11. The little sunshine clears away dark cloud

11. The little sunshine clears away dark cloud

The eventful heat had passed. Certain now that Aeroc was pregnant, Kloff moved into the mansion at once. Naturally. No alpha in his right mind left an expectant omega alone at a distance.

The estate had more than enough unused rooms, so the practical inconvenience was nil. A few servants slow on the uptake were summoned by the butler for a briefing on various protocols. No one questioned Kloff's constant presence in Aeroc's room, or the fact that the two shared a bed. Martha, however, was rather startled to learn that her employer's omega turned out to be the famous count.

"So he's your——?"

"That's how it turned out. The omega part is known only to directly employed staff, so please make sure word doesn't leak."

"Keeping quiet is all well and good, but what's the point? If he's pregnant, it'll show."

"That's a problem for later. Right now I'd like you to look after him. There aren't many people I can trust with this."

"Is that why I'm currently riding toward the count's estate?"

"Well — they used to have a housekeeper, but she retired two years ago and they never found a replacement. The butler's been managing everything himself. But an alpha butler can't tend to a pregnant omega. I have my own work, too. Aeroc is a special case — alpha to omega — so he won't have much experience with any of this. I'd really appreciate your help, Martha."

As their carriage rolled on, Martha covered her mouth and laughed.

"Don't you worry. Having a beauty of that caliber as the lady of the house — that's been my dream. Oh my, and the baby will be gorgeous. I'm already excited."

"Don't get too carried away. Aeroc startles easily and cries at the drop of a hat. He eats everything but absolutely will not touch raisins — or any dried fruit that looks or tastes like them. He loves reading; he's deeply knowledgeable about music and art. He's proud. Not rude, exactly, but proud. I hope you'll get along."

Martha nodded.

The real concern, in truth, wasn't her. When the topic of moving in first came up, Aeroc had answered: "Obviously. We'll be seeing each other every day — no point exhausting yourself going back and forth. Use the room next door, or the one across. I'll let Hugo know."

"……Next door? Not the same room?"

Kloff had been tying his tie and glanced back. Aeroc, perched on the bed with his juice, colored slightly.

"Married couples use separate rooms."

"Is that a tradition of the count's household?"

"It's how all aristocrats do it."

"Hmm. I don't much care for that."

"You'll be sleeping in my room at night anyway, so having your own room during the day shouldn't matter."

"I'm allowed to sleep over?"

Their eyes met in the mirror. Aeroc gave a small nod.

"But only in my room."

"You won't come to mine?"

"An omega who sneaks into a married alpha's room is a mistress. I'm not a mistress."

"Of course not."

"You can come to mine whenever you like. So you come."

The meticulous insistence on tradition and propriety was faintly amusing. For all that, the man had shattered the sacred tradition of alpha-firstborn succession, had been impersonating an alpha for years, and was currently carrying a child who was — in legal terms — essentially illegitimate. Fellow criminal and co-conspirator that he was, the straight-backed dignity of the declaration was too adorable to challenge. Instead Kloff left a brief kiss on the red lips and asked:

"Then I should close up my house. Martha's my only employee, so it won't be difficult."

"What will happen with Martha?"

"I was actually going to ask you. You don't have an experienced omega to help with the pregnancy. There's no housekeeper at the estate. Would it be all right to bring her?"

Aeroc went quiet for a moment. He studied Kloff, considered, then asked: "Would you like her here?"

"I'd be glad of it. She nags, but she's attentive and comfortable to be around. Frankly, I have no allies in this house. But you're the master of the estate — I'll defer to you."

He had no intention of forcing the issue. Parting with Martha would sting, but it wasn't more important than Aeroc. Aeroc, however, agreed.

"……All right. As you say, there's no housekeeper and we'll need a nursemaid for the children. She'll raise them well — confident and uncrumpled. The sort who can stand up to you and speak her mind without flinching."

Kloff, seated on the edge of the bed, stared at Aeroc in his silk pajamas.

"Have you heard Martha nag me? When you came to my house?"

"No — she just looked the type."

"She'll help, but we're the ones raising them. Martha's been dreaming of a blond, blue-eyed little master, and she's been nagging me to win over my beautiful bride, but she's the nursemaid. We're the parents. You're the mother, especially — don't think about offloading that onto anyone else."

He took the hand resting neatly on the sheet and kissed its fingertips. Aeroc nodded, as though grasping something he should have known. Kloff kissed the softly falling golden hair, then stood. He had an appointment with the Finance Minister today; he couldn't be late. A quick check of his suit, a long draw from a lukewarm cup of tea, and he was heading out — when Aeroc called from behind.

"Oh — I should probably warn Hugo in advance."

"I'll leave that one to you."

"You're pushing the hard part onto me?"

"Hugo is your department. I…… can't. You know that."

Kloff fled without hearing Aeroc's reply — and exited the mansion before a blade-sharp gaze could find him.

He finished his errands and returned in the early evening. He'd gone home first to explain the situation to Martha and told her to pack what they'd need immediately. Now, riding together to the mansion, he was already squirming in his seat.

"Martha. There's someone besides Aeroc you should be aware of."

Martha, already in high spirits, blinked her round eyes. "Who?" — a touch too loud.

"Hugo. A butler who's been serving this estate for thirty years. Thorough, exacting — born for the profession. A crotchety old man, the sort who seems to have been built from the ground up for the sole purpose of being a butler."

"He doesn't like you, does he? The villain who dared lay hands on his precious young master."

Martha was perceptive as ever. When Kloff confirmed it, she laughed another bright ho ho ho.

"Don't worry. I don't just sit around and take it, either. The next count of this house is your child — what's there to be afraid of? Stop fretting over nonsense and focus on your career. When you do well, I do well."

Her confidence was already at a level that defied further expansion — any more and things would be truly unmanageable — but having Martha say it was oddly reassuring. She really was the only person he could count on.

The moment the carriage pulled up, the estate's front door swung open and the butler emerged, immaculate as ever. He registered Martha stepping down behind Kloff, narrowed his brow a fraction, and twitched one corner of his mouth — but said nothing. Aeroc had evidently handled the conversation during the day. Under Hugo's direction, footmen carried the luggage inside.

As they followed the silently leading butler, Martha whispered:

"He looks formidable."

"That's why, Martha — please survive. If something happens to you, I'll be alone in this house for the rest of my life."

"You're about to be a father — stop being dramatic. But I'll do my best."

Hugo cleared his throat, apparently catching the whispers. The two were promptly separated: Martha was led to another wing by a maid who showed her around the splendid corridors with wide eyes, while Kloff was escorted by the butler to a room some considerable distance from Aeroc's.

"……What about the room next door, or across the hall?"

