_*]:min-w-0 !gap-3.5">Dawn broke over Highcrest Castle, pale light seeping through the ornate windows of the royal chambers. Lilith y awake, one hand resting on her swollen belly, the other intertwined with Luca's as he slept beside her. Eight months pregnant with their first child, she found herself increasingly restless in these early hours, her mind filled with equal measures of anticipation and apprehension.

  She turned her head to study her husband's face in repose. The years of marriage had been kind to them both. Three years had passed since their wedding, and while Luca's physical limitations remained unchanged, he had developed an almost preternatural awareness of his surroundings. His hearing had sharpened to the point where he could identify individuals by their footsteps alone, and his sense of touch allowed him to read subtle changes in texture that others would miss entirely.

  King Edric had passed six months ago, peaceful in his sleep after witnessing the blossoming prosperity of their joint rule. Lilith had been crowned Queen with Luca at her side as royal consort—a title created specifically for him that acknowledged his unique position. The transition had been smoother than anyone expected, with most nobles having gradually come to respect Luca's wisdom and the complementary strength of their partnership.

  A subtle movement beneath her palm drew Lilith's attention back to her present circumstance. The child within her had become increasingly active in recent weeks, as if impatient to join the world.

  "Good morning to you too, little one," she whispered, smiling as she felt another flutter of movement.

  Beside her, Luca stirred at the sound of her voice. Even in sleep, he seemed attuned to her presence. His eyes opened—those beautiful blue-grey orbs that still held expression despite their blindness—and his face turned unerringly toward her.

  "The royal heir is practicing statecraft already?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep but warm with affection.

  "Diplomacy through kicks and summersaults," she confirmed, guiding his hand to where the movement was strongest. "I believe negotiations are particurly vigorous this morning."

  Luca's face transformed with wonder as he felt the motion beneath his palm. Despite months of this ritual, his expression of awe never diminished. "Strong," he murmured. "Like their mother."

  "And thoughtful," she added. "Like their father."

  He sat up, his movements practiced and careful as he positioned himself to better face her. "Are you in pain today?" he asked, his fingers gently tracing the contours of her face, reading her expression in his own way.

  "No more than yesterday," she assured him. "Though I confess I'm growing eager for the birthing chamber. I miss seeing my feet."

  His ugh was quiet but genuine. "I've been told they're still attached and as lovely as ever."

  A soft knock interrupted their morning ritual. The door opened to reveal Mara, Lilith's handmaiden since childhood and now her most trusted attendant.

  "Forgive the early intrusion, Your Majesty," she said with a brief curtsy. "But Lady Helena insists the nursery requires your approval before the final furnishings are pced."

  Lilith exchanged an amused gnce with Luca. The royal nursery had become something of an obsession for the court, with seemingly everyone having an opinion on its preparation.

  "Tell Lady Helena I shall inspect her work after the morning council," Lilith replied. "And please inform Master Tomas that Lord Luca will require his assistance in one hour."

  After Mara departed, Luca raised a questioning eyebrow. "Master Tomas? Have I missed an appointment?"

  "No," Lilith said, anticipation coloring her voice. "But I've commissioned something special. A surprise."

  Later that morning, Master Tomas, the kingdom's foremost craftsman, presented Luca with a remarkable creation. In the privacy of their sitting room, Lilith watched as Luca's hands explored the intricate wooden crib that stood before him.

  "The posts are carved in a spiral," Lilith described as his fingers traced the patterns. "Like vines climbing toward the canopy. And there are small animals hidden throughout—birds, rabbits, foxes. Stories for our child to discover."

  But what made the crib truly extraordinary were the various textured panels built into its sides—different woods, fabrics, metals, and stones, all arranged in patterns that told tales through touch rather than sight.

  "This panel has the story of the North Star," she expined as his hands found the metal inys. "And here, the legend of the first tree." She guided his fingers to the different textures. "Master Tomas created it so you can tell our child stories in your own way."

