Chapter 27

Rowan

EARLIER, I SPOTTED ALDEN AND Aurora kissing under the tree when I glanced out the parlor window, and I opted to stay clear of them so that they could have their space and talk. Now, though, Aurora is working on the vine whisper elixir in the kitchen, and Alden is sitting in the parlor reading a book. Night is descending slowly, the way it does in the summer, and I’m at the kitchen table, Lucy in my lap and Harrison beside me.

I can’t stop thinking of the tiny baby just starting to develop in Aurora’s belly. My eyes track her as she moves around the kitchen, following her every movement, and she finally plants a hand on her hip and arches a brow at me.

“Are you waiting to see a bump?” she asks.

A bit of heat warms my cheeks, and she laughs at my expense. Turning, she goes back to her elixir brewing. The kitchen smells of lavender, sage, and honey. Aurora’s long hair is woven into a braid, which swings across her back as she crushes lavender in her mortar.

“Have you ever thought of having children?” I ask her. “Before, I mean...”

She looks out the little kitchen window and takes a moment to answer. “I have. And I already knew that if I were to have a child anywhere, I’d want it to be here.” Though she’s still not looking at me, I can see the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “I spent much time here as a child, and those are my happiest young memories. It’ll be nice to pass those down to another.” She works quietly for a time after that, the only sound in the kitchen Lucy’s gentle rumble as she sleeps in my lap and the pestle grinding against the quartz mortar. “What about you? Did you ever expect you’d be a father?”

Truthfully? No.

When Lucy passed, she took most of my heart with her. After that, the only thing that meant anything to me was becoming a knight. I threw my entire life into it, trained until my hands bled from gripping my sword and my body ached from hours spent on horseback. Women came and went from my life—a town here, a bed there. My focus was on my own endeavors and service to the kingdom.

That’s not completely changed—my honor and passion still lie in serving my king—but being with Aurora has revived something in me that I thought had died long ago: hope.

Hope for a full life. For love. Perhaps even for a family of my own.

I shake my head while stroking a hand across Lucy’s soft feathers. “I never expected it, no.”

“Why not?” Aurora turns to look at me over her shoulder, braid swinging with the movement.

“Just didn’t think that was the way life would play out for me...” I take a sip from my teacup and then sigh softly, averting my gaze from Aurora’s.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Aurora says softly, drawing my eyes back to hers, “I think you’re going to make a wonderful father.” Her cheeks flush pink before she goes back to grinding the herbs in the mortar.

I know that was supposed to make me feel better, but when she said it, something turned in my gut.

Will I be a good father? I’ve already lost one person I loved just as much as life itself, and that was my fault. A knot starts to form in my stomach. What if I can’t protect this little one growing inside her? What if I make another mistake and—

“Rowan?” Aurora says. “Are you all right?”

I quickly glance up at her, banishing my dark thoughts. “Fine. Just thinking.”

My smile seems to appease her, and she continues her work on the elixir.

Once she’s finished, she adds a vial of clear liquid—morning dewdrops, I think she said—and begins stirring everything together. She then fetches the jar of clover honey from the shelf and spoons a bit into the mixture.

“What’s that for?” I ask. Lucy wakes and starts wriggling around in my lap, so I bend and place her on the floor. I’ve not told Aurora this, but I’m not looking forward to Lucy sleeping in her new coop. I’ve come to quite enjoy her company at night, even if she does take up more space on the couch than any hen has a right to.

She ruffles her feathers and heads into the foyer, and I go to stand behind Aurora, placing my hands on the counter on either side of her. My chin rests upon her shoulder, and she giggles.

“The thornbugs will be drawn to the sweetness, and the glimmer from the dewdrops will help lead them away from the pumpkin patch.”

“And the lavender?” I reach out and pick a tiny purple flower up from the counter.

“To calm them. Change is always difficult, no matter who you are.”

She’s worried about upsetting the bugs who’re eating the pumpkin patch? The realization makes me chuckle, and I nuzzle my face into the side of her neck.

