She burst into the nursery.

Syris was pacing frantically in the center of the woven rugs. The Snake King had entirely abandoned his usual composed, elegant demeanor. His long dark hair was disheveled.

Bundled in the center of Syris’s arms, screaming with a sharp, agonizing wail that physically pierced the eardrums, was Little Fedor. The newborn Kitsune heir was completely flushed, his delicate, pale skin burning a terrifying, unnatural shade of deep crimson.

The tiny white fox ears poking out from his messy red locks were pinned flat against his head in sheer distress.

Resting in the folds of the emerald blankets, the bright red gemstone was violently, sporadically flickering, its steady pulse entirely disrupted by the baby’s spiking, unstable core.

"Give him to me!" Roxy started as she extended her hand.

The absolute second Roxy crossed the threshold, closing the distance between them, a miraculous, instantaneous shift occurred.

The frantic, ear-splitting wails of the infant violently hitched. Fedor’s tiny, velvet-soft nose twitched, his hyper-sensitive Kitsune senses locking onto the familiar, deeply anchoring scent of vanilla.

He didn’t open his eyes, but his tiny, razor-sharp claws shot out from the blankets. He blindly, desperately extended his trembling little hands directly toward her, his tiny chest heaving with ragged, burning breaths.

Roxy didn’t hesitate. She ripped the heavy fur cloak from her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, and snatched her son from Syris’s arms. She sat heavily on the edge of the nearest rocking chair, immediately unlacing the front of her tunic.

She pulled the burning, thrashing infant flush against her bare chest and guided him to her breast.

Fedor latched instantly. The moment the warm, magically saturated milk hit his system, a massive, visible shudder rippled through the infant’s tiny frame.

The room held its collective breath. Roxy closed her eyes, rocking back and forth, entirely focusing her own transmigrated willpower into the child in her arms. She poured every ounce of her love, her calm, and her soul into the physical connection.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the terrifying magic began to settle.

The unnatural, blistering crimson flush creeping across Fedor’s skin began to steadily recede, melting back into a healthy, flawless pale hue. His tiny fists, which had been clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, slowly relaxed, his fingers resting softly against Roxy’s skin. Even the red gemstone tucked into the blankets seemed to let out a phantom sigh, its violent flickering smoothing out into a steady, warm, and rhythmic pulse once more.

Fedor’s frantic whimpers completely faded into soft, rhythmic, and incredibly satisfied sighs as his fever broke.

Roxy let out a massive exhale, a single tear of sheer, overwhelming relief slipping down her cheek. She slumped back against the wooden chair, her entire body trembling from the adrenaline crash.

The heavy, suffocating panic in the nursery evaporated, but it was immediately replaced by a thick, dangerously heavy silence.

Zarek stood just inside the doorway. The towering Dragon King was entirely rigid, his golden eyes locked onto the fragile, sleeping infant in Roxy’s arms. Torian, Kaelen, and Caspian had quietly filed into the room behind him, their massive frames crowding the doorway as they watched the Matriarch save the Fox heir.

Roxy slowly opened her eyes. She looked up, completely exhausted, her brilliant green gaze locking directly onto Zarek’s face. The memory of their time in the sapphire cavern—and the terrifyingly intense proposition he had made just a few hours ago—flashed vividly in her mind.

"This is why," Roxy whispered, her voice incredibly soft, but carrying an absolute, uncompromising finality in the quiet room. "This is exactly why we can’t have another baby any time soon, Zarek."

Torian’s head violently snapped toward the Dragon King. Kaelen’s icy blue eyes widened in sheer disbelief, and Caspian actually took a physical step backward. Syris, standing near the bassinet, slowly lowered his hands, his elegant jaw ticking with sudden, sharp tension.

They all looked at Zarek. The sheer, unadulterated audacity of the Dragon King suggesting another pregnancy was absolutely staggering.

Zarek felt the heavy, furious weight of his brothers’ stares burning into the side of his head.

The Dragon Alpha did not flinch. He did not look at them. He simply stared down at Little Fedor. His sharp, rugged jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his neck strained. He hardened his expression into stone, refusing to justify his primal, trauma-driven desperation.