  Luca's face betrayed the emotions he usually kept carefully controlled. "Lilith," he whispered, his voice unsteady. "This is... I had feared..."

  "That you couldn't be the father you wanted to be?" she finished gently. "You will tell our child stories they will never forget, show them wonders no one else can see, teach them to understand the world in ways most never will." She took his hand and pced it back on her belly. "This child will know love from both of us, in all the forms it takes."

  Master Tomas cleared his throat, clearly moved by the moment but attempting discretion. "There's more, my lord. The crib converts as the child grows. The sides can be removed, and the textured panels reassembled into a headboard for a small bed."

  "Thank you," Luca said, his composed mask returning though his voice remained thick with emotion. "This is craftsmanship beyond any price."

  After the craftsman departed, Luca stood silently by the crib, his hands still exploring its details.

  "I never thought I would have this," he admitted quietly. "After the attack, I believed certain doors had closed forever. A wife. A child. A future beyond darkness."

  Lilith moved to stand beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Perhaps that's why the gods blessed us," she said. "Because we recognize the miracle in what others take for granted."

  The birth of Princess Elena came in the depth of winter, during a snowstorm that bnketed the kingdom in pristine white. The bor was difficult and protracted, sting nearly two days. Throughout, Luca remained as close as the midwives would allow, his usual composure shattered by the sounds of Lilith's pain.

  When at st the child's first cry echoed through the chambers, relief crashed over him with such force that he nearly colpsed. The midwife pced the tiny, squirming bundle in his arms with careful instructions on how to hold her head.

  "She has your coloring, my lord," the woman said kindly. "Fair skin and dark hair."

  Luca's hands trembled as he gently traced the contours of his daughter's face with a feather-light touch. His fingertips mapped her features—the button nose, the shell-like ears, the impossibly soft skin. Tears tracked down his cheeks unchecked.

  "Lilith?" he asked, his voice barely audible. "Is she—"

  "I'm here," came her exhausted reply from the bed. "Both of us are here."

  Later that night, when the castle had quieted and the medical attendants had withdrawn to give the new family privacy, Lilith watched from her bed as Luca sat in a chair beside her, holding their daughter against his chest. He hummed a low, gentle melody—a folk song from his childhood that Lilith had never heard him sing before.

  "She has your eyes," Lilith said softly. "Blue-grey, like the sea after a storm."

  Luca's fingers found Elena's small hand, marveling as tiny fingers curled reflexively around his thumb. "Tell me everything about her," he whispered. "I want to know every detail."

  And so Lilith described their daughter in loving precision—the shape of her ears "like perfect seashells," the slight dimple in her left cheek when she yawned, the fine eyebrows that arched "just like yours," the tiny fingernails "translucent as the inside of a shell."

  Luca absorbed every word, building an image in his mind that would grow and change as their daughter did. In that quiet moment, their family felt complete and perfect—a miracle forged from love that had overcome every obstacle.

  The kingdom celebrated the birth of Princess Elena with a week of festivals. The winter snow transformed into an advantage as ice sculptures of the royal family appeared throughout the capital, and night skies bzed with colorful nterns set aloft by citizens offering good wishes.

  What few noticed, amid the celebrations, was how the consteltion of the Guardian—seven stars that had watched over the kingdom for generations—seemed to shine with unusual brilliance on the night of Elena's presentation to the court. Fewer still noted how that same consteltion appeared to dim in the weeks that followed, as if some cosmic attention had shifted elsewhere.

  In the royal nursery, Luca developed techniques that astonished even the most experienced nursemaids. He could distinguish between Elena's different cries with uncanny accuracy, identifying hunger from discomfort from simple desire for attention. His heightened sense of touch allowed him to check her for fever with greater precision than any physician's hand, and his acute hearing detected changes in her breathing that signaled the onset of the smallest ailment.

