Her Wolf King

Everett Dunstan had never thought himself a romantic.

He was a highly pragmatic man—to a fault, many would agree—and besides that, he was too gruff, stoic, and quiet to be ever considered anything so sappy as sentimental.

But now, staring down at his wife as she held their firstborn child in her arms, he could not help but feel something thaw in the last icy crevice of his chest, the one even Lenore had yet to melt.

“Oh, how precious you are,” Lenore whispered, stroking the baby’s cheek. “How much pain you have caused me, and yet, seeing you now, I cannot help but feel that I would do it a thousand times over to gain the same result.”

Everett pulled out the chair next to her bed. “May I hold him?”

She passed him the babe, and slumped onto the pillows. “I could sleep for a thousand years.”

“Don’t say that, it’ll turn into a curse,” he said, only half-joking.

“Ah, Everett, there are no curses now. Not for us anymore,” she said, a tired grin spreading across her weary face. “We are free of them forever.”

It was not merely the emerald ring she wore on her finger that protected them from curses. It was also the discovery that his wife possessed magic.

Were a mere mortal to wear the ring that she did, it would have had no power. The ring itself fed on the magic of its wielder, and had sapped Marya of hers entirely. For Lenore, however, it had had the opposite effect. He liked to think that the ring had chosen its wearer, and that it would keep her safe when he could not. Even if she had her own magic.

Gazing down at his son, he watched as the baby’s eyes slowly fluttered open. They were blue now, and his head was covered by downy black hair. A blend of the two of them. His heart gave a ferocious thump. “I promise to always keep you safe, little one.”

Lenore sighed. “We shall have to name him something other than little one. One day, he might well be taller than me, and then what would he do with such a name?”

He glowered at her. “Must you think so far into the future? He is not even a day old yet.”

“Well? A name?” She prodded him with one finger. “You must choose one, or else we shall confuse the poor child.”

He took a deep breath. “Timothy, for your brother.”

“And his middle name?”

“You may choose that.”

“How generous you are.” She rested her head against his shoulder as the baby began to cry, then reached out her arms for him. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled a name. “Romulus. For the wolf.”

“Timothy Romulus Dunstan,” he said. “He will be a great man.”

She pulled down the collar of her shift to nurse the baby. “Now who’s getting ahead of ourselves?”

“I am not worried about the future, however.” He stroked her hair. “We have eternity to conquer, now.”

***

“A boy!” Lenore’s father said cheerily. His cheeks were ruddy, the men having given a toast and imbibed more whiskey than was wise. He raised his now-empty glass to the air. “Excellent. Now, Timothy, when are you going to carry on the Abrahams name?”

Lenore scoffed, still holding their son–her and Everett’s son–in her arms. She was weary but jubilant, tiredness settling her somehow, softening her bright edges and muting her sharp tongue. “Father, he’s only just turned twenty-five. Will you not let my younger brother live a little before you go on telling him to find a wife and have children?”

Her father looked horrified at that. “Merely twenty-five? Why, when I was his age–”

Everett chuckled and sipped from his still-full tumbler of whiskey. His cheeks were flushed, his green eyes bright with joy.

Just then, the wintry wind swept into the cottage as a figure appeared in the doorway. “Why was I not invited to attend the childbirth? I will have you know, I am a highly capable midwife.”

“Nyx!” Lenore passed little Rom–that was what she had already taken to calling him in her mind–to her husband and went to the door to greet their friend. “I apologize, but I think fairy births are quite different from human ones.”

The fairy waved a hand, her long hair–today it was a vivid shade of lavender–streaking down her gossamer coat. “They are the same in mechanics.” When she spied Timothy staring at her, she winked. “Hello, young Timothy.”

Timothy cleared his throat and puffed out his chest, indignant at her form of address. “I’m hardly a child.”

“Ah, even Everett is a child when you’ve lived as long as I have.” She cast another wink at Lenore. “Don’t fear, I’m not here to curse the baby. Merely to give him a small blessing.”

“A merely small blessing?” Her father shook his head.

“Well, the blessing shall grow in size as the boy does, I am sure.” Lenore sat down on her father’s rocking chair, and adjusted the cushion behind the small of her back.

Over the years, as Nyx had become a more frequent visitor to their home, often dropping by unannounced with some fairy cuisine or a tidbit of gossip, she and Lenore’s father had become friends. They could even be spotted feeding the ducks together by the pond or playing cards. Lenore had no idea what the two talked about, but their friendship made her smile.

“You are quite correct in that,” Nyx said with a grin. “Now, what is the boy’s name?”

“Timothy Romulus Dunstan,” Everett said, resting a hand on Lenore’s shoulder as he gently placed the swaddled baby in her arms.

“Quite a mouthful. I shall call him little Rom.” She held her hand over the baby’s forehead. “May you, dear Rom, always have the love of your family, the true loyalty of friends, and a seat at every table. May you be protected from curses and the witches who cast them.”

Everett raised his glass of whiskey. “To Rom!”

They all echoed the toast.

Lenore smiled as the baby in her arms opened his eyes, wiggling, and stared curiously up at her. A tear of joy slipped down her cheek, and landed in his small, outstretched fist as he freed himself from his swaddling. When he opened his fist again, she thought she saw a streak of gold.

Lenore frowned. She nudged Everett with an elbow. “I fear our baby is…”

Before she could continue the sentence, the babe in her arms giggled, wriggling furiously to be liberated from the swaddling cloths. Then he touched her face, brushing away the second tear that had formed. Again, the dot of gold shone against his pale, soft skin.

“Has our baby inherited your magical powers, or is it that you have somehow developed the ability to turn your tears into gold?” Everett’s voice was teasing, but she sensed the undercurrent of concern in his tone.

As they glanced up at the assorted party–Timothy doing a card trick to show off to Nyx, her father caught in a fit of uproarious laughter, and Nyx watching the both of them with amusement–a trickle of fear slid down her spine.

“I cannot be sure…” She wiped at her own cheek, and found only saltwater on her fingertips. “Only, I think this child may have been more blessed by the fairies than we originally thought.”

THE END