The faintest hint of dawn bled through the stained glass windows, casting fractured hues of violet and gold across the dark stone floors.
Luciana stirred slowly, the weight of sleep lingering behind her eyes as the soft coos of an infant drifted from the adjoining chamber.
Erebus' arm remained draped across her waist, his grip relaxed yet present,his head buried in her bosom. As he raised his head, his breath brushed off on her pale skin warm against the curve of her neck. But as the distant sound of Ra'el fussing echoed again, Luciana gently extricated herself, pressing a hand briefly to Erebus' chest.
"I'll tend to them," she murmured, her voice low, soft with sleep.
Erebus shifted, eyes half-lidded, the edges of fatigue still carved into his face. But his hand closed lightly around her wrist before she could rise fully.
"I should come," he rasped, reluctant to sever even this early morning quiet between them.
Luciana's lips curved faintly as she tilted her head toward him.
"Stay. You've managed an empire before breakfast. I can manage three princes."
She slipped from the blankets, her silk robe whispering over her frame as she crossed into the nursery. The chamber was warm, the hearth faintly glowing, soft light spilling across plush bedding and woven tapestries.
Mina sat by the bassinet, gently rocking Ra'el in her arms. The infant's snow-white hair contrasted against his bronze-toned skin, his large black eyes already curious and sharp despite his soft coos.
"Already restless," Mina remarked with a knowing smile as Luciana approached.
Luciana extended her arms, cradling Ra'el to her chest. His tiny fingers curled instinctively around the fabric of her robe, his pointed ears barely visible beneath downy strands of silver-white hair.
"He's grown so much," Luciana whispered, brushing her lips across his temple. Her gaze softened as she studied him—the faint bronze flush of Erebus' bloodline beneath the snow of her own heritage.
"He'll start teething soon," she stroked his strands.
The sound of hurried footsteps drew her attention as Nemesis rushed in, his small wings fluttering slightly with excitement.
"Mother! Father's still here, isn't he?" His voice was bright with hope, his ashen hair tousled from sleep.
Luciana smiled softly, smoothing his hair.
"He is. We're staying together now. With your father in his empire."
She kissed him as he hugged hearing the news he wanted to hear.
Hades followed, toddling in with uneven steps, his straight, dark hair curling over his forehead, eyes wide as he clung to his blanket. His speech was slow, still fumbling with words, but when he spotted Erebus' silhouette lingering by the nursery door, his face lit up.
"Papa?" Hades whispered, his voice small but certain.
Erebus entered, his expression tempered by quiet pride as he ruffled Nemesis' hair and lifted Hades easily into his arms.
Ra'el's curious eyes fixated on his father, blinking, studying—the sharpness already present, as though he recognized him despite the time apart.
Erebus brushed a thumb across Ra'el's tiny pointed ear, his expression softening in rare vulnerability.
"They grow up too fast. He'll start walking around and talk before I even know it," Erebus murmured, the weight of months apart etched faintly into his voice.
"That's how they are. One day they'll reach adulthood pray, and they'll face their own set of struggles in life. And I pray they find happiness where they wish to be."
Luciana stood beside him, their children gathered close, the quiet of morning grounding them briefly in something resembling peace.
But the knock at the door—sharp, measured—signaled the empire's demands creeping back in.
A steward's voice filtered through.
"The council convenes within the hour, Your Majesties."
Erebus' jaw tightened briefly, but he set Hades down, his hand grazing Luciana's lower back as he straightened.
"We'll finish this later," he promised under his breath.
The nursery emptied as they prepared—the day's duties a sharp contrast to the quiet warmth of morning.
---
The council chamber occupied one of the fortress' highest towers, the walls veined with polished obsidian, overlooking the expanse of Stygian. From here, the imperial city stretched into the distance—black stone avenues, orderly sectors, and fortified walls etched with Krovzaryan banners.
Erebus entered first, his cloak trailing behind him, flanked by trusted advisors. Luciana walked beside him, her bearing composed, eyes sharp despite the sleepless night.
The room buzzed with controlled tension—generals in reinforced armor, ministers with ledgers, emissaries bearing reports from the outlying provinces.
A newly mapped chart of the empire stretched across the central table—borders fortified, roads under construction, agricultural districts marked, new settlements blooming where ash once dominated.
Erebus' voice cut through the hum of conversation.
"Status reports. All of them."
Luciana stood at his side, observing carefully. Some eyes lingered on her—gauging, testing—not as the woman they admired at the banquet, but as the empress seated within their war-forged hierarchy.
The officials began:
— The northern borders reinforced, but with trade routes under strain from harsh weather.
— Infrastructure along the western provinces ahead of schedule—due in part to resources from Amanécer, delicately acknowledged with a glance toward Luciana.
— The alchemist tower expanding its reach, coordinating arcane research with the imperial military—an advantage few realms could claim.
— Public welfare projects implemented within the capital, turning once-desolate districts into structured communities under strict governance.
Throughout the proceedings, Erebus' hand remained resting along the edge of the table, fingers tapping lightly—a subtle reminder of control, presence, and silent expectations.
Luciana interjected sparingly—her suggestions on resource distribution measured, her inquiries into the welfare of borderland civilians drawing quiet respect from some officials, cautious glances from others.
But she held her ground, her voice unwavering, her gaze direct.
The empire's pulse beat steadily beneath them, and as the reports concluded, Erebus glanced sidelong at her—his expression edged with rare approval.
Their morning had begun in quiet domesticity, their day continued in hardened strategy—but the line between private and public remained, threading them together beneath the ever-present weight of rule.