"This room has been used by the Countess for generations."

An ice storm seemed to pour from the butler's lips.

"I'm not the Countess."

"Indeed — calling someone whose hulking frame rivals a half-naked bandit's, and whose conduct in debasing a person of quality rivals a pirate's, a Countess would be an absurdity. However, as the genetic contributor to the forthcoming second generation, the count has ordered that you receive treatment commensurate with that station. As the count occupies the master bedroom, this room naturally falls to you, Mr. Bendyke."

Frozen in the blast, Kloff managed: "Butler — if a criminal who's raided land and sea decides to retaliate against someone throwing that many punches, Aeroc would be quite upset." But Hugo had already flung back the curtains and paid no attention.

"There is no better remedy for a savage disposition than the beauty of nature. This room commands the finest view of the rose garden, which the late Countess treasured. I suggest you gaze upon it and purify your mind and body."

The garden visible through the window, softly lit even at night, was deeply familiar. The view was similar to the guest room he'd used before but even more expansive. An antique armchair sat by the window, angled toward the garden.

While he stood there gazing out in silence, the butler vanished without a sound. Still no match for the wily old fox. Kloff tapped his fingertips against his forehead, then sank into the armchair. Purify your mind and body. Absurd — and yet, looking at the garden, he did feel a strange calm settling over him.

* * *

In the dark room, a man with silver hair sat in an armchair, motionless as a taxidermy specimen. His vacant gaze was fixed on the garden beyond the window. Dawn broke; orange light spilled in; through the bright noon sun the green-and-crimson garden glittered, and still he watched. As dusk fell and violet light faded into darkness, nothing filled those hollow eyes but the garden — and the decrepit cottage standing in its midst like an eyesore. From the thawing days of spring through the lush early summer, through desolate autumn, into the hushed, snow-laden winter nights, the man never left that chair.

I was desperately curious who he was. I walked around to the side to see the face where dark shadows crept up through the bottomless melancholy. It was me.

* * *

He startled awake. Or thought he did — unable to tell whether his eyes were open or shut, he rubbed them, and spotted a maid in the far garden gathering the lamps. Reality.

Another appalling nightmare after a long reprieve. He'd let his guard down and lost his mind along with it. By the time he opened his eyes, full dark had settled. He spun too fast and cracked his foot on the chair leg. The pain was considerable — but he hopped on one foot out of the room and went straight to Aeroc. He swore never to set foot in that ghastly room again.

Martha was busy learning the ropes, and the butler was occupied teaching her, which left both of them with no attention to spare. In that window, urgent business had to be handled quickly. After dinner, Kloff summoned Aeroc to the study.

He'd researched the relevant laws in preparation for the child. Re-registering Aeroc as an omega, as expected, was fraught with problems.

Inheritance law posed a serious risk of halving the estate's assets, and a high likelihood of lawsuits from other relatives demanding redistribution. Even if, as Aeroc insisted, his relations had no interest in the money, questions of title succession could arise. Current national law permitted omegas to inherit without discrimination, but deep-rooted aristocratic tradition did not. If the matter became public, scandal was guaranteed.

After much deliberation, they agreed to postpone a legal marriage indefinitely. Kloff's career in government was gaining momentum; eventually he'd have real power, and when that day came, no one would stop him from changing Aeroc's surname to Bendyke. He had no designs on the Teiwind estate — that could go to whichever alpha child was born first. What he needed was time to earn the standing to claim Aeroc Teiwind openly as his spouse.

"There's really no way at all?"

"We could always abandon everything and elope."

"……"

The explanation left Aeroc surprisingly disappointed. Gratifying to know the impatience wasn't one-sided. Kloff's gaze drifted to the thick sheaf of documents in Aeroc's hands — and to the ring already on his finger. Gold, set with a sapphire that matched the blond hair's shimmer. He'd wanted a beautiful, private setting, tear-filled proposal — but that modest hope had been obliterated long ago. The morning after the heat had broken, the instant Aeroc regained his senses, he'd shoved the heavy alpha off, rifled through Kloff's jacket without so much as dressing properly, and extracted the ring. While Kloff, having rolled off the bed in his sleep, was groggily protesting "What the——?", Aeroc had already slipped it onto his own finger.

By the time Kloff grasped the situation and threw a fit — you can't just take someone else's property — Aeroc fixed him with a glacial stare and said, "Someone else's? Isn't this for me? Or is there another omega?" — and the interrogation was terrifying enough to silence him.

Yes, it's for you, but not like this — let me put it on you properly — but Aeroc shook his head and refused to uncurl his fingers. He'd been wearing it ever since, apparently. Sleeping, bathing — never once removed. That was gratifying; the lingering disappointment, unavoidable.

"If this legal-representative-and-guardian clause covers emergencies, does that grant full authority?"

"It does. I've itemized every contingency I could think of as separate provisions."

The contract was exhaustive. Premised on lifelong mutual binding upon signature, it was particularly explicit in establishing Kloff's near-parental rights over Aeroc's children. This time Aeroc read every word without being told to — and signed without hesitation. So easily that it felt strange.

"There are two more copies — here and here."

Without comment, Aeroc signed all three and passed the pen to Kloff, who added his signatures. One copy for Aeroc's vault, one for his own document safe, and one for the notary's keeping. As he organized the papers, Kloff smiled at the omega who was now, in legal terms, very nearly his property.

"We can't have the wedding, but if you'd like a small ceremony, that's fine. Within the budget I proposed, of course. We need to maintain the estate's finances if we're going to raise the children properly."

Aeroc brightened at the first part and soured at the second, grumbling:

"As if we'd ever let the children go hungry."

"Marrying off six of them will cost a fortune. Wait — why do I know that?"

He frowned, puzzled at his own words, and rubbed his chin. Aeroc snorted.

"……Because you're a miser. Come to think of it, all they ever got was old clothes and just enough potatoes to not starve."

The grievance poured out like something long held back. Kloff had no idea where it was coming from.

"You're sitting in a bespoke suit from a top tailor, having just finished a dinner that cost more than most households spend in a week. What on earth are you talking about?"

"Forget it. I'm the only one who suffered."

Aeroc stormed out. No matter how Kloff turned it over, he couldn't make sense of it. He genuinely wished someone would provide a translation. How could the words of his own pregnant omega be harder to decode than cuneiform from a newly unearthed civilization?

Kloff shook his head and stood. Understanding or not, his pregnant omega had just left the room angry — the man who'd put the child in him could hardly sit there twiddling his thumbs. Condemned by the crime of impregnation to ten months of servitude at those feet, and shackled by the instinct of an imprinted male unable to defy his bonded mate — no matter how loudly reason screamed, the body followed the lingering trace of scent.

