“He is a handsome one, my son,” his fathersaid, slapping Aleksi on the back.“Congratulations.”
“He looks to be a fine combination of hissire and his dam, does he not?”Aleksi said.
“As is your son, my son,” Anya said, handinglittle Maks to Aleksi.
Born one year to the day he and Sahar hadfirst met, the child was, according to his grandfather, thespitting image of Aleksi as a babe, except for the mass ofblack-brown curls on his head.That hair was all Sahar.Thestubborn streak and willfulness Maks was beginning to show were amatter of continuing discussion.
Juggling his chubby-cheeked son in one arm,Aleksi held out his hand and helped a stiff-legged Sahar stand fromwhere she sat by Lasair’s head where she’d petted, soothed, andurged the mare on throughout her labor.
Pyotr and Arman, his stable masters, thoughperfectly capable of helping the mare give birth, had known betterthan to try to talk Sahar into leaving the mare’s side until thefoal was born.They urged the mare to stand, and helped the goldencolt with black stockings to his unsure feet, grinning as the coltlatched on to his dam and began suckling with vigor.
Aleksi kissed his son’s curls and wrapped hisarm around Sahar’s shoulder, pulling her close, a surge of pridewelling up inside of him.
“Thank you,” he whispered in her ear.“Mytigress, my wife, my love.”He ran his hand down her arm and heldit over her blade’s hilt as he nuzzled her neck.“My kitten.”
