Chapter 194: Mundane
"Thorne, let me go," he protests softly, his voice halfhearted, his body still as if he knows I won’t let him go.
Instead of loosening my grip, I hold him tighter, wrapping my arms securely around his waist as I lie sprawled across his lap. He sighs, resigned but indulgent, his fingers threading through my hair in slow, soothing motions.
"It feels like I’m raising two children," he mutters, but I can hear the warmth in his voice, the teasing smile I’ve come to treasure.
I don’t respond, instead burying my face against him, soaking in his scent, his warmth, his presence. This is why I became a monster when he was taken from me—this connection, this quiet intimacy. He is my anchor, my peace, my everything. He is mine. No, I am his.
We stay like this for a few moments, wrapped in a bubble of calm. Just as I think I could stay like this forever, the soft, insistent cries of our daughter pierce the air, shattering the silence.
Noelle shifts beneath me, his hands still gentle as he untangles himself. "Shh, what’s wrong, baby girl?" he murmurs as he moves to pick her up from her cradle. His voice is soft, tender in a way that makes my chest ache.
He cradles her against him, checking her diaper with practiced ease while cooing reassurances. I watch him for a moment, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight of my husband and our daughter. Noelle is breathtaking in these moments—his care, his patience, his love all on full display.
Knowing he has her taken care of, I rise and head to the kitchen. The staff barely glance at me as I pass; they’re accustomed to me preparing my family’s meals myself. Only those we trust explicitly are allowed near anything Mirelle consumes. A guard even stands at the entrance of our private kitchen, a silent barrier ensuring no one unauthorized enters.
I begin preparing Mirelle’s food, mashing fruits and vegetables into a smooth, nutritious puree. Over time, I’ve perfected this routine, determined to give her the best. I’ve also made sure the sentinels know how to prepare her meals—it’s as much a security measure as a practical one.