Page 88 of The Flame King's Queen

Isavelle traces a finger down the side of my face, pushing a lock of my hair back. “Do you know why I love you so much? You’re always thinking about others first and ways to be a better man. I am so, so grateful that the gods decided that you are the mate for me, but I would have loved you anyway even if forces beyond our comprehension had not decreed it.”

I wrap my arms around her generous stomach and press my face against it. I hope the baby is born tonight so that I may hold her and my child in my arms at the same time.

My wish is answeredby the gods. Isavelle goes into labor when the full moon is directly over the castle.

The Temple Mothers are called, and they bring a birthing chair into our bedroom for my mate. Isavelle strips naked, and the sight of her swollen belly and breasts is the most awe-inspiring sight I’ve ever seen.

When Isavelle’s contractions are coming closer together, she grips the arms of the birthing chair and allows it to support her weight. The Temple Mothers all seem to know what to do and so does Isavelle, but I have no idea. I gather her hair back and tie it with a ribbon. Daub perspiration from her forehead. Tell her that she’s incredible and so brave. None of this looks like it’s frightening her. If I remark on that, I’m sure she would tell me that the women of her village have three babies at once while standing on their heads. In this matter, she has the advantage over me because she’s probably witnessed dozens of births, or at least her younger siblings’. I only remember one birth, and it was my brother’s, and I was kept well out of the way on the other side of the castle.

“Will you catch the baby, Zabriel?” Isavelle pants. “I want yours to be the first hands that hold our child.”

“I will, of course I will.”

Just before the first blush of dawn, Isavelle gives birth to our child, and as I cradle the tiny pink infant in my arms, the world stands still.

“It’s a girl,” I breathe. “She’s perfect,sha’lenla. She’s beautiful.”

Isavelle laughs through her tears. “A girl? Let me see her.”

I stand up with our daughter in my arms and hold her so that Isavelle may see our child.

A few minutes later, the Temple Mothers help Isavelle up from the birthing chair and onto the bed, and she lays back against the pillows. I get into bed beside her and place our baby on her chest. Mother Linnea gently cleans the baby with a soft cloth before showing me how to cut the cord with a sharp knife.

With my arm around Isavelle, and her cuddled against my chest, I gaze, enraptured, at our baby, taking in her tiny snub nose and perfect little fingers. Mother Linnea wraps her in a soft blanket and places her back in Isavelle’s arms.

“She has your eyes, doesn’t she?” Isavelle asks.

My eyes were blue-gray before I bonded with Scourge, and those are the eyes that are gazing up at us now. “She does. And she has your nose and pretty face. What shall we call her?”

Isavelle thinks for a moment. “How about Sylvi? I always liked the name Sylvi.”

I smile when I hear the name. “Sylvi. That’s beautiful.”

“What are the Maledinni customs around births and naming? In my village, a few days after a baby is born, the parents would take the child to a Brethren church to register them.”

“It’s something similar for Maledinni, but for a new royal the occasion is grander. Usually the baby is presented in the Great Hall so the people can admire and celebrate the new prince or princess.”

“Usually?” Isavelle asks.

I smile at her. “You are a dragonrider,sha’lenla, so things can be a little different if you choose.”

As soon asI tell Isavelle about the custom for the babies of dragonriders, she wants that for her and Sylvi, as I suspected she would.

The people of Lenhale can still be part of the celebration. On the chosen day, three days after Sylvi’s birth, the residents of the castle and Lenhale line the path from the castle to the dragongrounds and fill the battlements that overlook the flare. Many of the people are waving gold and turquoise banners that they brought to the Dragon Games to cheer on their queen.

I stand by the bridge to the dragongrounds wearing my golden armor and the crown on my head, and watch with pride overflowing in my heart as Isavelle, who is wearing her crown, carries Sylvi in her arms, leading a long procession of her bodyguards and every single dragonrider in Lenhale. Today, they’re her riders.

Esmeral is waiting at the center of the dragongrounds, eager to greet the child. Scourge and all the other dragons are assembled behind her, all keeping very quiet so they don’t startle the baby.

I meet Isavelle at the entrance to the dragongrounds, and take my mate in my arms and kiss her. Looping Isavelle’s arm through mine, we walk together to meet her dragon.

Isavelle approaches Esmeral with Sylvi. Our daughter is awake and staring around at her first sight of the world with huge eyes.

“Esmeral, this is Sylvi,” Isavelle tells her. Esmeral lowers her head and gazes at the baby while Isavelle strokes her neck. I’m told our daughter can’t focus her eyes at such a young age, but she is enraptured by Esmeral’s shimmering turquoise and golden scales.

Esmeral uses her wings to embrace and shelter her rider and baby. The two Omegas together make my heart ache sweetly. I glance at Scourge when I feel an answering pulse of emotion from him. He’s feeling sentiments that express home. Ours. Always. Forever.

You’re right, I tell him, gazing at Isavelle and Esmeral with my blood singing in my veins. All the flare’s dragons slowly unfurl their wings, sheltering Isavelle and Sylvi. The crowd cheers and whoops in happiness for the new crown princess.

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