious about it, it’s tradition but I just…I’m too scared to not follow that one. I need us all to be okay.”
“Okay,” he does not fight, as this is a conversation they’ve had many times. It is not the tradition that necessarily anchors her in this fight, but the superstitious fear of bringing men into what the Tyrrish believed was a strictly female space. That men brought death where women brought life and fate would become too confused over which was supposed to triumph. It was an old tradition, rooted not in women like Sloane and her mother who were warriors themselves, but in a far earlier variation of society.
Still, despite everything, it was not a risk Sloane was willing to take. She had lost enough to cruel fate, she would not risk this, too.
“I’ll be outside if you need me,”
“Polishing the stone floor with your pacing. Besides, I’d hate to get angry and decide to siphon all the energy out of you as revenge.” Sloane muses, a tiny, tired smile on her face as she leaned back into his arms. “We’re going to be parents soon.”
“Considering he’s right here–” Dain presses his hand lightly into her relaxed abdomen, grinning as he feels his favorite little shifts under his hands. “I feel like we already are.”
“You said he.” She gasped softly, awe, love, and wonder filling her eyes almost as quickly as tears did. “You think it’s a boy, too.”
“I think we’ll find out soon enough. And I think you think it’s a boy, and I believe in you.” Dain kisses the top of her head, tapping her hip gently. “Come on, do you want to go lay down? Or go for a walk?”
“No, I want your fork. This might be our child’s birthday cake. I want to have some.”
It was not in fact her son’s birthday cake.
No.
Liam, her Liam, her tiny, blond baby in her arms, had conveniently come a few minutes after midnight, on a day all his own.
And now, as she looks down at him, his skin against her own where he is felt chest to chest with her under the woven wrap. She had fully intended to simply hold him in her arm, until she realized how difficult zesting a lemon would be with her new little boy occupying an entire arm and hand. She hushes him gently, one hand holding his body as the other strokes down the downy hair atop his head.
He is wholly and completely everything she has ever wanted, nestled in a seven pound package on top of her heart.
She’s already in disbelief at him, how something so small could one day walk and talk, would one day be bigger than her. At the same time, she’s equally in disbelief that less than twelve hours ago he lived inside of her, that the little hand pressed against her sun kissed skin was the same one slamming into her ribs this time yesterday.
It had dawned on her, about an hour ago, as she had simply been awake, staring at her son as she fed him, that in the last month she had neglected her own favorites. In doing so, she had neglected Liam’s, too.
It’s exactly why, now, she stands in the kitchen with her newborn wrapped against her, gently folding blueberries into a lemon and vanilla cake batter.
“I had a big brother, his name was Liam, too.” Sloane whispers in Tyrrish, heavy syllables rolling in her mother tongue, still supporting the back of her son’s head with one hand as she continues to gently fold the batter, careful not to overmix. “He was so brave and funny, he had a red dragon just like me. He would have been so excited to meet you, baby. If he were here, you wouldn’t be Liam, too, but you’re not too used to the name yet, right?”
Her son simply blinks at her, unfocused eyes looking in her general direction, though Sloane knew from Violet that he likely could not actually see anything more than a fuzzy outline of her. She chose to believe he saw her, anyway.
She leans her neck down to kiss his nose, basking in the little blue eyes gazing back at her. He looks like her. Her hair, her nose, her eyes. Maybe they’d become darker, if human eyes were like kittens in the way they were all blue at first, maybe they would become the same warm honey brown hue as his father’s.
Selfishly, she hopes they do not. Not because she does not love everything about Dain, not that she would not have been thrilled to see him looking back at her in their child, but now? Now that she’s seen her own, she desperately hopes he remains her portal home.
It is the first time in ten years that she sees her family, as the same eyes she spent her whole life looking up at now look up at her.
The same blue of both of her parents, her brother, herself– and now her son.
Her eyes, her language, her culture. For the first time in a decade, looking at her son, she realizes she gets to share those things once again.
“I love you,” She tells him, continuing to use her native language, while using one hand to pour the cake into a loaf pan. It was unlike any other cake she had made all month. Dense, and packed full of berries, she’d top it with a glaze rather than frosting and eat it with tea for the next week– if it lasted that long. “This isn’t your first birthday cake, but it’s still technically your birthday. It was my favorite, and Liam’s favorite, my own mama didn’t know how to make it but my daddy did.”
She shoves the loaf in the oven, before sitting on the counter top, flour covering her pajama pants.
“Once that comes out of the oven, how do you feel about going on your first dragon ride while it cools, huh baby? Then we can come inside, and I'll have my cake, and I'll feed you, and it can be our first breakfast together. Maybe we can even wake up your daddy for that part.”
“He has gone on many dragon rides, I knew of him before you did, remember?”
She is overwhelmed by the sheer pride and love flooding across that strawberry pink bond, wrapping around her in a way that brings tears to her eyes.
“Correction, your first, outside dragon ride.”
She takes his little huff of air as agreement.
He would have anything he ever dreamed of, Sloane would make sure of it. Dragon rides, all the books in the continent, sundays on beaches in Aretia– anything in the world, they would make it happen for him.
And he would always – always– have birthday cakes.