The next morning, the entire palace was turned upside down. Lev was a whirlwind of focused energy, commanding servants to scrub every corner of the massive estate. He had personally taken charge of redesigning the children's room, a part of the palace that hadn't been used since the day it was created.
Aslan was privately thankful for the distraction. Last night had been a struggle. He'd had to forcibly pry Lev from the Observation Wing, as his lover refused to take a single step away from the child's side. It wasn't a matter of physical stamina. Their kind didn't tire in the human sense, but he couldn't bear watching him marinate in his own anxiety.
Finally, Aslan had reminded him that the child would need a proper, beautiful room to wake up in. That thankfully sparked Lev's attention, luring him away from the infirmary.
This led to today's glorious, manic chaos. Lev, determined to provide a perfect first impression, demanded that everything be pristine, neat, and beautiful.
This was, of course, absurd. The palace was already immaculate, maintained daily by a precise legion of servants and whisper-quiet automatons.
Yet, no one complained. Far from it. The entire palace staff was humming with a vibrant, joyful energy not seen since the day their lords were married. They were cheerful, zealous, and happily snatching brooms and polishers from the robots, desperate to be part of this new purpose. One servant was even spotted scrubbing the high, decorative roof tiles. Another team, with grave seriousness, suggested the entire wing be repainted in a new color scheme.
The forever calm butler quickly put a stop to that idea.
"The child could wake at any moment," he said smoothly, "and we wouldn't want her to find the place half-finished, would we?"
Lev, oblivious to the joyful mayhem, stood in the center of the children's room. The place brought him a familiar ache of both soaring joy and crushing sadness.
They had built it just a year after their marriage, so sure they would have their own child. An old imperial belief held that a true, deep bond between spouses could quicken an heir. They had clung to that faith, as did most of the empire.
Several millennia passed. The cradle remained empty. They had sought countless cures, chasing whispers of forgotten science and ancient rituals. They had tried everything. Aslan had watched Lev slowly fall into a dark abyss of depression. To protect them both from the constant, painful reminder, he had eventually sealed the children's room.
Now, just as they were about to seal their hearts for good, Fenrir's grace had delivered this child.
Aslan had immediately ordered the suite unsealed, its dormant intelligent AI reinstated, and its security protocols upgraded to the highest possible level. The defenses on this one room now surpassed those of their vaults, which held the accumulated wealth of their long, long lives.
'This room now held the only treasure that truly mattered.'
A small, private smile touched his lips as he corrected that thought.
'It held the second most valuable treasure, of course. Lev would always be first.'
But as the palace hummed with new life, a very different kind of chaos was building in the void. Somehow, the secret about the child had leaked, breaking the palace quarantine. Now, just outside the Aetheria Galaxy's border, a swarm of countless, unidentified ships was hovering. They were like hungry wolves, desperate to enter but held back by Aslan's total lockdown.
If not for their fear of Fenrir's Law and the Marquess's known fury, they would have already blasted their way in.
Aslan's personal communicator began to blast. He saw the head of security's urgent call. He placed a gentle hand on Lev's shoulder.
"Forgive me, Langga. Duty calls."
He then stepped out of the children's wing and into the quiet hallway, pulling the door closed behind him. When Aslan disappeared, Lev shot the closed door a quick, discreet glance before resuming the task of assembling the small bed.
Aslan activated the call. "Report," he commanded, his voice tight.
Captain Kael's firm voice replied. "Lord Marquess, the airships number over four hundred, probing the shields. They claim they are only making 'courtesy visits' to Balthazar. They insist the lockdown is unnecessary."
"Courtesy," Aslan sneered. The sound of his contempt was icy.
He went silent, a moment of deep calculation passing over his face. Then, he released the command. "Open a channel. A small, monitored path. Allow only the noble ships to pass through. Direct them to the low-tier landing field. Every other ship remains locked out. I want extreme monitoring, Captain. If a single ship deviates from the approved flight path, destroy it instantly."
"It will be done, Lord Marquess," Kael confirmed, the sound of the Citadel's alarm systems already rising.
Aslan ended the communication. The hardened, commanding aura instantly melted the moment he re-entered the room, watching his lover choose the most delicate sheet for the bed.
"Langga," he murmured, crossing the room quickly to embrace his husband.
"Don't be clingy, Aslan, I have to finish this before noon," Lev said, his voice gentle but firm. He pushed the man away, still with a small smile.
"The child isn't even awake yet, and you're already neglecting me," Aslan pouted, a stark contrast to the cold lord he was to everyone else.
At the mention of the child, Lev paused, his brow frowning.
"Aslan, why isn't she awake yet?"
"She will soon, Langga," Aslan said reassuringly. "The Chirurgeon said it's only a matter of time."