"Today it's slow-cooked vegetable soup with a light sauce over smoked salmon. Plus fruit, your favorite butter bread and marmalade. And since you complained the apple juice was getting old — tomato juice."

Every morning when Kloff arrived with the tray, Aeroc broke into the happiest smile in the world and scrambled out of bed to the table. For as long as he was eating, not even his beloved husband existed.

Hair flattened from a night of sleeping on one side, he seized a fork in one hand and a spoon in the other. The vegetable soup was tasted first; "It's edible now" was the verdict — which briefly delighted Kloff — before "There's still a hint of char, though" was appended, trampling the joy.

In the time it took Kloff to drink half a cup of black tea, Aeroc had demolished the soup and the butter bread and was eyeing the fish. He prodded the pink flesh once with his fork. By now Kloff had learned to read even that single gesture: not enthusiastic.

"You don't like salmon?"

"No, I eat it fine."

"Is the preparation different?"

"It's not that…… Martha made this, didn't she?"

Caught immediately. "How did you know?"

"Just…… had a feeling."

"Martha's cooking is reliable. It'll be good."

"I know."

The answers came too readily for someone who hadn't tasted it. Aeroc prodded the fish a few more times, then cut off a small piece and placed it in his mouth. Unlike the frantic pace of before, he chewed slowly — so slowly that by the time he swallowed, it must have dissolved to nothing. Then he frowned.

"If you don't want it, leave it."

"I'm going to eat it all."

"With that expression?"

"It's not that I don't like it. It's just……"

His voice caught. He took a sip of water. "I just regret being so stubborn about not eating something this delicious back then." He ate the rest of the salmon with determination. Another incomprehensible remark — but the conclusion seemed to be that the salmon was a success, so Kloff simply smiled.

Time passed smoothly, and mercifully, without major incident. As the belly grew, Aeroc scaled back his public appearances, and Kloff did the same. What he did learn, bone-deep, was what happened when a fox and a raccoon shared a house.

"In the Teiwind household, black tea is prepared in a matched tea set, served with premium cream. That is the tradition."

"Well, you'll need to add a new tradition — mugs with sugar only."

Martha dropped two cubes into a plain mug, stirred it with a flourish, and drank. The butler's hand trembled visibly. Martha observed: "Looks like senior tremors setting in. That's what happens when you're angry all the time." And she slurped her tea with audible relish. Kloff, passing by during the staff break, caught sight of the quaking butler and barely swallowed his laughter.

Then came the incident during an afternoon walk with Aeroc in the garden. They were in the middle of a leisurely argument — three children versus six — when they spotted Hugo and Martha in the far beds, cutting flowers for the house.

"Roses are not cut like that — crudely, ignorantly. You hold here, make an angled cut there, strip the rough thorns and lower leaves, and lay them in the basket. You call yourself a housekeeper and you don't know this?"

"The Bendyke household grows great big cedar trees, not these wicked flowers."

"……What is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. So I cut it like this?"

Martha ignored the butler again, seized a half-open rose by the stem — and Hugo started forward urgently: "That one——" before retreating several paces.

Bzzzzzz.

Two bees erupted from inside the bloom and dive-bombed Martha.

"Ahh! Bees!"

While Martha flailed wildly, the butler's mouth twitched. He remarked, with elaborate calm, "Punishment from the bees — for calling their flower wicked," picked up the rose basket, and walked inside.

"They really don't get along, do they."

"They might warm up faster than you'd think."

At Kloff's skeptical "Why?", Aeroc smiled.

"That's the most affectionate Hugo's ever been with anyone."

The man had abandoned a woman being stung by bees. If that was affection, the standards of this household were truly beyond comprehension.

Months passed. The wonder of watching Aeroc's belly swell was short-lived — the looks from visiting guests were decidedly pointed. Marquess Wolfrake, whose presence remained inexplicable, took one look at the straining waistcoat and jacket and wordlessly produced a small box. "This was meant as a gift, I'm told."

"About that belly, though……"

"Abdominal obesity."

Kloff, standing beside the count like a knight, answered without a flicker. Wolfrake choked, coughed several times, then tried again: "Is that really what it is?"

"His appetite has increased dramatically of late, resulting in sudden weight gain."

"And you think people will buy that?"

"If they choose not to accept a plain fact, that's their concern."

Without so much as a blink, Kloff spun lie after lie while exchanging a long, loaded look with the marquess. Roughly translated: Shut your mouth if you want to keep living. Or alternatively: Brazen bastard — have you forgotten who helped you?

"Did you come alone?"

"……I did."

To Aeroc's question, Wolfrake gave a reply tinged with something difficult to name, then moved on to join the other guests. Aeroc held the gift box with a puzzled expression.

"Why does he keep getting invited?"

"The Wolfrake marquisate and the Teiwind earldom have a long history of ties. It's perfectly natural."

"Can we cut ties?"

"Of course not."

Aeroc chided Kloff for talking nonsense. Having nothing to say, Kloff snatched the gift box from Aeroc and opened it. If the contents were anything suspicious, he'd find an excuse to throw the man out. Inside, however, was a piece of cloth slightly larger than a palm — soft, exquisitely made.

"What is this?"

"Oh — a baby bonnet. Fine lace, too."

"So he knows."

Swallowing his fury, Kloff spoke through gritted teeth. Aeroc gave him a look of mild pity.

"It would be stranger if he didn't. While we're on the subject — is 'abdominal obesity' really the best you've got?"

"Would you prefer I say it's a serious illness?"

"Enough! Trusting you was my mistake!"

Aeroc snapped, shoved the bonnet at Kloff, and ordered: "Put it in the second drawer in my room. Yourself." No amount of teeth-grinding could counter the count, who was already sweeping off with a radiant smile to greet the next guest.

A doormat — that's what I've become. On the sumptuous sofa, the count sat imperiously while Kloff knelt at his feet, scooped warm water from the basin, and poured it over the white foot extended toward him. He wet it to the ankle, then worked fragrant soap into a lather between his palms and massaged the count's precious feet. Tops, soles, and the heels that had borne the weight of a heavy body all day — thoroughly attended, then each gap between the toes rubbed with careful fingers.

"That tickles."

The imperious complaint provoked no retort whatsoever. Kloff scooped warm water again and poured it over the white foot. Then he kneaded with his large hands, pressing firmly.

"Ah…… ah…… more…… there…… mm……"

The sounds were dangerously suggestive and blood rushed south. Kloff adjusted his kneeling position to relieve the pressure. If caught, he'd be called a foot-fetishizing deviant again. In truth it was the moaning that provoked the response, but past experience had taught him that explanations were futile. When the massage was done, the count exhaled a satisfied, languid haah.

