#draela

“I still fail to see why you insist on animity, Draela,” Kethric begins, leaning over the table towards me. “It’s not doing you any favors.”

I laugh. “It’s easier for me to keep them in line if they don’t know what purpose I serve, if they remain at a distance and fearful.”

“And they should fear you,” Enver agrees readily.

Ketheric shakes his head. “But how do you expect them to continue to revere you as they should, without knowing how pivotal of a role you play?”

I lean back, steepling my fingers together and take a deep breath. I try to remember that we are only a couple of months from the beginning of the end. Yet I am so tired. I cast my eyes to Enver, watching as he works his fingers against his palm, clearly fighting the stiffness in them from all of his correspondence. He will have to take his leave soon to return to Baldur’s Gate and I am itching to join him, torn between feeling like I need to be here to keep the elder brain functioning properly as well as Kethric’s little minions in check and taking care of temple matters as well as causing further panic in the name of the Absolute. The Banite catches my eyes and smiles guiltily, stilling his hand.

“I prefer some intrigue and mystery, old man. Besides, I doubt your own followers would feel comfortable knowing they remain a heartbeat from death in my presence. I work best in the shadows, and that’s where I will remain.”

“For now, my dear. But you will need to embrace the light at least a little when the time comes for us to rule together,” The tyrant gently reminds me.

“I think we are both looking forward to you taking the centerstage with us as your counterparts, Gortash,” Kethric is quick to respond, and I nod. Kethric has always been a reluctant participant in our partnership, more so since Myrkul brought back his daughter who is disgusted by him. I try to find empathy for him but I simply don’t have it in me. Only an old fool would expect his daughter, whose faith is so strong in an opposing god, to be grateful to be by his side and join him. Especially after all these years she’s lost.

Gortash lets loose one of his famous political smiles, the smile that charms dozens and dozens of elites, and strikes fear in many more. I say very little else for the rest of the meeting as the two hash out intricate details over and over again. The same things we have discussed a hundred times over, with only the tiniest variants that change nothing.

I have been struggling to sleep lately, tucked up in small quarters. Kethric had offered to move Balthazar out of his hole for me, but contrary to popular belief, I prefer sleeping in clean quarters and without the stench of the undead flooding my nostrils. My father visits me while I sleep, visions of a future of rivers of blood and gore, carcasses of the dead piled like mountains on his altar, for him. He wishes for quicker progress, but we are stalled for the time while we track a new lead on something that may prove to be our undoing if we cannot locate it.

I watch my lover as he talks, gesticulating as he goes. I think about what those hands, those fingers, can do to me. What mine can do to him. Suddenly I find myself standing, my hand on his shoulder, freezing him mid-sentence. He looks up at me, concerned. I blink down at him, equally as surprised. I quickly catch myself and turn towards our third. “I think we are done for now, Kethric. That will be all.”

“But—“ Kethric begins, and my grip tightens on Gortash’s shoulder.

“You heard the lady, Kethric. We can continue in the morning. It’s late,” Gortash crosses himself, putting his hand on mine.

Kethric stands, fixing me with a glare. “Fine. But this—“ he gestures to the two of us, “needs to not interfere with our plans.”

“It’s just sex old man,” I retort to his back. “I have told you before I can assist in finding you a suitable replacement if you are interested.”

“I’m not.” He opens the door to leave, looking back at us once more, “you’re both being foolish.”

Drake sighs, then kisses her stomach before her, setting his hand over hers. “I’m just so impatient. I want to meet them. Hold them. Love them,” he says, nearly glowing himself. She could melt right there, the sincerity in his words and voice so clear, eyes full of love. Chance hops on the bed and trots over to Jaela, head resting on her lap, right by the bump. It’s a common occurrence, sometimes the baby offering a kick hard enough to surprise him. Together the chuckle, petting him. “See? Even he wants to meet them. He’s impatient too.”

“Nobody more than you,” Jaela says with a click of her tongue, nudging him. She glances down when she feels the baby shift. The doctors said they were in position—and it was just a matter of time. But… there’s no pain, no water breaking—nothing. Just a slowpoke child, and an antsy husband, and dog, apparently. And the staff. Everybody, really. All except her. “That said… I suppose I can try to speed things along….”

