The word yes still rang in the air like the last clear note of a song. For a moment Adrian thought he had imagined it, that his starving mind had conjured the sound out of sheer desperation. But then he saw Elara's lips curve, saw the tears shining in her lashes, and his chest felt like it might split open.
He rose, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her as if the storm outside had only been practice for this. When they broke apart, both laughing, both weeping, Gavin stirred upstairs with a small, imperious cry, reminding them that love was never just two—it was three now.
They went together to the nursery, hand in hand. The rain tapped softer now, as though applauding. Gavin blinked at them with the wide eyes of someone destined to demand the universe. Adrian stroked his son's cheek with reverent fingers.
"We're a family," he whispered. "Finally."
Elara leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. "We've always been. We just had to remember."
When the storm passed fully, the night smelled of renewal. The sea's rhythm returned to its faithful math: in and out, loss and return. Upstairs, Gavin slept with the arrogance of kings. Downstairs, Adrian and Elara curled on the couch, not as strangers, not as combatants, but as people who had decided—despite scars, despite storms—to build a table with enough chairs for tomorrow.
The Ring
His body moved before his thoughts could catch up. He surged forward, crushing her against him, arms ironclad around her slender frame. His breath came out in ragged bursts against her hair.
"Goddammit," he whispered into her shoulder, voice rough and reverent all at once. "You have no idea how happy you just made me. You and our son... mine. Finally mine."
Elara clung back, her hands pressing into his back as though steadying both of them. Her cheek was damp against his collarbone. For a long moment they simply stood there, caught in the storm of relief and longing that had been denied for months.
Then Adrian pulled back, his throat working. His hand went to the inside pocket of his coat. He had carried the weight of this thing for months now, even when he didn't know if he would ever see her again.
A small velvet box, frayed at the corners, heavy with legacy.
He remembered the first time he had seen it—hidden in his father's drawer, gleaming faintly in a shaft of light. He had been ten, too young to understand the weight of promises, old enough to know this ring was not ordinary. It was meant for the one.
At fifteen, his grandfather had told him the story: how the Vale men had carried it through wars, how it had been slipped onto trembling hands in candlelit chapels and storm-battered decks, how every woman who wore it became more than a bride—she became a pillar of the name.
And Adrian, arrogant and untouchable, had sworn he would never kneel, never let himself be ruled by something as fragile as love.
Yet here he was. Kneeling in spirit, trembling in truth.
His hands shook as he opened the box. Inside gleamed the Vale ancestral ring: gold etched with ancient runes, crowned with diamonds that caught the lamplight. It had waited generations for this moment.
Elara's breath hitched, her eyes wide.
"This," Adrian rasped, swallowing hard, "was meant to stay in my family. To be passed to the one I chose. And there was never anyone else. Never. It's always been yours."
Tears blurred her vision as he slipped the cool band onto her finger. His thumb lingered over the metal, pressing reverently against her skin, his lips following in a hushed kiss.
"Perfect," he murmured, so soft it was almost to himself.
Before Elara could answer, Gavin's cry broke through the monitor upstairs—a high, imperious demand. She exhaled a small laugh through her tears, wiping quickly at her cheeks.
"Your son," she teased faintly, though her voice shook.
Adrian's answering smile was raw. "Our son."
The Feeding
Elara carried Gavin down, swaying as she settled into the armchair. She tugged her blouse aside with practiced ease, cradling him against her. The infant latched eagerly, drawing deep gulps of milk as his tiny hands curled into fists.
Adrian stood a pace away, transfixed. He had imagined fatherhood in fleeting pictures—vague, blurred. But this was real. His son's content hum, Elara's gentle sway, the storm-soft night outside.
"He looks like me," he said hoarsely, almost in disbelief.
Elara glanced up, tired but radiant. "He is your son."
The certainty in her voice hit him harder than any accusation ever had. His throat tightened, and he reached out, brushing the downy hair on Gavin's small head with his fingertips.
"Ours," he whispered. The word felt like a vow.
Gavin fed noisily, making greedy little sounds. Elara chuckled. "Like a goblin, isn't he?"