He dried the clean foot with the towel that had been draped over his shoulder, and the count placed that foot on Kloff's shoulder — lightly, imperiously, the way an ancient emperor might use a slave as a footrest. Then offered the other. Kloff washed and massaged that one, too, and dried it.

Two rounds of suggestive sounds had left the situation below somewhat serious, but attending to this refined count allowed no time for such distractions. He pushed the basin aside and rose. Before the clean feet could touch the floor, he slipped one arm under the knees and braced the other firmly against the small of the back, and lifted. Aeroc looped his arms around the broad shoulders, natural as breathing.

"Oof."

Kloff clenched his jaw and fought not to drop the count. An alpha's frame to begin with — not exactly petite — and now carrying a belly inflated like a balloon, the man was heavy. But Kloff arranged his features into a smile as if lifting a feather.

"Am I heavy?"

A question with an obvious answer — but Kloff possessed the wisdom not to give the obvious response. In a slightly trembling voice:

"Not at all."

"Then why are you clenching your jaw?"

"Toothache. I have a cavity."

"……Funny — my tongue's inspection a moment ago suggested otherwise."

"How would a tongue detect a cavity?"

Answering as he went, Kloff took one step, then another, toward the bed. He managed to deposit the heavily pregnant man on the mattress just before a blood vessel in his forehead burst. The bed creaked and sank heavily. Kloff straightened up with a quiet sigh of relief——

And Aeroc caught his collar and pulled him down for a kiss. Instinctively his eyes closed; the kiss was sweet and lingering, and when he opened them again, Aeroc was smiling wickedly. "No cavities after all."

"……In all fairness."

"Pajamas."

Before he could finish, Aeroc gave the curt command. Kloff fetched the pajamas and helped him change. Shedding the loose day clothes for a white cotton nightgown, Aeroc grumbled at the garment and handed the discarded clothes to Kloff.

"How long do I have to wear this ridiculous thing?"

Under the pretense of smoothing the nightgown's hem, Kloff let his hand trail discreetly along the white thigh. He smiled.

"It's cute — all round like that."

In truth, the two legs extending from beneath the white nightgown were so devastatingly provocative that his mind went blank — but saying so would earn a rebuke, so he held his tongue. Aeroc scowled and lay down. Kloff placed a pillow under the legs, then propped the upper body with generous cushions.

"When will I be able to lie flat again? When will I see my own feet?"

"Two more months."

"I have to do this five more times……"

Kloff paused mid-sheet-tucking and looked at Aeroc's deeply creased brow.

"You really intend to have six? Perhaps we should revise that."

He'd run the numbers on the final phase of what would be an eight-to-ten-year project — his own age, his stamina, the correlation with Aeroc's weight — and offered the suggestion. Aeroc drew a firm line: "Six. Absolutely non-negotiable."

Why the fixation on six? You'll die before you're done. Kloff genuinely wanted to argue, but in the brief moment he stepped away to clear the basin, Aeroc had dozed off where he sat. Kloff laughed softly.

"Well — if I get to see that adorable sight five more times, I suppose it's not so bad."

He kissed the cheek of the man already dead to the world and dismissed the premature worries.

While the belly was only slightly showing, loose clothing sufficed. Past the sixth month, concealment became impossible. Generous garments were needed — and even so, the protruding midsection couldn't be hidden.

He'd reduced his public engagements, but complete seclusion would only fuel different rumors, so the occasional intimate tea party with a small circle continued. His complexion had grown luminous, his face radiant to the point of glowing — and the formerly slender count now carried a sizeable belly. Guests worried about his health. Add to that the increasingly frequent sightings of the financial manager, who had recently taken up residence, being conspicuously affectionate — and the gossip, naturally, flowed in that direction.

"Surely the count isn't……"

"Surely not. He's definitely an alpha. I've known him since childhood."

"If, hypothetically, he were…… then presumably……"

"From the look of things, I'd say so. They do make a rather handsome pair."

Each time such murmurs reached him, Kloff pushed the abdominal-obesity story with unwavering conviction. Apart from the likes of Wolfrake, people initially seemed to believe it. By the seventh month, even that was a stretch. Kloff's stance never wavered.

"……You really think anyone buys that?"

When another co-conspirator raised the question, Kloff's eyes glinted.

"If they don't buy it, what are they going to do — cut him open and check?"

His menacing air cowed everyone into silence. Among the nobility, the accepted line became: "I hear Count Teiwind has put on quite a bit of weight lately." Eventually people were saying "Perfectly ordinary abdominal obesity" with straight faces. Aeroc, the butler, and Martha were all speechless. To which Kloff delivered what would become a household maxim:

"Truth is something you forge by force of will."

As the due date approached, Aeroc grew anxious. In the end they left the mansion for a quiet country house not far from the city — the place where Aeroc used to spend his heats. Hugo couldn't follow, as the estate required managing. Martha came instead, but housework alone kept her fully occupied, which meant all of Aeroc's care fell squarely on Kloff.

Since the pregnancy began, Kloff had adopted the philosophy that Aeroc's fortune was effectively his own. He'd handed off all but his most important clients and drastically reduced his workload — but the national fund he was managing had grown steadily in scale, keeping him breathlessly busy. He'd taken extended personal leave, yet financial matters never paused entirely; every few days he had to ride into the city.

Tending to an Aeroc who shifted between furious, weeping, and euphoric — sometimes within the same hour — was no simple task. After settling him into bed each night, Kloff still had documents to sort and urgent correspondence to draft, seal, and dispatch before he could put down the pen.

He cracked his stiff neck side to side, rubbed his dark-circled face with both hands. He hauled his spent body up, undressed, and climbed into bed. He gazed at Aeroc, who smelled of gentle soap, and kissed his forehead.

"A sleeping wife really is the prettiest."

The first words out of Aeroc's mouth each morning were, of course: "I'm hungry." Kloff, who had been deep in exhausted sleep after a late night of mental labor, shot upright at the sound like a private hearing an air-raid siren, threw on a robe in a half-conscious daze, and stumbled out. He could now find the country house kitchen with his eyes shut. Martha, already up and preparing breakfast, greeted him and stepped aside.

Eyes shut, he located potatoes and knife by touch. He'd reached the level where he could peel without cutting himself even while nodding off. Vegetables and potatoes went into the pot with practiced ease; a pinch of salt and pepper for seasoning. Meanwhile, Martha loaded a bed tray with a spread that was anything but simple: a generous salad, two slices of toast, fruit, juice, three strips of bacon, a bit of sausage, and scrambled eggs.

In the center sat a warm earthenware bowl, pre-heated and waiting. He poured the just-boiling soup in, filled it to the brim, and sealed the lid. At last fully awake, Kloff hefted the heavy tray and climbed to the second floor.

