Page 70 of Every Eligible Man

He flees without looking back.

That night, after the babies are finally asleep, Ember in her crib, Sterling in his, Havoc in his for approximately six minutes before Gerald helps him escape again, I stand at the nursery window, looking out at the kingdom.

My kingdom.

Our kingdom.

Arms wrap around me from behind. Ash. I'd know his embrace anywhere, massive, warm, all-encompassing.

"The portrait turned out well," he says, chin resting on top of my head. "Considering."

"Considering Gerald tried to eat the painter's supplies four times?"

"Considering."

Slade appears at my left, leaning against the window frame, moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face. "The historians are going to have a field day with us. 'The Lady and Her Three Farmhand Lords.’”

"Let them write what they want." I lean back into Ash's chest. "We know the truth."

"What's the truth?"

"That I found you. Against all odds, against all expectations, against eight hundred and forty-seven disappointing alternatives." I smile at the stars. "I found exactly what I needed."

Wreck tumbles in through the door, Havoc somehow already in his arms again despite the baby definitely being in his crib thirty seconds ago.

"He escaped again. Gerald helped. I'm not even mad, I'm impressed."

"He's three months old."

"He's gifted."

Havoc coos and waves his tiny fists at his fathers. Gerald, perched on Wreck's shoulder, chitters proudly.

Susan emerges from somewhere, I've learned not to question ferret appearances, and joins her partner in admiring their favorite baby.

One-Eye flaps in through the window, landing on his customary perch. "Everyone's awake. Of course everyone's awake. Sleep is a concept this family has never understood."

But he settles in anyway. Because he's ours now. Because they're all ours.

Squeak, Nibbles, and Twitch scurry in, taking up positions around the room.

"Night watch commencing!"

"Baby status: chaotic but secure."

"Threat level: low. Unless Gerald steals something, then it's medium."

Bastard waddles in last, honking softly, finding his spot by the cribs where he can guard all three babies simultaneously.

We stand there, all of us, the entire chaotic menagerie, in the moonlit nursery, surrounded by sleeping babies and awake-again babies and animals who have somehow become family.

"Worth it," I say quietly.

"Worth what?" Slade asks.

"All of it. The search. The proclamation. The eight hundred and forty-seven disappointing cocks. The carriage ride. The broken altar." I turn in Ash's arms to face them all, my husbands, my family, my beautiful disasters. "Every single moment. Worth it."

"Even the part where Gerald bit the Archbishop?" Wreck asks.