“Papa!”
A tiny girl with wild dark hair and her mother’s impossible eyes squealed as she wrapped her little arms around his neck.
“Up! Up!”
“Princess,” Kaelith murmured, his deep voice still rough with sleep as he kissed her chubby cheek. “You are already up.”
A little boy sat on the carpet nearby, glaring at his wooden blocks as if they had personally insulted him.
Kaelith smirked.
That one…
That one was his.
Grey blue eyes.
Dark hair.
And a temper that could bring grown men to their knees.
“Lucian.”
The little boy looked up.
“Come here.”
Lucian immediately stood, wobbling on tiny legs before marching toward him with the seriousness of a general heading into war.
Kaelith bent down and scooped him up with one arm.
Now he held both.
One on each side.
One laughing.
One plotting world domination.
And despite everything…
Despite the empire.
Despite the blood.
Despite the darkness that still whispered his name in the shadows, this was the richest he had ever been.
His gaze lifted and his breathing softened.
Amara stood by the doorway.
Barefoot.
Wrapped in one of his oversized shirts that hung off one shoulder.
Her hair messy.
Her face bare.