He barely managed the door, and there was Aeroc, eyes shining, waiting. He set the tray down and helped Aeroc sit up — propping generous cushions and pillows behind him — then placed the feast on the bed. Aeroc instantly seized a spoon and went for the soup first. Kloff sat on the foot of the bed with his own sturdy mug of steaming tea, watching Aeroc blow on the hot soup and eat with frantic urgency.

"Is it really that good?"

"Don't talk to me."

Out of genuine curiosity, Kloff had tasted it himself a few times. It wasn't bad — perfectly edible, in a plain sort of way. But for someone accustomed to premium ingredients and masterful cooking, the frenzy seemed disproportionate.

After the disastrous first attempt, he'd expected Aeroc to give up on his cooking — but Aeroc demanded that crude soup every single day, and refused to touch any other food until he'd had it. No mere stubbornness: the morning sickness was severe enough that he'd actually vomit up anything else. Kloff had no choice but to keep cooking through his tears. Eight months of daily practice and he'd reached a level of eyes-shut competence.

By the time Kloff finished one cup of tea, Aeroc had polished off the entire spread. The soup bowl, in particular, was so clean it hardly needed washing. Having eaten his fill, he contentedly rubbed the balloon-like belly and sipped his apple juice. Kloff cleared the considerably lighter bed tray to the side and massaged the legs that had swollen overnight from sleeping on one side.

"A little higher. There. Ah……"

Aeroc closed his eyes and made sounds of pleasure. He'd performed the same service last night, but this morning ritual was equally essential.

Sipping juice and receiving the massage, eyes closed and humming contentedly — Aeroc suddenly curled inward with a sharp ugh.

"Don't tell me — is it time already?"

"Don't…… be ridiculous. It's too early. The puppy woke up."

"Ah."

Unlike the grimacing omega, the alpha smiled and stroked the swollen belly with his large palm. Between gentle, circling passes, a determined kick struck the center of his hand.

"Oof."

"That must hurt."

"Not must — it really does."

Aeroc grumbled, wincing. Kloff grinned and kept stroking, then kissed the belly.

"Definitely an alpha."

"Omega. An omega son."

Aeroc maintained with unwavering conviction — as if by divine revelation — that the child was an omega. Martha, with her own experience, had said the belly's shape pointed to alpha. His baseless faith never budged. Accordingly, every piece of baby gear had been prepared for an omega. Though Kloff was secretly stockpiling alpha supplies on the side.

"An omega would be fine, too. Especially a blond with sky-blue eyes — imagine how lovely."

Aeroc studied him, then smiled faintly.

"As you wish — your wife's looks. Blond hair, blue eyes."

The way he referred to himself drew a laugh from Kloff.

"That's right — a beautiful, sweet omega who takes after my wife."

He sealed the words with a kiss.

On Martha's advice that bed rest alone did more harm than good and would make the delivery harder, Aeroc walked the modest country garden whenever he found the time, morning and afternoon. In a voluminous maternity dress, wide-brimmed hat, and Wellington boots, he looked like an enormous child — and it was hilarious.

Martha had insisted on a pink sweater to keep him warm, and then tied a scarf beneath the hat to protect the pearl-fine complexion, leaving only his face peeking out. Watching from behind, Kloff let a snort escape — and was promptly kicked in the shin by an Aeroc furious at his own appearance.

"Don't laugh at me!"

"I wasn't laughing at you — I was laughing because you're adorable."

"Don't call me adorable, either!"

The outburst was followed by a waddling exit through the front door. Like a bear cub just learning to walk. Kloff stifled his laughter.

Walking alone wasn't stimulating enough, apparently. Aeroc took up a small trowel and bucket and crouched in a corner of the garden, digging at something. It looked painful just to squat, but there he was — unearthing bulbs, picking insects off the shrubs, tending the beds with surprising skill.

"Where did you learn all this?"

"Any cultivated aristocrat has a basic grounding in horticulture. You're the one who should stop playing with ledgers and numbers and pick up a real hobby."

"Having nothing meant studying was all I could do. There wasn't exactly leisure for cultivation."

He'd tossed it off lightly, but something struck a nerve. Aeroc turned and stared. Set him off again? Kloff shrugged, and Aeroc immediately turned back and began picking up bulbs.

The silence felt awkward, so Kloff drifted behind him and offered a belated defense: "I can play chess, at least." The trowel, which had been digging with its usual absorbed energy, went still. Normally he had to be pulled away from the gardening; today he'd barely started before he stood.

"Aeroc?"

"……The weather's not looking good. Better finish the bulbs another time."

The bucket was barely a third full, but Aeroc dropped the trowel inside and rose. Kloff straightened to his full height and scanned the horizon in every direction, then shrugged.

"It's perfectly fine. Clear and cool."

"It's going to rain."

Not a single dark cloud in sight, yet Aeroc left Kloff standing there and went inside.

What had soured his mood this time was anybody's guess, but the man who'd put a child in him was duty-bound to watch his every cue. All day, whenever their eyes met, Kloff smiled and mouthed I love you. Each time, Aeroc returned an awkward smile, held the gaze for a moment, then slowly looked away. Something about him seemed unbearably lonely, and before long Kloff couldn't stand it — he strode over, gathered Aeroc in his arms, and kissed every exposed inch of skin.

Even so, Aeroc said nothing. He was slightly stiff and didn't lean into the kisses — but he didn't pull away, either, and so Kloff told him patiently, again and again, that he loved him.

By the time a few marks had blossomed on the chapped lips, beneath the once-delicate chin that had rounded slightly, and along the tender skin where the neck met the prominent line descending from behind the ear — the omega, half-buried in the alpha's arms, spoke in a quiet, level voice.

"I am in love with you. I am in love with you."

Closer to a declaration than a confession — an odd, unfamiliar cadence. Functionally no different from saying I love you outright, and yet his confessions always landed at a slight angle.

"Yes. You're in love with me."

When Kloff confirmed it, Aeroc nodded and leaned into him. The puppy had grown considerably, making a face-to-face embrace difficult, so Kloff held him from behind — one hand tilting the chin until Aeroc looked back over his shoulder, then bending to kiss him. Aeroc was unsteady on his feet and looped an arm around Kloff's waist for balance. But the hand never quite reached his back. Kloff tightened his arms around Aeroc.

A bittersweet undercurrent persisted, its cause stubbornly withheld — but on the whole, the time that passed was sweet and peaceful. And when the air turned decidedly cool, the signal came at last.

One afternoon, while Kloff sat drinking tea and sorting documents, Aeroc came in from the garden drenched in cold sweat.

"Kloff — go and fetch the doctor."