"We need to discuss something," Torian commanded, his booming voice dropping into a dangerously low, rumbling octave. He didn’t look at Roxy; his glare was fixed entirely on the Dragon King. "Outside. Right now."

Torian turned on his heel and marched out of the nursery. Kaelen, Caspian, and Syris immediately followed, leaving no room for argument. Zarek stood frozen for a fraction of a second, his golden eyes lingering on Roxy’s exhausted face, before he finally turned and followed his pack out the door.

The heavy oak door clicked shut, leaving Roxy alone with Dena, who was still standing nervously near the washbasin.

Roxy looked at the young wolf-shifter. Dena looked back. Slowly, simultaneously, the two women just let out a heavy sigh and shrugged at each other. The absolute, chaotic stupidity of Alpha males was a universal language that required no translation. Roxy simply looked down and went back to feeding her son.

***

Outside, the freezing winter wind howled across the eastern courtyard, whipping up small cyclones of frost against the towering stone walls of the Manor.

The Alpha Kings stood in a tight, impenetrable circle in the deep snow.

"Are you completely out of your mind?!" Torian exploded, the absolute second the heavy doors shut behind them. The White Tiger did not care that Zarek was the King of the Vanguard; right now, he was a massive, incredibly reckless idiot. "Another baby?! Now?!"

Zarek stood like a monolith in the snow. He crossed his massive arms over his broad chest, his golden eyes staring blankly at the frosted gates. He remained completely, entirely quiet.

"Her core literally shut down a week ago, Zarek!" Torian roared, stepping directly into the Dragon’s personal space, his fangs fully bared in pure, protective fury. "We watched her bleed! We watched Ren shatter into stardust on that bed! She was trapped in a realm with a literal Demon King, and you drag her into a cavern and ask her to carry another child?!"

Kaelen stepped forward, his icy blue eyes completely unyielding. "It is entirely selfish, Zarek. You are letting your terror of the Architect dictate your actions. You think binding her with another pregnancy will stop the heavens from taking her, but you are going to physically break her in the process."

Caspian crossed his arms, his aquatic eyes narrowing. "She needs time to heal. Fedor needs time to stabilize. We are preparing for a cosmic war, and you are acting like a feral beast claiming a mate for the first time."

Through the entire, brutal verbal lashing, Zarek did not speak a single syllable.

The Dragon King took the barrage of furious logic because he knew, deep in the absolute, bleeding core of his soul, that they were entirely right. He was terrified. Abaddon’s threat to wipe her memory and send her back to the void had completely, fundamentally unhinged his draconic instincts. He had wanted to completely overwrite the Demon King’s curse with life, with a new baby, with undeniable proof of their reality.

But looking at Fedor burning with fever had been a horrific, sobering slap in the face.

The crushing guilt and the overwhelming, suffocating fear of failing his Queen violently collided in Zarek’s chest. He couldn’t defend himself, and he absolutely couldn’t stand there and listen to Torian dissect his failure any longer.

Zarek’s golden eyes flashed with a sudden, dark agony. He uncrossed his arms.

Without a word, without a single growl of defense, the terrifying King of the Dragons simply turned on his heel and walked away. He marched away from the circle of his brothers, his heavy boots crunching loudly in the snow, heading entirely blindly toward the dark, freezing shadows of the Iron-Wood tree line.

Torian’s eyes widened in sheer frustration. The White Tiger let out a feral snarl, immediately lunging forward to chase after the retreating Dragon and physically force him to finish the conversation.

But a cold, elegant hand clamped firmly onto Torian’s bicep.

Syris yanked the massive Tiger back. The Snake King stepped in front of Torian, his vibrant green eyes tracking Zarek’s retreating, solitary silhouette as it disappeared into the falling snow.

"Let him go, Torian," Syris murmured softly, his voice incredibly tight with a profound, shared tragedy.

Torian gritted his teeth, his muscles vibrating with tension. "He is being a coward! He needs to hear this!"

"He already knows," Syris replied quietly, dropping his hand from Torian’s arm. The Snake King looked back at the imposing, dark windows of the Manor, the heavy weight of the Architect’s wager pressing down on all their shoulders. "Do not push him. You know how he is... we are all scared."