What a wonderful mother she’ll be.

The floor creaks behind us, and when I turn, I find Alden standing in the doorway, his shoulders nearly taking up the whole frame. Lucy is tucked into the crook of his arm, her brown eyes blinking.

He clears his throat. “I suppose I’ll show her the coop.”

Lucy looks up at him, then back at me.

“I’ll join you.” I push away from the counter, and Alden grunts as he moves to the kitchen door. Before following him out, I catch a look from Aurora, something like nervousness flashing in her eyes.

But I told her in the bath that everything would be fine, and I meant it. Alden and I will work this out; we all will.

The evening sky is painted in bright swatches of tangerine and coral, with softer shades of purple and pink at the edges of the clouds. A few glowbugs drift lazily through the shadows clustered beneath the trees, sparkling like stars against a cloudless sky.

Alden walks ahead of me, Lucy still held in his arm. We’ve not yet put up the fence around the coop, but the structure is complete, and I see Alden even put up a wooden plaque etched with Lucy’s name.

Seeing it, my heart swells.

And perhaps for the first time, I look at him and don’t see competition. He cares for Aurora just as much as I do, and I’d be foolish not to see the value in that. I want Aurora blanketed in as much love as possible, wrapped in warm arms even if I’m not the one here to hold her. And I trust Alden. He’s a good man.

There are two doors built into the henhouse: one just big enough for Lucy to pass through, and one human-size door, though Alden still has to hunch a bit to get through, as do I. It’ll be the perfect height for Aurora—maybe that was his intention all along.

Once we’re both inside, I close the door behind me, and Alden sets Lucy down to explore her new home. She clucks as she struts about, then goes to the water dish and takes a drink. I’ll pick up some straw from the farmer tomorrow so she’ll have soft bedding to lie down upon. For now, though, she seems perfectly content as she flutters up onto her roost and settles in for the night.

“Looks happy enough,” Alden says, hands on his hips and gaze cast down. He’s not yet looked me in the eye—not since we both learned the news.

“Alden,” I say.

Tension swells between us, thick as muggy summer air after a rainstorm.

Alden takes a breath, then finally meets my gaze. “Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

His eyes narrow a bit. “For what?”

“For being a good man. I know how much Aurora loves you—it’s impossible not to see. She’d be devastated without you.”

He makes a small thoughtful sound and averts his gaze, choosing instead to stare at Lucy perched on her roost. “I could say the same,” he finally says. “I was unsure about this at first”—he gestures between us—“but I suppose it isn’t so bad.”

That statement—and the oddity that is this whole situation—makes me laugh. Alden glances over at me, his lips pulling up on one side. Then he’s laughing too, and it’s all so absurd, I just laugh harder.

“I can’t believe she convinced us of this,” I say between bouts of laughter.

“And that we actually went along with it,” Alden adds.

We laugh until I have a stitch in my side and have to lean back against the door to catch my breath. Alden wipes a few tears from his eyes, and we both take a deep breath.

Meanwhile, Lucy opens an eye to look at us, then turns around and faces away.

“I guess we should leave her be,” Alden says.

“Good night, Lucy.” I open the door and duck my head to step through the doorway, and Alden follows behind me. He closes it firmly while I stretch my arms overhead, glad to be free of that small space.

We head back to the cottage, Aurora visible through the kitchen window, and I stop suddenly.

“There’s something I was hoping you could do for me... for us,” I say.

Alden pauses at the bottom of the back stairs, not yet opening the kitchen door. “What’s that?”

Hopefully he doesn’t find this insulting . . .

“Would you build the baby’s cradle?”

Alden is an incredible carpenter, and I want him to know that I want him here, with Aurora, even if she’s pregnant with my child.

My child. Still not used to even thinking that.

His bushy brows rise slightly. A moment of silence stretches between us, punctuated by the soft sounds of the forest as night falls.

Finally, Alden offers me a small nod. “It’d be an honor.”