Zaliyah woke before the first bell, the lingering static of his nightmares dissolving as he realized where he was. He didn't wait for the maids to assist him. He threw back the heavy furs and rushed toward the nursery, his heart beating so fast with the desperate excitement to see his daughter.
When he pushed open the doors, the room was already humming with activity. The nanny was bent over a steaming porcelain basin, testing the temperature of the water for the baby's morning bath. In the cradle, Sylaris lay still, her chest rising and falling.
Zaliyah didn't say a word. He pulled up a low stool and sat beside the cradle, his eyes tracing the delicate lines of her face. She looked older, more defined, yet her innocence was still a fragile shield against the cold fortress.
"Good morning, Your Highness," Iruna whispered, entering with a mountain of fresh linens and tiny garments balanced in her arms.
