Page 193 of The Immortal’s Mark

He studies me for a long moment. Then nods, like that’s all the explanation he needs.

“What if she has your mouth, then?” His thumb traces circles on my back. “The one that never stops?”

“Then you’ll have two of us to deal with.”

“The empire isn’t ready.”

I snort. “The empire can deal with it.”

Something loosens in my chest. Not fixed. Not okay. But breathing.

“She’s going to be a nightmare.” The words come easier now. Still raw, but easier. “Your political enemies. Tianlong’s flair for dramatic entrances.”

“Dumpling’s conviction that he owns everything,” he says.

“He’s going to be unbearable about this.”

“More than he already is?”

I almost smile. Almost.

But the warmth doesn’t hold. It never does. Underneath the banter, underneath the impossible softness of this moment, something cold is waiting.

“Another daughter.” The fear creeps back in, cold fingers at my throat. “Another target. Another dawn in a long line of them, another girl the Hungering King will hunt.”

His hand tightens on mine.

“Another girl cursed to live forever. To watch everyone she loves—”

“Stop.”

“I’m just—”

“I know what you’re doing.” His voice is steady. “You’re building walls. Thinking of reasons to run.”

The words hit like a slap. True. Completely true. Eight hundred years of practice, and he sees right through me.

“I’m not going to tell you those fears aren’t real. They are. She’ll be hunted. She’ll carry the blessing and the curse both.” His hand moves to my face, tilts it toward him. “But she’ll also have a dragon who would burn the world for her. A general who’s already doubled the palace guard. A spymaster who’s probably started a file on potential threats. An archivist who will bury her in research about everything she could ever need to know.”

“And a cat who thinks he’s a god.”

“And a father who will never stop protecting her.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “And a mother who’s survived eight hundred years of everything the world could throw at her.”

I want to argue. Want to point out all the ways this could go wrong, all the reasons this is terrifying, all the evidence that loving things only leads to losing them.

Instead I say: “Our daughter is going to be impossible.”

“Our daughter.” He says it like he’s tasting the words. Like they’re something precious. “Yes. She probably will be.”

“We’re going to be terrible at this.”

“Probably.”

“We’ll argue about everything. How to raise her, what to teach her, whether Dumpling counts as a responsible guardian—”

“He absolutely does not.”

“See? Already arguing.”