Extending a long, fluffy leg, he steps even closer, until he can practically wrap his wings around my body. Dropping his line of sight to my belly, he uses his beak to tap the mound, then draws patterns along the swollen surface. Almost as though he is searching for⁠—

Then the baby in my belly pushes against his beak, halting Odio’s meandering. A limb or foot warps my belly, shoving it outward.

“They are not yours, Odio!” Rome states, his attention now on Odio and me, his voice a velvety growl of authority.

My handsome boy cranes his neck, growing to nearly my height. His eyes narrow in defiance, locked on his king, seconds before he digs his beak into his wing and prunes his feathers. One at a time. As if he is sharpening knives in warning.

Rome grits out, “Attitude. Nice to see you’re back to your usual obstinance.”

A deep rumble vibrates through the air as my king presses his front to my back again, just as Odio takes to the skies. The hairs on my arms rise, the breeze is perfect—conditioned—just like all of us.

Tuscany steps to leave, saying, “I will see you both at mealtime,” but stops. “Oh, Aster, I almost forgot⁠—”

I look at her.

“Ana is going to join my Army of lovely ladies. She can visit any time you like, but I very much wish to take her with me when I travel The Cradle in the coming months. If she accepts; I would never force her. I know Ana will miss playing with her baby, but she was very loyal to you in the abbey. I believe she will be excellent at this new Trade.”

I nod quickly because I agree. “Thank you.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t meet her eyes. A smile rarely creeps that far into Tuscany’s soul. “No, thank you.”

She peels away from us.

“If we have a girl.” I arch my neck, gazing directly up to see Rome’s possessive stare already on me. As if the top of my crown is far prettier than the roses ahead of us. “Can I name her London? Like the old-world city?”

He smiles; it is a soft one just for me. “As long as that name makes you smile while you greet her each first-light and beckon her to bed each last-light. You will be using that name daily.”

That makes me beam.

He means she—or he—will always be with me. Every day. Another reassurance that our children will be raised around these gardens, picking the roses as Odio maps a grid of protection above them.

As we look out over the manicured hill, birds take flight from the unwelcoming forest trees, only to hover just below the threatening Redwind, and I consider my upside-down bird. The lost girl with the honey hair, the boy with the bird he wanted to stroke, and Odio.

My mind dives into the reverie of the baby bird at every chance. It is a hazy memory now but somehow crystal clear. Finding something more vulnerable than myself, in a perfectly conditioned environment, flicked a switch inside me, even at that young age. It made me realise how insignificant we all are. In The Cradle. The Crust.

I have been looking for meaning in this recurring memory for as long as I can remember, but what if there is no meaning.

Just random events.

And my reactions to them.

My upside-down bird is my first question. Maybe I was never meant to have any? My first, what happened and why? And despite my conditioning, this hiccup in my world began an indefinite reel of curiosity.

Curiosity is not a virtue.

Neither is love…

But I feel them anyway.

THE END

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A Silk Girl’s

Third Trimester

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Epilogue

Rome

Two months later

In the courtyard, I pace outside the Silk Girl Wing, where the finest doctor in The Cradle prepares Aster for her caesarean.

The grass below my feet is already burnt-umber from the friction of my powerful gait.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Glaring at the door.

“Hurry. Open up. Sire is going to kill someone, and I am the only one out here.” Turin Two stands by the locked door, watching me, amused by my utter dishevelment.

Fucker.

It happened so fast; I was playing with her sweet body, and she started screaming in pain, clutching her back as it spasmed, and that was that.

I needed the heir out.

I wasn’t prepared, so I’m bare-chested, pants barely clinging to my hips without underwear. I thrust my hands through my hair, muscles bubbling with discomfort. The blood on my forearms catches my eye, gripping at my flesh, drying to a shell of crimson.

Odio…

Growling, I glare up at him. It is his fucking fault I am not inside with her as I should be.

Above me, Odio has carved a line through the Redwind, leaving a streak in the wake of his darting form.

Left to right.

His head is angled downwards and his keen eyes are like arrows searching for a target. And I am ready to catch him before he dives for the person who opens that fucking door.

He wouldn’t let the Trade doctors touch her. I had to stay outside and wrestle with his talons; my forearms snaked in blood from the altercation. I tried to sedate him, but he dodged all my tranquilliser darts.

Fucker.

His distress floods the atmosphere above me, and nothing is more dangerous than the fear of losing someone you love.

I should know.

I feel feral.

“She will be fine, Sire,” Turin Two consoles, and my sharp stare hits him as if his words are unwelcome. They are not. I only have one feeling—volatile—and that cannot be calmed, soothed, or⁠—

A click comes from the door.

Turin Two inhales hard and pushes it open, lunging into the building, but not before Odio descends like a giant shadow, the sound of his sudden decline a riotous clap of feathers.

I reach the door just as the winged giant does, turn around, and bulk to my full size, blocking the entrance. “Not yours, Odio!”

A screech punishes me and the air, and I swear I hear profanity in it. When I don’t move, he takes off shrieking, the sound assaulting the atmosphere, and returns to cut a red line in the sky above her wing.

I walk inside and close the back door.

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Epilogue

Aster

I have only ever seen him like this once.

And that was at the abbey.

There is something incredibly stirring about my Xin De King—a being so huge, hard and sharp, skin sliced and stitched, arms threaded with veins so prominent they could have their own angry intent— appearing fearful and anxious.

He strides across the surgical chamber where the doctor is already opening my abdomen, a storm brewing behind his blue gaze, and I reach out my hand to him.

“My king.” I breathe, smiling softly.

“Pain?” He punches the word out as if it took every ounce of strength to get it through his teeth.

“None. The doctor used La Mu before the spinal needle. I feel floaty.”

La Mu isn’t something available to the general citizens of The Cradle. The wrong dose or part of the plant, can shrivel veins like a flaming bloom. The right part, in the correct dosage, can make you float and hum. Rome and I use it a lot when he takes me from behind, and I enjoy it so much more than I thought I would.

He presses my hand to his bare chest. Warm muscular skin shifts beneath my touch. I span my finger out, using the tips to stroke him, to calm him. Feeling the heavy beat of his heart, I smile because it is about to double in size.