Drake grins. “We’ve still got a whole day and night to go. They’ve got plenty of time to be born on their due date. And…” The way his voice drops to the delicious husky timber that sends shivers every time, even if it’s the middle of the night and she wants sleep, lips against her ear in the lightest of touches— “I’ve got just the thing to start…”

Chance quickly vacates the bed when his hand slips under her waistband, lips finding hers, tongues meeting without a moment to waste.

Well, she might as well take advantage of the sex for now.

*

“Drake!” Jaela gulps down water, face warm from the eggs. The very spicy eggs. To too spocy eggs. “H-how much cayenne and hot sauce did you put in here—oh my god— I am not eating these—”

She was starving after the sex, and since Drake decided to take the past few days off of work to prepare for the baby, he’s been making her breakfast. And today it was a spicy nightmare—and she’s only just begun to enjoy eggs since the pregnancy. But not these. Drake chuckles, replacing her plate with another one, the scrambled eggs looking a far less dangerous shade of red. “They say spicy foods can help speed up labor, that’s all.”

Jaela glares at him, taking a bite of decidedly less spicy eggs. “Drake, this baby is going to come when they want to come. And burning off my tongue is certainly not going to help. Do that again and I’ll murder you.” He rolls his eyes at her playful threat and takes his seat at the table, watching her carefully, as if the baby’s going to be born the second he looks away.

“I’m just impatient, that’s all, Abdi. No more crazy spicy foods. But you can bet I’ll make anything that has a liberal amount of spice to it. I just can’t wait to see you hold her…”

“Or him,” Jaeal replies with a smirk. She truly doesn’t care what the baby is—she’s just happy to be a mom after almost a year of trying and failing. But he’s been insistent on their gender.

Drake’s eyes sparkle, smile wide as Jaela feeds Chance some toast. She’s soft to the puppy eyes now. Pregnancy did that to her—they’ll both be going on diets after this baby comes. “It’s a girl. I told you from when we first found out. I just know it.”

He’s never stopped going on about that—always believing that it’s been a girl. Hana and Max guess a boy; Liam agrees with Drake; and Liv says the best part about not knowing was having such a feeling of joy when you’re surprised, and so happy that the baby is there—and besides, why gender a fetus? But… Drake was convinced. “Well… if the baby is a girl… we’re going to have to figure out a name. We still haven’t agreed on a girl’s name.”

“We’ll figure it out when she’s here,” Drake shrugs, mouthful of toast. “I personally like Emily.” Jaela wrinkles her nose. Drake cocks an eyebrow. “What? It’s cute. It’s a good, classic—”

“It’s boring. We are not naming our daughter the most basic name in existence. She’s the daughter of Duke Drake Walker and Jaela Abdi-Walker of Valtoria. Let’s make it something special, something worthy.”

Drake laughs. “You have a point. Then, how about Madeli—”

She knows it’s a joke, that sparkle in his eyes there, but Jaela still tosses bits of eggs at him, smiling herself. If it’s a girl in there… she’s sure they’ll know the moment they see her. Why rush and assign a name that doesn’t fit?

*

Finally—she’s alone. Thank god. And she doesn’t even believe.

Drake’s been following her all morning—and frantically cleaning and organizing any room they’re in… even if he’s already cleaned it the day before. She’s been walking around to try and get this child to come out on time because if anything, aside from wanting to hold them and love them after the hell it took to get here, she wants Drake off her back, watching her like a hawk. At least when the baby is here, there’s a reason for him to follow her around. But this? She’s pregnant, not helpless.

She sighs, reaching the gym, phone connecting to the stereo. She convinced Drake that the bushes should be trimmed, so that got him away and she (barely) managed to change into tennis shoes, already wearing leggings and one of Drake’s old, too big shirts since they had no obligations. She worked until last week, until Liam nearly forced her to relax and made sure that all of her obligations were handled and covered. She could work today. But—

“Jaela!” gasps Drake, entering the room. Jaela groans, music just started, but keeps walking going to the exercise ball, sitting on it. She sure as hell didn’t want to use any of the machines. “I thought you—”

“I’m fine, Drake. I just came down her to do a little workout on the ball.” Does bouncing on it count? Although, it’s her due date and the baby has no signs of wanting to make their grand entrance, so Jaela assumes that she makes the rules now. In the mirror’s reflection, Drake looks at her, worried, while she looks like a ball herself bouncing on the ball, hands on the sides of her stomach, braids high on her head, some slipping out. She looks like a swollen mess and he simply looks like a worries mess.

