At one month old, Naomi already had more protection than most heads of state.
There were the imperial guards outside the private wing, the household staff who checked every room before she entered it, several dogs who had decided the nursery belonged to them, two parents who noticed every change in her breathing, and Theodore, who had quietly concluded that none of those people were quite responsible enough.
Dean found him sitting beside the cradle late in the afternoon, his small chair dragged close enough that one knee rested against the carved wooden frame. A picture book lay unopened across his lap because apparently reading would have interfered with his duties.
Naomi slept beneath a cream blanket, one small fist tucked beside her cheek while dark hair softened around her forehead.
Theo looked over when Dean entered.
"She moved twice."
