Rhen’s attention sharpened.
“Do not fall asleep.”
Her eyes opened again.
“I thought you ordered me to rest.”
“Not while I am holding this.”
““He has a name, you know.”
“You haven’t told me what it is.”
Leena looked down at her son, then back at Rhen.
“We hadn’t decided.”
“Ten days, and the future king remains nameless?”
“Sule wants something traditional.”
“And you don’t.”
“I want something that belongs to him rather than to a prophecy.” Her gaze settled upon the tiny face resting against Rhen’s chest. “I keep coming back to Norse.”
Rhen looked down at the child.
“Norse.”
“It feels like his,” she said softly. “Not the heir’s. Not the future king’s. His.”
The child’s fist remained curled against Rhen’s shirt, small and stubborn.
“Then stop arguing with Sule and tell him.”
A faint smile touched Leena’s mouth.
“I will.”
For once, Rhen had no argument.
Leena drew a slow breath. Her face tightened almost imperceptibly.
Rhen saw it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Do not lie to me.”
“I’m cold.”
The admission came reluctantly.
“How long?”