Kloff rushed to support the swaying, perspiring man.

"Is it real this time?"

The confirmation was necessary — there had been several bouts of false labor that had sent Kloff into a frenzy. Each time, Aeroc had calmly told him it wasn't time yet. Kloff had refused to listen.

"You've never given birth — what would you know!"

He'd raged and dragged the doctor in regardless, only for the man to shake his head every time.

"Braxton Hicks. Still a ways off."

Then Kloff had to grovel before an Aeroc already irritable from the pain. But this time was different, apparently.

"This is the real one! Go — now!"

But he couldn't leave Aeroc like this. At the very least, he needed to get him seated. He pulled off the muddied boots and was trying to lift him to the bed when Aeroc snapped:

"Not the bed — the sofa! Sitting is more comfortable!"

By whose authority — but Kloff quickly settled him on the sofa. Then, on legs that refused to cooperate, he went to call Martha. He was fairly certain that what left his mouth at that moment was the loudest sound he'd ever produced in his life. Martha, just emerging from the kitchen, stared wide-eyed at Kloff hurtling down the stairs.

"Martha! The baby's coming!"

"For real this time? Not another false alarm?"

"Yes! Hurry — please!"

Martha handed him a bag of prepared birthing supplies, then set water to boil. He raced back upstairs, and in that brief absence Aeroc had slid off the sofa entirely — arms draped over a cushion on the seat, face buried, legs spread wide on the floor.

At some point he'd shed trousers and undergarments and was half-stifling terrible sounds into the cushion, breathing in harsh, ragged bursts. Martha arrived shortly, assessed Aeroc's condition, and opened the bag Kloff had brought, laying out clean towels.

"Don't just stand there gaping — go get the doctor!"

"Oh. Right."

Martha's bark snapped him to his senses, and Kloff bolted for the doctor. He rode as though his entire purpose in learning horsemanship had been building toward this moment — but the short distance to the village felt three times its usual length.

He found the doctor's office in the village center, kicked in the door — and the man wasn't there. An assistant, badly startled, informed him that the doctor had gone on a house call to the next village, to treat a child who'd broken his leg falling off something. Kloff promptly intimidated the address out of her, remounted, and stormed the house to extract the physician.

"A broken leg won't kill him. My wife, on the other hand, might be dying as we speak. If you want to keep practicing medicine, I suggest you come quietly."

He heaved the middle-aged man onto the horse like a sack of grain, swung into the saddle behind him, and gathered the reins. The powerful horse, excited, tossed its head and stamped. Kloff dug in his heels.

"——the cast just needs to dry!"

Hands white with plaster, unable even to sit properly, the doctor clung to the horse's rump and screamed his final instructions to the shell-shocked mother of the child, who stood watching from the doorway. Kloff delivered the doctor to the country house in what could only be described as transport by force. The moment they dismounted, a terrible scream rang from the second floor. At the thought that his omega was dying, every hair on Kloff's body stood on end and his legs shook. Half out of his mind, he seized the dazed doctor by the collar and hauled him upstairs.

"Aeroc! Don't die! I brought the doctor!"

He kicked open the door. Aeroc was draped over the sofa, clawing at the cushions and screaming. The white nightgown was already a mess of amniotic fluid and blood. The doctor shook free of Kloff, rushed around behind the sofa, and knelt beside Martha. Gasping, Aeroc shrieked again — the sound muffled by the cushion but enough to make Kloff's hands tremble and his eyes sting.

"That's remarkably fast for someone who only started contracting recently. I've never seen a first-time delivery progress this quickly."

"S-so something's wrong?"

Kloff glared with murderous intent but somehow managed a voice that had shriveled to nothing. The doctor shook his head, looking flustered.

"Nothing's wrong at all. It's going extremely smoothly for a first birth. In fact, the skill is uncanny — almost as if he's done this three or four times before…… ah. Forget I said that."

The expression on the father's face made the doctor hastily retract the comment. He turned to Martha.

"Go and bring sterilized scissors and more warm water, and extra towels. At this rate of dilation, it'll be very soon."

Martha left. The doctor commanded, with professional authority: "Sir — please calm down and take a seat, or else step outside." Authority or not — if anything happened to Aeroc, everyone would die. Kloff shut his mouth and sat in the corner chair. He bounced his knee in agitation. Aeroc screamed again.

"A little more effort. You're doing wonderfully."

Following the doctor's instructions, Aeroc expelled rough breaths and then bore down. Sweat or tears — his soaked gold hair clung to his forehead as he screamed once more, then panted in short, harsh bursts, and through hazy eyes found Kloff across the room. In that instant Kloff wanted to kneel and beg forgiveness from God for being born an alpha and unable to bear this pain in his place.

By the time the hair he'd torn from his own scalp — listening to his imprinted omega's agonized cries — lay in a considerable pile at his feet, the doctor exclaimed. Kloff's heart nearly leaped from his throat.

"The head's out. A little more. Just a little more."

Aeroc's entire body convulsed with one final scream. A moment later came a strangled, crushed cry — and as Aeroc went limp, like a cord cut, the doctor lifted a red, bloody mass from between his legs. At the sight, Kloff's already-tilting world spun like a top. He forced his nerveless legs to take a few steps. The baby — yes, but it was Aeroc he was terrified for, Aeroc who might not be all right.

"Aeroc?"

The word came out splintered beyond recognition. Mercifully, Aeroc was safe. Still draped forward, his chest heaved with ragged breathing. The doctor cut the cord, tied the navel, and passed the infant to Martha. She washed the baby with expert hands, swaddled it in a supremely soft blanket they'd prepared, and rose. Carrying the bundle across the room, she placed it in Kloff's arms with a beaming smile. Kloff, who had been staring at Aeroc the entire time, only registered the weight when it arrived.

"A handsome little gentleman — one look at that equipment and he's all alpha. Got his father's dark, glossy hair."

Holding the child felt like cradling a snowflake that would melt at a touch. Kloff peered down with infinite care. Through all that ordeal, the boy hadn't cried — just lay snuffling softly, and he was the most beautiful thing Kloff had ever seen. Except for one. The doctor finished the aftercare while Martha brought water for him to wash his hands. He dried them, stood, and gave Kloff a pat on the shoulder.

"Given how well that went, you really don't need me next time — a midwife will do. All I ask is that I not be kidnapped again."

He left. While Kloff stood frozen, Martha was already stripping Aeroc's soiled nightgown and wiping him down with warm, damp cloths.

"Don't just stand there — help."

The words jolted Kloff back. He set the baby gently in the waiting crib, then rushed to Aeroc's side. Martha handed him a wrung-out warm towel. He cleaned the blood-streaked legs, then wiped the face and chest with a fresh cloth — but whether from exhaustion or something else, Aeroc didn't open his eyes.

