Taste of ecstasy

Chapter 43

The palace was hushed, wrapped in a velvet silence only the deepest hours of night could offer. Somewhere, a harp played faintly in the west wing a ceremonial melody drifting in the wind but here, in Magnus's private chamber, the world was still. The moonroot candle stood untouched on the windowsill, its pale wax the colour of snow kissed by starlight. Ruelle had told him to burn it when the air felt heavy or his heart wandered too far from peace.

Tonight, both felt true. Magnus sat barefoot on the edge of his chaise, dressed in soft linens, his long robe falling open around his legs like pooling water. His hair had been brushed back, his skin dewy from a warm bath. The shadows beneath his eyes had not left but neither had the softness.

He reached for the candle. With one whispered spark of magic just enough to warm the wick without splintering the night it lit. A low, violet flame unfurled, tall and slow. The scent bloomed immediately. Not of fire but of earth after rain, blooming rosebuds, milk warmed with lavender, and something faintly silver... like lullabies unsung. Magnus closed his eyes and inhaled.

He placed his hand over his belly still not full or round, but curved now with unmistakable life. The child had begun to shift these last few days, not quite kicks, but pulses like a second heartbeat blooming beneath his own.

"Hello," he whispered, voice catching on a smile. He leaned back, propped up by pillows, his hand never leaving his stomach. "I am sorry I haven't spoken to you like this before," he murmured, his voice no longer polished for palace halls but open, young, tremouring. "It's not that I didn't want to. I was just... scared. That if I said it aloud..if I called you mine....someone would hear and take you away."

The flame flickered. "But tonight... I want to talk. Just us." He waited a moment, as though the child might respond. Perhaps they did, in some way Magnus couldn't yet name. He smiled again, this time softer. "You are only twenty-one weeks old, little heart. Just a flutter. A flicker of magic and blood. And yet... I already know you." He glanced toward the moon, casting its pale glow through the balcony curtains.

"You like quiet more than noise. You curl toward the stillness, not the chaos. And you move most when I am thinking of him. Your father." His voice turned quieter still. "He doesn't know I talk to you like this. He'd probably watch me with those eyes of his...like the world starts and ends with me....and tell me to rest." He chuckled faintly. "He loves you, little one. So fiercely already. You should have seen him when he first felt you move. He tried to hide it... Alexander always tries to be so controlled but his eyes lit up like midsummer firelight." He rubbed slow, gentle circles into his belly. "I think you will have his hands. Long fingers. Strong wrists. But maybe....maybe my eyes. Or my magic. Or my stubbornness." The flame whispered. A rustle of wind stirred the curtains.

Magnus felt a sudden pressure then a soft tap from within. A nudge. His eyes filled with tears. "You are listening, aren't you?" The child shifted again, slow and sure like the answer was yes. He laughed wetly, brushing the tears from his cheeks. "I don't know what kind of world you are coming into. I wish I could say it's beautiful. But it's scared, and hunted, and haunted by old ghosts. There are people out there who would use you for what flows in your blood. For who your father is. And who I am."

His voice broke. "But I swear on every breath I've ever taken...no one will touch you. Not while I live. Not while your father breathes. Not while this heart still beats." He leaned down, pressing his lips gently to his belly. "I will love you. As no one loved me." He blew out the candle. The room turned dark...but the warmth did not leave. And Magnus lay down, hand still over his stomach, whispering a lullaby in a forgotten fairy tongue until sleep finally took him.

Not with fear.

But with hope.

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