Dy groaned as she turned to lay on her back. "I honest to all the gods cannot wait to evict this baby from my body."

I put my hand on her swollen belly and kissed her cheek. "But you look so pretty pregnant."

"You're just saying that because my boobs got way bigger."

I laughed and sat up, moved down the foot of the bed and massaged my disgruntled wife's feet. "Maybe. But you're also-"

"Don't say I'm glowing," she interrupted and rolled her eyes.

I bit down on my lip to keep myself from laughing. "I didn't say glowing."

"You were about to. My mum told me yesterday I was glowing. Your brother said it last week. I'm starting to feel like a damn lamp."

"You'd make a very pretty lamp."

She finally cracked and laughed. "You're horrific, you know that? I'm trying to vent here and you're being so supportive."

"I know. My wifely duties have been failed miserably. I'm not even rolling my eyes at you or telling you to stop whining. I'm just massaging your feet and calling you pretty."

"We should split. This will never work." She sighed dramatically and piled her hair on her head, fixing it into a bun.

"But who would massage your feet then?"

"I'd do them myself."

"You can't reach your feet right now, Dy."

"Well, touché."

I moved up to her face and softly kissed her. Then I pushed the covers away from her belly and pulled her nightshirt up, exposing the tattooed skin underneath. She had her stomach tattooed when the pregnancy was confirmed, as per tradition. And it looked beautiful, of course. I loved her tattoos and the more she got, the longer we had been together. It always marked some kind of steppingstone in her life. And in mine. She was tattooing me too. Like when we got married, she tattooed the bottom half of my arm.

We had had a small wedding. Not a royal one. Our families had attended and some friends. We had gone to the temple in Andahavn, gone through the rituals and then gone back to the stronghold to celebrate with our favourite people. Then we announced it a couple of days later to the press. They were still talking about the secret wedding. Dy had stayed out of the media entirely, not even posed for a photo, so it was all very mysterious still. I liked it though. I liked the privacy of my new life.

"The baby will be here any day now," Dy murmured.

"I can't wait. I've been jealous of Quinn for a good while now. He has three kids already. It's our turn now."

Dy smiled and ran her hand through my hair. "We needed to be ready."

"I'm ready."

"And so am I."

Àlvar handed me the potatoes glancing up at me.

"What's up, buddy?" I asked.

"When is the baby coming?"

"Any day now."

"I wanna be an uncle soon." He frowned. He was such a serious boy already. Seven years old and very gentle, kind but serious. Nothing like Quinn when he was a kid. Maybe Àlvar was turning out to be more like Islo, despite there being no biological relation. He even moved like his father.

"You wouldn't be an uncle, my love," Quinn said and poured brown gravy over his meat. "You're going to be a cousin. If Isla had a child, you'd be an uncle."

"But Isla is busy studying all the time," the boy muttered and folded his arms over his chest.

Islo snorted and sent me a look. I bit down a laugh.

"Isla is working on becoming an ambassador, my love. What she's doing is very important," Quinn reminded him.

Isla had gone in her father's footsteps and decided to enter politics. Despite being a princess in her own right. She didn't have to do anything. Quinn had secured her future when he named her princess of Skyen. Her children would be royals too.

"But why isn't she finding a boyfriend or girlfriend?" Àlvar asked.

Islo sighed a little, shifting the baby girl he was holding in his arms a little, positioning the bottle better. "Because she's too busy. Not everything in this world is about finding a partner, Àlvar."

His frown deepened.

"It's about ice cream too," I said.

That made the boy smile. "Can I have some?"

Ever since Bursaaq had started experimenting with freezing cow's milk and adding flavours, Àlvar had been obsessed with it. He was getting a little chubby too. But considering how Quinn looked at his age, I couldn't blame the ice cream. They were just soft boys the both of them.

"I want some too," Dy said. "It's a craving. You wouldn't deny a child and a pregnant woman ice cream would you?" She arched a brow at Quinn.

He rolled his eyes and took his daughter from his husband when she started fussing. They had to switch feeding her. Quinn said Àlvar had been the same. Wanting attention from the both of them all the time. And now his sister was turning out to be the same. No one could deny Sára though. She was entirely too cute.

"I would never do such a thing," Quinn said and gently coaxed the tip of the bottle into his daughter's mouth. "But both of you need to finish your dinner first."

"I knew he was a tyrant king," Dy said to Àlvar and Àlvar looked a little confused.

"What's a tyrant?"

"It's someone who makes you finish your dinner before you get desert."

"Daddy's a tyrant," Àlvar laughed and pointed at my brother.

"Thanks, Dy. I appreciate that," Quinn said and gave her his best fake smile. "Eating dinner before desert is important, Àlvar, because we can't live off ice cream. It's not healthy and I want you to be healthy, so I can keep you around for as long as possible."

"Do unhealthy people die?" he asked and poked at his potato. 

"If they're unhealthy enough. So, remember to eat your dinner," Quinn explained.

Àlvar seemed to accept that explanation and dug in. He was so cute.