"Nothing's wrong, is there?"

"He's just spent. He'll come round shortly. Clean him up and get his clothes on before he catches a chill."

Martha gathered the soiled linens and floor coverings into a bundle and carried them out. Kloff toweled Aeroc down quickly, dressed him in the soft prepared pajamas, and lifted him — noticeably lighter now — with care that bordered on reverence. He laid him on the bed, drew up the sheet, and then, overcome, stroked the white forehead. The limp hand moved: fingers closed around Kloff's sleeve.

"You're awake?"

"……I don't want to go back to the cottage…… it's too lonely there……"

"What? The cottage?"

His voice cracked with emotion. The man who had just given birth opened eyes filled with exhausted tears — hazy, unfocused.

"……But being thrown away is worse……"

"What are you saying? Why would I throw you away? Oh — Aeroc. Our baby."

Both of them were safe — the joy was so immense that Kloff seized the hand gripping his sleeve, pressed an urgent kiss to the back of it, and set it down. He circled to the far side of the bed, to the crib, and carefully lifted the child.

He wanted to show Aeroc right away. How happy he'd be. Disappointed that it wasn't an omega son, surely, but their child was healthy and handsome — he wanted to boast about it like a fool.

"Look, Aeroc. Our baby."

He was just lowering the child into Aeroc's line of sight when a ragged, harrowing sob tore free.

"I don't want to see!"

His smile froze exactly as it was. Aeroc twisted his aching body away, refusing to look. He'd called the baby "puppy" all through the pregnancy, had doted on the belly endlessly — and now rejected the child? Nothing made sense. But the anguish on Aeroc's face was too acute to challenge. Kloff mastered the violent emotions surging through him, summoned the gentlest, softest voice he could produce, and called his name.

"Aeroc. Look at me."

It took two more calls before the tear-filled eyes rose — and caught sight of the baby in Kloff's arms. The gaze locked. Even wanting to, he couldn't look away. And yet what came from his mouth was something else entirely.

"Don't. If I look…… I won't be able to let go……"

"Let go to where, Aeroc? What are you talking about?"

"You're going to take the baby away. To the mansion. The cottage is too cold — I can't sleep there."

Holding the baby, Kloff knelt at the bedside. Now the child was at Aeroc's eye level. He saw the white swaddling and reached out — but the trembling fingers curled shut before they made contact, like petals withering. He wanted the baby. That much was obvious. So why push it away?

Kloff wanted to weep. Just moments ago he'd endured the agony of his imprinted omega's labor, believing the radiant smile would be his reward — and Aeroc had rejected their child. The grief was unbearable, the desire to break down and howl nearly uncontrollable. Instead, Kloff placed the baby into Aeroc's arms. Aeroc squeezed his eyes shut and tried to refuse.

"Just take it. Please."

"Look! Look at your child!"

He tilted Aeroc's resisting head toward the baby. Through shut eyes, tears leaked down, rolling along the bridge of his nose and falling onto the infant's small head. The baby's face scrunched — and then, at last, came the first cry. A tiny, fragile wail. At the sound, Aeroc flinched and instinctively gathered the child close.

The sight froze Kloff, too. The baby was crying; Aeroc was crying. Kloff — who had no idea what had gone wrong with his wife and his child — wanted desperately to cry as well. Just as the tears he could no longer suppress were about to fall, his rescuer appeared.

Martha returned from clearing the room, took one look at the wailing infant, and frowned.

"You need to nurse."

When Kloff choked out "How?", she marched to the bedside with commanding authority, took the baby from him, and set to work. With the sure, firm hands of a seasoned mother, she propped Aeroc upright against pillows, opened his pajama front, reclaimed the baby from Kloff, arranged it in Aeroc's slack arms — and guided the tiny howling mouth to the nipple.

Aeroc — who had been trying not to look — let out a small, awed "Ah." The baby, eyes barely open, tears still glistening, fussed and squirmed but soon found instinct; it latched and began to suck.

The tempest of Martha's brisk intervention had stopped Kloff's tears cold.

She stood with hands on hips, surveying the brand-new mother and the brand-new life with open pleasure.

"How does it feel?"

Aeroc — still staring at the child with the stunned expression of someone beholding a visiting angel — blinked slowly, and in a faintly trembling voice said:

"He…… isn't blond."

"Takes after his father — dark brown."

"……He doesn't seem to be an omega, either."

"What? You didn't even tell him it was a boy?"

Martha shot Kloff an incredulous look. He'd been about to protest that the man had refused to look at the baby in the first place, but held his tongue with strategic wisdom.

"Is something wrong?"

It was Martha who answered.

"Wrong? Ten fingers, ten toes, everything intact and accounted for. Is the milk not coming?"

"It's not that……"

"Once this side's empty, switch to the other. He's small enough that one side is probably plenty, but if you don't nurse regularly the supply will dry up. And when it does, you can't get it back, so don't skip feedings — stay on schedule. After nursing, don't forget to burp. Get some rest tonight — you've earned it. The real hell begins shortly."

Aeroc startled at the ominous words, tears threatening again.

"No——"

They couldn't have that — the crying had only just stopped. Kloff caught Martha on her way out and demanded, on Aeroc's behalf: "What hell?"

She fixed both novice parents with a fearsome stare.

"The hell of a baby waking every two hours to nurse, nappies to change, and walking the floor all night to get it back to sleep. Don't even think about relying on me — I need my rest, too."

A chill ran down Kloff's spine. After Martha left, he gazed at the tearful Aeroc and the baby in his arms, and the thought arrived with the force of prophecy: Ah. Sleep is over.

The tears that had just retreated welled up again.

Thanks to Martha's bulldozer intervention, Aeroc — forced into holding the baby — nursed with unexpected docility. Keep your mouth shut this time. Kloff committed himself to silence and devoted every faculty to memorizing the truly indescribable beauty of his omega holding his son and nursing. Aeroc, still awkward, stole a glance at Kloff, then dropped his gaze back to the baby.

"I hadn't thought of alpha names……"

"There's no rush."

"I was so sure it would be an omega. Blond, blue-eyed, a beautiful child."

Whether to call it adorable stubbornness or to demand an explanation for why he'd refused to look at this very child — the urge to ask was overwhelming. But he swallowed it.

"Then, as you said, perhaps the second will take after you. Provided I don't lose my mind from listening to your screams, or get crushed under the weight of childcare first."

"……Then Rapiel would be the second. If one like that were born."

Kloff's expression darkened instantly.

"Why is Rapiel coming up again? And what do you mean, the second?"

"If an omega son were born, I wanted to name him Rapiel."

