A Mother's Resolve

At last, Anna breathed softly, near inaudibly, her voice a gentle whisper that shuddered with unspoken heft, "He's ready… he's really ready." The words hung in the air, vulnerable but indomitable, falling over the room like a still promise. The brocaded drapes billowed softly in the night air, pouring silvered moonlight across the highly polished marble floor, glinting dimly off the gilded furnishings. All the shadows had stopped, all the movement and sound caught in its instant, listening as if the room itself heard how serious she was. Ben let out a slow breath, his chest expanding and contracting with careful control, though beneath it all, a wave of pride threatened to break free. His hands unclenched on the arms of the chair he rested against, steadying him, anchoring the push of feeling he experienced. At last, he said it, his words low but firm, ringing out across the room with an unshakeable authority, "Yes. Our son… Victor… he is ready." Simple words, yet in them were the years of hard work, the sleepless nights spent worrying, and the persistent hope that had led them both.

Anna faced him, allowing her complete look to register with him, her purple eyes picking up the moonlight in a way that made them gleam as though they were luminous. In that glance, there was no hesitation, no dawdling uncertainty—only the wild, unwavering devotion of a mother who had seen her son withstand trials that would have shattered lesser lives. She had watched him falter, watched him emerge from flames, from silence, from the unforgiving shaping hands of destiny, and now he stood ready to shoulder the weight he was born to bear.

Ben's eyes softened, his customary hardness fading into silent wonder. His hand went up almost automatically, sweeping a loose strand of hair out of Anna's face, the act heavy with unspoken recognition, a respect born of mutual history and perpetual hope. "Time," he said softly, his voice low, nearly fragile, but beneath it was the firm authority of a man who had watched his son become something more wonderful than he had ever dreamed. The air around them seemed to wait, the night breathless, the world beyond their room receding into nothingness. All that remained was the stark recognition that the next page of their existence was before them—and that their son was prepared to walk upon it.

She raised a hand, letting fingers wander down a loose tendril of her purple hair, the motion slow and measured as she pushed it back behind her ear. There was calculated precision in the action, as if each movement contained purpose. Her voice, gentle but assertive, had an underlying tone of unshakeable determination. "Then it is time… indeed time we fulfill the marriage contract. We ought to arrange the date for our son."

Ben's eyes flashed with shock, taken aback by the abruptness and firmness of her voice. A low, amused sound escaped him, a dry, wry laugh, and he reclined in his chair, allowing the gravity of the moment to settle. The tip of his mouth quirked, a small smile curving as he watched her. "Do you honestly want our son wedded now?

Anna's lips were pursed into a small pout of mock annoyance and daring challenge. Her eyes sharpened, a too-familiar glint in their depths that dared him to disagree, to doubt her wisdom. "Why not?" she asked, her voice teasing but firm. "If my Victor wed, he shall have a woman who loves him every waking moment.". I will be blessed with a lovely daughter-in-law.

Tell me, what wrong am I doing by wishing that?

"

There was a prankiness in her words, a playful twist that would have caused any other to grin or languish, but underlying it was a richness of emotion that could not be rejected. A mother's determination, unshakeable and hard, ran through her, a desire for her son to be happy, for the comfort of love and care to envelop his life. She wished for stability for him, a life filled with devotion, a heart rooted in love. Her eyes softened ever so slightly, the teasing edge replaced by warm genuine warmth, and in that look was the stillness of someone who knew precisely what they desired, and would not be deterred. Ben's eyes remained on her, drinking in the softness of her lips, the keen glitter in her eyes, the soft confidence in her voice. Slowly, a smile spread across his face, curling with reluctant admiration. He shook his head, as though surrendering to her insistence. "You're right." His voice lowered, carrying a teasing edge that made her pulse quicken.

"And if that happens, then in a few years I'll make our son the king.

I'll retire, finally free, and spend every single day with you."

His gaze captured hers shamelessly, the blue chasms bright with passion and warmth. There was no affectation in his look—only hunger, adoration, and a promise of to-be-spent days, confined entirely to her company.

Anna's face blazed with shame, warmth surging to the tips of her ears as if the very body betrayed her. Her hand rose, flicking out in a light slap at Ben's chest, but when it settled, she didn't retreat. It lingered, flat against the rock-hard strength underneath, and for an instant, neither of them stirred. "You…" she breathed, her voice shaking softly, "always saying such things…"

Ben's smile grew wider, teasing and naughty, his head turning in a feigned bow that merely sharpened the glint in his black eyes. "Of course," he replied, his tone smooth, edged with playful arrogance. "I exist to remind you what you do to me.

Anna's blush grew, spreading like wildfire over her cheeks, but she didn't back down. A small, knowing smile formed on her lips instead. Her eyes flashed with affection and rebellion as she replied, "You think I'll let you retire so soon? Victor is still young. If you crown him king at this age, his life will be bound too soon. Don't you dare burden our son with that too soon. Ben froze, the words cutting deeper than he expected. His smile faltered, replaced by a slow, measured exhale. He ran a hand through his thick black hair, the gesture both habitual and frustrated, as if her reasoning had stripped the air from the room. "You always do this to me," he murmured, a note of genuine weariness threading his tone. "One moment I think I've won, and the next you strip it all away."

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