To Love A Villain

Chapter 245: Side Story - New Parents 2

>>Third Person POV

The world, for once, was hushed.

Amber sat near the window in the vast, stone-walled bedroom, where the morning light filtered through gauzy curtains and spilled gold across the floors. In her arms, Zola drank slowly from a small glass bottle, her eyes half-lidded with sleep. Each suckle was measured, soft, like she was tasting the warmth of the world for the first time.

Amber cradled her with ease, the bottle held steady in one hand, the other gently cupping the baby’s feet. Her voice was no louder than breath as she hummed a lullaby with no words—something old and half-remembered from her childhood in her other life. It rose and fell like waves lapping against the shore.

When Zola was done, Amber drew the bottle away, wiped her tiny mouth with the cloth slung over her shoulder, and lifted her into the curve of her shoulder. She stood, pacing slowly in the open space of the bedroom, the wood beneath her bare feet warmed by morning sun. Her hand rubbed slow circles on Zola’s back as she continued humming.

The little burp came quietly, almost polite. Then Zola stilled, eyelids fluttering. Her cheek rested against Amber’s collarbone, her whole body melting into the familiar rhythm of her mother’s song and heartbeat.

Amber smiled to herself. "That’s my girl," she whispered.

Then the door creaked open.

Amber didn’t startle, but her voice dropped away instinctively. She turned to see May step inside, her robes trailing behind her like wind-stirred leaves. She moved carefully, her eyes immediately going to the tiny bundle in Amber’s arms.

May smiled—an unfamiliar softness crossing her usually sharp, composed features.

"She’s asleep," Amber said gently, rocking in place.

"I apologize that I didn’t knock," May said, apologetic. "I didn’t want to startle her."

Amber smiled faintly. "It’s okay. She’s getting used to new sounds."

May stepped closer, just to the edge of the sunlight.

"She’s beautiful," she said, her voice lower than usual, reverent in a way that surprised even her.

"She is," Amber agreed, brushing a fingertip over Zola’s soft hair. She didn’t ask if May wanted to hold her. She didn’t need to. May kept her hands tucked into her sleeves and her body a careful distance away.

"I was never good with children," May admitted, her mouth quirking into a self-conscious half-smile. "They... look at me like I’m going to cast a spell on them."

Amber let out a soft chuckle. "I think you’d just need a few minutes with her. She doesn’t judge."

May gave a quiet nod, then hesitated. "That’s not why I came, though."

Amber looked up, expectant.

May’s tone shifted slightly, more thoughtful. "I noticed the master."

Amber’s brows lifted just barely. "Noticed?"

"He’s... distracted," May said carefully. "Fractured, almost. And you know he’s usually composed. Cold, even. But today, when I saw him in the courtyard, he looked—" She stopped herself, considering. "Unmoored."

Amber didn’t answer right away. She simply glanced down at the baby girl now asleep on her chest, her small fingers curled against the fabric of Amber’s robe.

A quiet smile touched her lips. "He’s just new to fatherhood. It’s all very new to him."

But inside, Amber felt a small flicker of surprise. Hael, who once stood unfazed in the middle of a collapsing war. Hael, who faced down the end of the world with steady hands. If May had noticed he was shaken...

She shifted Zola slightly, gently patting her once more. The baby sighed and settled deeper into her mother’s warmth.

May was still watching, but she didn’t press. Amber was grateful for that. "I’ll talk to him." Amber said, "Do you think anyone else noticed?"

"No," May turned to leave, "The master isn’t close to anyone after all. But observing is just in my nature." She paused by the door, "So I came to talk about what I observed."

Amber nodded at the archmage and May left. Then Amber turned to look at her daughter, with a sigh, she softly whispered,

"Be gentle with your dad, little one."

Zola didn’t stir, but her breathing deepened—as if she heard, somehow.

Amber stood alone once more, the hush settling back in. But her thoughts lingered on Hael, hoping this all will work out.

***

It began with a sharp, sudden wail.

Amber jerked awake, heart skipping as the cry pierced the silence of the night. Her breath caught for a second as her mind swam between sleep and alertness, then she threw off the blanket and scrambled to the crib.

"Zola," she whispered hoarsely, lifting her daughter into her arms with trembling hands. "Shh, baby—it’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, little one."

Zola’s tiny face was scrunched tight with distress, her cries coming out in helpless gasps that tugged at every frayed thread in Amber’s soul. Her body was warm and restless, arching slightly in her mother’s arms.

Amber swayed back and forth, trying to cradle her into calm. But exhaustion clung to her like wet cloth, and her brain—still fogged from sleep—struggled to catch up.