Aeroc's eyes held a quiet sorrow as he stroked the baby's head, then looked up at Kloff. Kloff was so dumbfounded he couldn't even muster a proper snort. He didn't want to raise his voice after what Aeroc had been through — but this was beyond tolerance.

"You're winding me up, aren't you? Payback for putting you through this."

"No."

"Yes, it is! Rapiel? Rapiel? For a second or a third or a ninth or a tenth — my child will never be named Rapiel! If this is some kind of lingering obsession with him, I promise you the second will be conceived during a prison visit."

The threat made Aeroc flinch. The body still too weak for real movement managed an indignant retort nonetheless.

"Why would I — with Rapiel — that's not — wait, why are you angry at me?"

"My omega keeps bringing up another man's name unprompted — find me the alpha who wouldn't lose his temper!"

The raised voice startled Aeroc. He clutched the snuffling baby tight, fell silent for a long moment, then said, flatly:

"It's all different. Everything."

Kloff, whose sanity was being tested several times per hour, managed a weary "What now?" Aeroc's quiet voice took on a faintly self-mocking edge.

"Everything is different from what I knew. You, the child, this house, this moment."

He should have been grateful — the baby was safe, the mother had come through — but the infuriating omega had ruined the mood entirely. Too exhausted for real anger, Kloff rubbed his face and asked:

"Different in a bad way?"

Aeroc studied him, then looked down at the baby. A long silence. By the time Kloff had nearly forgotten the question, a gentle smile surfaced, and the answer was: "No."

The baby, belly full, had stopped its tiny suckling motions. It seemed to be asleep.

"You need to burp him, or he'll spit up."

Aeroc, who had been simply holding the sleeping infant, started when Kloff reached for it — and twisted away.

"I want to do it."

With Kloff's help, he repositioned the baby upright and patted the small back. Soon a soft puh-puh — a miniature burp — and Aeroc smiled with genuine delight. He cradled the baby again, carefully, and with Kloff's support settled back onto the pillows.

Kloff lay down beside them. It had been a truly, extraordinarily exhausting day. The omega sheltered the small body; the alpha sheltered them both. Kloff buried his nose in the slightly sweaty, impossibly sweet-smelling hair at the back of Aeroc's head and spoke.

"He'll probably roll off if you hold him like that in your sleep."

"I don't want to let go. I want to keep holding him."

"A minute ago you wouldn't even look at him."

Aeroc touched the baby's cheek with his fingers. A sigh of wonder escaped.

"He looks like you. The hair, the nose, the mouth. Probably the eyes, too. He'll be tall and broad-shouldered. Big hands and feet, most likely. And he'll have a foul temper, nag constantly, and be obsessed with money."

"Is that any way for a mother to talk about her son?"

"He'll be clever. Smart enough to get through school on his own without a private tutor, earn a professor's recommendation, and carve out his own path. He'll meet a kind, pretty omega and fall in love — but he'll be hopeless at the personal side, so the people around him will have to step in. I hope he grows up to be a cultivated aristocrat, but if he doesn't, that's all right, too. What I want — more than anything — is for this beautiful, beautiful little heart to never have a knife driven through it."

The dark prophecies were, by now, something Kloff could bat away reflexively. Having just survived the ordeal of Aeroc rejecting the child, he answered with easy conviction.

"My heart is beating just fine. And before anyone drove a knife into it, I'd take their head off first. You know that."

Aeroc went slightly rigid.

"Sometimes you really are like a devil. No — a demon king, maybe."

Whether it was a curse or an insult, Kloff chuckled. He rested a hand lightly on Aeroc's hip and kissed the temple beneath the disheveled gold.

"Last time I was a dog — and now I've been promoted to a king. I'll take that as a compliment."

"No more killing, from now on. I can't raise the children alone. And I won't order anyone killed again, either."

"I was exercising my lawful right to defend an imprinted omega. Those men drew on me first. And besides——"

Kloff sat up, replaying Aeroc's words.

"Wait — again?"

"You were the only one with a blade that night."

"That's not the point. You need to start talking. Ordering a killing — don't tell me you actually——"

Could he have had a former lover murdered? And the trauma from it is why he sometimes talks like a madwoman? He should have investigated, should have dealt with it himself before things reached this point. Regret came too late. Kloff fixed Aeroc with a grave stare, and Aeroc looked up — guilty and uneasy — before turning away.

"I've always known you were hiding something."

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Then why won't you look me in the eye?"

"I'm looking at the baby."

The feeble excuse inspired zero confidence.

"Aeroc."

He reached out, tilting the face toward his own.

"I love you. I love you — the you who just gave me a son. Whatever you've done, I'll forgive you. So come clean. If you don't——"

"If I don't?"

"I'll make sure your heats keep you so busy you never have time to think about it. You won't go a single cycle without a belly."

He meant it. And Aeroc understood that he meant it.

"Fine."

"What?"

The easy answer startled him instead.

"I said fine."

"That was a threat. You're supposed to object — call me a brute, say it's uncivilized."

"I know. But it's fine."

A faint, calm smile. Kloff fumbled for a response, managed only a hesitant "Really?", and Aeroc patted the well-fed, peacefully sleeping baby's belly.

"You're kind to me when I'm pregnant."

"I'm always kind to — all right, the early days weren't ideal. But I've been doing my best."

"I know. That's why I'll have as many as you want."

"Two is enough."

In truth, after today, even one felt sufficient — but the dream of a blond, blue-eyed omega baby was one neither Martha nor Kloff could relinquish.

"Six is fine. It seems quite manageable."

"You'll die before you finish! A male omega having six? Two is plenty!"

His stubbornness raised Kloff's voice involuntarily.

"Why are you shouting?"

"When did I — never mind that! Stop changing the subject! Ordering a murder — what's that about?"

"I misspoke."

The flimsy excuse was hopeless. Kloff pressed, resolute. Any other day he might have let it slide — but not today, not on something this critical.

"No, you didn't. Who did you have killed?"

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

The small voice made Kloff's blood run cold. If Aeroc had commissioned a murder, someone of his temperament would almost certainly have left a sloppy trail. One day the name might surface on a warrant, and then — liquidating assets in a panic, bundling up the baby, coaxing a newly pregnant Aeroc into flight. Eventually the money would run out, and in the dead of winter, in some squalid roadside inn, unable to even feed his full-term omega a proper bowl of potato soup — a wretched, pitiful existence. I won't condemn our children to poverty. No.

"Confess. Now. Who did you kill? Where's the body? I'll cover it up properly — so start talking."

The menacing whisper seemed to genuinely unsettle Aeroc. He pressed his lips together, hesitated, then finally let it out.

"……Rapiel Westport."

"Wh—— what?!"