Adrian nearly choked on his own breath at the sight—his son fiercely latched, his wife laughing softly—and something primal and protective twisted in him. "Menace," he muttered, gruff and fond all at once.
Elara shot him a sharp look. "That's my baby."
Adrian raised both hands in surrender, a crooked grin cutting across his face. "Hey, I meant it with respect. He eats like he's fighting kingdoms. That's all."
She rested her head against his chest, Gavin still feeding. "He's a baby. That's normal."
Adrian's arm wrapped around her shoulders, anchoring her against him. He pressed a kiss into her hair, inhaling her scent, his voice low. "Yeah. Guess I'll have to get used to it."
Elara shifted slightly, mischief tugging at her lips. "You could use the other one."
Adrian froze. "...What?"
"It hurts if the milk doesn't get out," she explained calmly. "Normally I pump."
Heat roared through his veins. His breath came uneven, jaw tight as his mind filled with images he shouldn't let in. "Elara..." His voice cracked low, rough with restraint.
She slipped her blouse aside further, baring herself to him without hesitation. Her eyes held his, steady. "It's better this way."
His body nearly shuddered from the force of holding himself back. "I'm trying really damn hard not to think about this the wrong way."
"You don't want to try?" she asked innocently, tilting her head. "Ysabel once teased me about it. I told her no. But you're not her."
His pulse hammered. His mouth went dry. "I—" He swallowed hard. "Damn right I do."
Elara laid Gavin gently in his crib, kissing his tiny cheek before turning back to Adrian. She guided his head down with her hands, pressing her chest against his face.
"Here," she murmured.
A guttural sound escaped him as his lips closed over her, his hand rising to cup her other side. His tongue drew against her, slow at first, then hungry. The taste was foreign, intimate, overwhelming. Reverence warred with raw need. His whole body trembled with the effort of restraint.
"God..." His voice broke between breaths. "Better than I ever dreamed."
Elara gasped softly, her head falling back, a moan spilling from her lips. "Ah—don't bite..."
That sound nearly undid him. He pulled away just enough to look up at her, eyes dark and desperate. "You can't say things like that," he growled low. "You don't know what it does to me."
Her lips parted, but before she could answer, Gavin gave a little sigh in his sleep, reminding them both of the world around them. Elara covered herself again with steady hands, though her cheeks glowed with color.
Dinner and Dishes
Adrian sat heavily at the table, raking both hands through his hair. His chest still heaved with every ragged breath.
Elara served dinner as though nothing had happened, though her hands weren't as steady as usual. She set his plate down in front of him, her mouth twitching into the faintest, sly smile.
He stared at her across the table, eyes dark, jaw tense. His mind replayed every second. The taste. The heat. Her moan.
She caught his gaze and tilted her head. "What?"
"You're trying to drive me insane," he muttered, his voice hoarse.
"You're just dirty-minded," she countered, feigning innocence as she sat.
He let out a low growl of frustration, running a hand down his face. "Maybe. But you're too damn cute when you pretend you're not."
They ate quietly, the storm softening outside, the house warm with domestic light. The clink of spoons, the patter of rain, Gavin's soft sighs from upstairs—it was a symphony of ordinary life, and Adrian felt like it was the most precious music he'd ever heard.
At one point, Elara caught him staring at her bowl. "What?"
"You still cut the carrots the way I like," he said softly.
Her lips curved faintly. "Old habits."
His chest ached with something raw. "Thank you."
Later, when she stood, drying her hands on a cloth, he watched her with hunger in his eyes, his voice grumbling low. "You're just trying to drive me crazy."
She glanced over her shoulder with a half-smile. "No. You're just imagining things."
He stood slowly, moving behind her, his hands sliding to her waist. His lips brushed her ear, his voice rough as sandpaper. "Then keep imagining I will. Because one of these nights, Elara... I'm not going to stop."
Her breath caught, her hand tightening on the cloth. She turned her head slightly, her lips a whisper from his. "Done," she said, drying the last dish. Then she looked at him fully, her smile slow and dangerous.
"Shall we go?"
Adrian's breath shuddered out of him. For once, he had no retort. He only followed, the storm inside him louder than the rain.