  "It's as if his disabilities became advantages," one nursemaid remarked to another as they observed Luca gently rocking the princess to sleep, having correctly identified the exact spot of discomfort from a fabric fold that irritated her skin.

  "Not disabilities," the older woman corrected quietly. "Different abilities. The gods bance their gifts."

  Prince Alden arrived seventeen months ter, in the full bloom of spring. His birth was easier than his sister's, but his temperament proved more challenging. Where Elena had been a calm, observant baby, Alden was restless and demanding from his first breath.

  "He has an explorer's spirit," Luca decred when Lilith expressed concern over their son's constant fussing. "He's simply frustrated by the limitations of infancy."

  Luca's patience with Alden was boundless. On nights when the prince's cries exhausted even the most dedicated nursemaids, Luca would take his son to the private royal garden, carrying him carefully with one arm while his other hand managed the cane he still required for stability. There, under the stars neither could see—Alden too young, Luca without sight—he would describe consteltions from memory, mixing astronomical facts with fanciful stories until the boy's cries subsided.

  "Your father used to climb mountains, you know," he would tell his son as tiny hands pulled at his tunic. "Someday, when you're older, we'll find different mountains to climb together. Ones that don't require eyes to see from their peaks."

  Elena, now a toddler with her father's thoughtful nature and her mother's determination, responded to her brother's arrival with a seriousness that belied her young age. She appointed herself his secondary guardian, solemnly informing visitors that "Alden needs extra care because he has much to learn."

  On a warm summer evening, five years after becoming a father, Luca sat in the royal garden with both children. Elena, now four, leaned against his side as he ran his fingers over a book specially created for him—its pages containing raised illustrations and text that he could read by touch. Alden, nearly three, sprawled across his p, occasionally interrupting the story with questions.

  "Why couldn't the dragon see in the dark?" Alden demanded.

  "Because dragons rely on their eyes, just as many people do," Luca expined patiently. "They never learned to use their other senses."

  "Like you did," Elena stated with the certainty of a child who accepts her father's differences as simply part of who he is.

  "Yes," Luca agreed, his hand finding her hair to gently stroke it. "Sometimes what seems like a disadvantage becomes a different kind of strength."

  From the entrance to the garden, Lilith watched her family with a fullness in her heart that sometimes overwhelmed her. The crown she now wore could feel heavy at times, the responsibilities of rulership demanding, but these moments—watching Luca with their children—reminded her of what truly mattered.

  She had worried, in those dark days after the attack, whether Luca could find his way back to happiness. Now, observing how naturally he had taken to fatherhood, how his limitations had shaped rather than hindered his approach to parenting, she recognized that they had built something rare and precious—a family defined not by convention but by adaptation, not by perfection but by love.

  As the setting sun cast long shadows across the garden, Elena looked up to see her mother watching. With the unself-conscious joy of childhood, she called out, "Mama! Papa is teaching us to see with our hands!"

  Luca turned his face toward Lilith's approaching footsteps, a smile spreading across his features. "Your Majesty honors us with her presence," he said with the pyful formality they sometimes adopted.

  "The Queen," Lilith replied, bending to kiss him softly, "wishes to join her family for the remainder of the story." She settled beside them on the garden bench, Alden immediately cmbering into her p. "Though perhaps the King Consort could be persuaded to start from the beginning?"

  "As my Queen commands," Luca said, his fingers finding the first page again. But before he began, he reached out to touch Lilith's face in the gentle way that had become his method of seeing her. "Happy?" he asked softly.

  "Beyond measure," she answered truthfully.

  And as Luca's voice once more brought the story to life, describing a world where dragons learned to navigate by sound and touch, where limitations became unexpected strengths, Lilith gazed at the three people who had become her world. Whatever challenges came—and she was wise enough to know there would be many—this family they had forged would face them together.

  Above them, unnoticed, a single star winked out in the early evening sky. In the divine realms beyond mortal perception, something ancient and powerful turned its full attention to the garden below.