"Why... why are you crying, sweet girl?" she mumbled into Zola’s hair. "What is it? I don’t understand—what do you want?"

She held her closer, rocking gently. "Please stop... please just... stop for a moment, let me think—"

The ache of days without rest throbbed behind her eyes, and the sound of Zola’s cries only sharpened it. Amber blinked hard to keep herself upright.

"I’m right here," she whispered, almost pleading. "Please don’t cry, I’m right here."

But Zola only sobbed louder, tiny fists clenched against Amber’s chest.

That’s when she turned toward the bed instinctively, ready to call out to her husband—but her voice caught in her throat.

Hael wasn’t there.

The space beside her was empty.

???

For a moment, Amber froze, a cold ripple crawling up her spine.

She blinked at the bed as though it might suddenly fill itself with his sleeping form. But it didn’t.

He was gone.

The panic that rushed her then was sudden and breathless, her eyes sweeping the shadows of the room like something had slipped in, stolen him away. Where could he have gone? Why now? Had something happened?

"Hael?" she called, voice tight, almost shaking.

Zola cried louder, and Amber jolted again, looking back down. "Shh, shh, I’m sorry, love—I’m sorry. Mama’s just tired, that’s all. Just—please—go back to sleep. Please."

She held her tighter, pressing kisses to her temple, but nothing soothed her. Amber’s heart raced, caught between her daughter’s cries and the heavy absence of the man who should have been beside her.

Then the door creaked open behind her.

She didn’t hear it—not at first. She was too lost in trying to calm the storm in her arms.

But then came the voice. Low. Steady. Familiar.

"She’s hungry."

!!!!

Amber’s head snapped toward the door.

Hael stood there in the threshold, dressed in simple black sleep clothes, moving toward them on silent steps. In his hands was a small bottle, still gently steaming.

Amber stared at him, stunned, blinking hard as if unsure he was real. Her mind scrambled to make sense of it, to tether the sight of him to her mounting fears and the echo of her helplessness.

He walked to her without a word more, his eyes soft with concern, not for himself—but for Zola, and for her.

He held the bottle out.

Amber reached for it slowly, hands trembling again—but differently now. Not from panic. From relief. From surprise.

From something like love.

Hael didn’t ask if she was okay. He didn’t say anything.

He just stepped in, and stayed.

Amber took the bottle and guided it gently into Zola’s mouth. The baby latched with quick, hungry gulps, and the cries faded into faint sighs. Amber exhaled deeply, leaning her cheek against Zola’s head, eyes still locked on Hael.

"I thought something happened," she whispered. "You weren’t in bed."

He nodded. "I heard her before you did. Thought I could get ahead of it this time."

Amber’s throat tightened. "You... got up to warm her bottle?"

Hael gave a small, almost uncertain nod. "I wanted to help. I know I can’t do what you do. But I can do that."

Zola drank quietly between them, and Amber felt something inside her—tightly wound and aching—unravel just a little.

"You are helping," she said, barely above a breath. But there bloomed a sense of anguish in her heart.

She turned to look at Hael

He was quietly staring at their daughter as she peacefully drank the bottle.

At that moment, she wished for the time Hael would get to hold his daughter in peace to come soon.

***

The room was drenched in soft dusk light, the kind that seeped in through heavy curtains and turned the air a quiet gray. The hearth had long gone out, but a gentle warmth still lingered in the stones.

Amber had passed out across the vast king-sized bed, one arm flung over a pillow, the other resting protectively beside a small bundle.

Zola lay wrapped snugly in her pale blue blanket, her tiny face turned toward her mother, soft breath puffing gently through parted lips. Her hand had somehow wriggled free from the swaddle, resting on the mattress as if reaching.

The door creaked open.

Hael entered without a sound.

His shoulders were heavy with weariness, but his steps were careful—the kind born from fear of waking someone small, delicate, and unpredictable. He crossed the room with practiced silence and sat on the edge of the bed, just beside his side.

He didn’t say anything.

He just sat.

First, he looked at Amber. Her face was slack with sleep, strands of hair tangled across her cheek. He reached a hand out as if to brush them away, but stopped halfway. Let her sleep, he thought. She needed it more than anyone.

Then, his gaze shifted.

Zola.

She looked impossibly small beside her mother, tucked in so neatly, as if she belonged there more than anything else in the world.

Hael studied her features—the faint crease between her brows, the gentle curve of her nose, the tiniest twitch of her lip as she dreamed. He wondered, for the thousandth time, how someone so new could carry so much of the world in her.

He was just about to stand, give them their space—

When Zola’s eyes flew open.

!!!

Bright and wide, startling in the suddenness of it.

Hael froze, caught mid-motion, his breath halting in his throat.

Their eyes met.