Behind her, Ivan's hand settled on her shoulder. Heavy. Warm. Steady. She could feel the slight tremor in it, the big lion trying so hard to hold himself together, and she leaned into the touch without looking away from her son's face.
"Fel," Ivan said quietly, and his voice was thick. "He's perfect."
She nodded because she couldn't speak. The tears kept coming, sliding down her temples and into her hair, and she didn't care. Let them fall. Let the whole room see. This was too big to contain behind composure or dignity or any of the walls she'd built over the years.
The cub's tiny hand found her finger. Wrapped around it. His grip was astonishingly strong for something so small, and when she curled her finger around his, he held on tighter. His blue eyes never left hers.
