Elara’s POV
"You’re doing it again."
Brenna whipped her head toward me. "Doing what?"
"That face." I gestured vaguely at her entire expression as we stepped out of the tea house and into the afternoon sun. "The dreamy, faraway, ’I’m-thinking-about-a-tall-golden-haired-man’ face."
"I am not—" She clutched two shopping bags tighter against her chest like a shield. "I don’t have a face."
"Everyone has a face, Brenna. Yours currently looks like a lovesick poem."
She made a strangled sound. The cobblestones were warm beneath our feet as we turned down the lane toward my residence. Market stalls flanked us on both sides, vendors calling out their wares, but I kept my gaze fixed on my best friend with the kind of predatory focus she usually reserved for organizing my schedule.
"You’ve met the man twice," I said. "Twice. And you’re already—"
"I am not anything."
"Your cheeks are still pink."
"It’s the sun."
"It’s overcast."
Brenna walked faster. I matched her pace easily despite the shopping bags weighing down both my arms and the twins pressing against my bladder. Pregnancy had not slowed my determination.
"I’m inviting him," I announced.
She stopped dead. A woman carrying a basket of bread nearly collided with her back. "Inviting him where?"
"The gender reveal party. It’s in two weeks. He’ll still be in the capital sourcing his alloy parts." I shifted my bags to one hand and patted her shoulder with the other. "Perfect timing."
"Elara. No."
"Elara, yes."
"You cannot just—invite strange men to your—"
"He’s not strange. He’s my childhood friend. Practically family." I smiled sweetly. "And he’ll be delighted to come."
"You don’t know that."
"I absolutely know that."
Brenna’s mouth opened and closed several times. No sound emerged. She looked like a fish plucked from water and set upon a warm stone.
I laughed and kept walking.
---
We deposited our haul in the sitting room of the residence. Fifteen bags. They covered half the floor—fabric samples, baby linens, tiny shoes, wooden toys, two matching blankets in neutral cream, and an assortment of items Brenna had insisted were "essential" before panicking about something else entirely.
"Stay here," I told her. "I’ll be back soon."
She stood in the middle of the bag-covered room, cycling through expressions at an alarming rate. Confusion. Hope. Terror. Excitement. More terror. And something soft and vulnerable she’d never admit to.
Six emotions in the span of a breath.
"What if he doesn’t—" she started.
"He will." I squeezed her arm. "Trust me."
---
The hardware shop sat on the main street. A simple storefront with an iron anvil painted on the sign. I spotted Finnian before I reached the door.
He was outside, loading crates onto an old wagon hitched to a patient gray mare. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, forearms corded with muscle as he hefted a wooden box that looked far too heavy for one person. He made it seem effortless.
"Finnian."
He turned. A broad smile broke across his face immediately. "Elara. Twice in one day—I’m honored."
"I have a proposition."
He set the crate down and wiped his hands on his trousers, giving me his full attention. "I’m listening."
"Two weeks from now, on Saturday, I’m hosting a party. A gender reveal—for the twins." I rested my hand on my belly. "Small gathering. Family, close friends. Good food, better company."
"That sounds wonderful."
"I’d like you to come."
His smile widened. "I’d be glad to. Truly."
"Good." I paused. Tilted my head as though something had just occurred to me. "Oh—and Brenna will be there, of course. She’s helping me plan it."
His posture shifted. Almost imperceptible. A slight tension in his shoulders. Attentive.
"She mentioned she’s been so busy these past years," I continued, examining my nails with studied casualness. "Dedicating herself entirely to the empire’s work. Barely any time for herself." I looked up and met his eyes. "Very single. Tragically so, really."
The tips of Finnian’s ears turned crimson. Deep, unmistakable red spreading from the cartilage down to the lobes.
"Is that so," he said. His voice had dropped half a register.
"Heartbreakingly so."
He cleared his throat. Rubbed the back of his neck. "Well. I’ll—definitely be there. Absolutely."
"Wonderful." I beamed at him. "I’ll send the details to your lodging."
"Brenna." I reached up and gently pulled her hands away. "Listen to me. You have spent years—years—taking care of everyone else. Me. The children. The household. After dedicating years to the empire, when was the last time you let someone take care of you?"
"You said it to yourself in the mirror this morning! You said ’Operation Brenna’s matchmaking starts today.’"
Kaelen’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, clearly enjoying this immensely.
Brenna looked like she wanted the floor to open and swallow her whole.
"It’s not—" I started.
Valerius tilted his head. His expression was grave. Scientific. "Her heartbeat just sped up," he announced matter-of-factly. "When Lyra said Finnian’s name. Significantly faster."
"Valerius!" Brenna squeaked.
"I’m just reporting what I hear." He shrugged with devastating calm. "Wolfborn hearing doesn’t lie."
Kaelen finally laughed. A deep, rumbling sound. He crossed the room and pressed a kiss to my temple. "You’re meddling."
"I’m facilitating," I corrected.
"Meddling," he repeated, but his eyes were soft with amusement.
---
The nursery waited upstairs. Empty and full of possibility.
We spent the next hour transforming it. Kaelen and Valerius tackled the cradles—one painted blue, one painted pink—spreading wooden pieces across the floor like a puzzle. Valerius held each board steady while Kaelen secured the joints, their dark heads bent together in concentration.
"This piece goes here, Father."
"Are you sure?"
"Obviously."
Lyra appointed herself head of stuffed animal arrangement, lining them up along the windowsill with military precision and then immediately rearranging them by color.
I sorted through the tiny clothes from our shopping bags, folding each piece into neat stacks. Impossibly small socks. Soft cotton sleep gowns. A knitted cap no bigger than my fist.
Brenna worked beside me, quiet now. Content. The panic had faded, replaced by something gentler.
Kaelen tightened the final bolt on the second cradle and sat back on his heels, surveying their work. Valerius stood with his arms crossed, chin lifted with unmistakable pride.
"Perfect," I said from across the room.
Kaelen caught my eye and smiled. Just for me.
Then Brenna caught my attention from the other side of the room. She held up two tiny outfits. One printed with a small wolf. One printed with stars.
"Which one?" she mouthed silently.
"Both," I mouthed back.

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