She sighs as he comes behind her, hands on her shoulders, massaging them. Well, this part of him being around her isn’t bad. “That should help, right?”

“Mmhm.” It does feels good, even if she just wanted to listen to some music alone. “Maybe. It’s worth a shot and it won’t tire me out that much.” And I wanted to be left alone but… “And they’ll come when they come, Drake. Trust me—when I go into labor, you’ll be the first person to know. I promise.”

Worry melts from his face, looking at her tenderly in the mirror. “I know. And I’m sorry I’m… overbearing? I just… after everything we went through, I want them and you to be safe. So…” Damn the shoulder massages feel good. Jaela looks up at him, smiling.

“You’re already being a protective father.” Jaela touches his hand, still bouncing on the ball. It helps her back, too. Been a damn lifesaver this whole time. “You’ve been a father since we found out. Before, really. They’re going to be so lucky, you know. Nothing bad is ever gonna happen to them.”

Drake chuckles, thumb circling her neck just right. Maybe they can get back to the having sex part of trying to urge this child to Earth….“That’s right. I’ll make sure of it.”

It is annoying to have him follow her around but… Jaela sighs happily, meeting his eyes in the mirror. There’s worse things he could do than want to wait on her hand and foot, truly. She can handle him. It’s just out of love.

*

“Oh my god. Drake. What the fuck. Stop cleaning!”

Jaela watched him in a twenty-minute span clean the counters twice. Dusted all surfaces twice. Fluffed pillows twice. She just wanted to watch some trashy TV and read a book in peace with her feet up—not hear Drake mutter about dust and how the pillows look lopsided over and over. But that’s all he’s been doing all morning, following her around room by room (allowing for a two-minute gap before his arrival), watching her with worry.

It’s been a week since the due date… and the baby seems more determined than ever to stay in there. Aside from the one close call—but the cramps stopping and the baby was back to normal, stretching in there. Even if they’ve been a bit quiet since the early hours of the morning and Jaela’s been brushing off light pain as Braxton Hick’s, or signs of far too early labor. For too early to go to the hospital for and to have Drake whining to her about how they should go there. So, she’s quiet about it, just wanting to relax—and not telling him that she knows the baby will come soon. Even if soon meant three days from now.

She wants peace. And he is the opposite. He’s annoying, really.

Drake turns, shocked, jaw dropped. “Jaela, I’m just cleaning for—”

“You’ve been cleaning for weeks now, Drake,” Jaela says, stern, petting Chance, always by her side. Her brows are furrowed and she frowns, glaring at him, voice sharp. “You’re nesting worse than me and you’re not the one with a seven pound—but really feels like thirty pound—baby in you who is taking their sweet time to come out. I want some peace and quiet—as we’ll never get it again—but I can’t with you around here.”

Is she being harsh? She’s too annoyed at her husband, looking like a wounded puppy, to care.

Jaela starts to stand, and Drake rushes to help, but she waves him off, pulling herself up, wincing at the sharpness in her back. Hand on her lower back, one on her stomach, Jaela looks up to him, eyes narrowed. “Jae, I’m just trying to help—”

That’s an idea. “You know what would help me,” Jaela says, waddling—more or less—to the kitchen, where their keys are. Drake and Chance follow. “Is you going to work.” She tosses him the keys, triumphant in her idea.

Drake frowns himself, holding them up, inspecting them as if they’re a foreign object. Granted, they haven’t left the duchy in over a week. Walked every inch of it together for a date… most nights in a row. But still. They’ve been on lockdown, just waiting for baby Abdi-Walker to say hello. “How…? I don’t want to leave you alone, Jaela.”

Jaela groans. “Just for a few hours, okay? Go to the palace, have a whiskey, answer some emails, sign some papers and then come back to me? Let me just… be… in peace? Can you please do this for me?” she pleads, going to him, hands on his chest. Drake caresses her stomach, resignation across his face. He can’t resist her when she pleads, batting her lashes, asking for a favor. “Like I said, I promise you’ll be the first one to know if I’m in labor and… and I highly doubt in the three hours that you’re gone I’ll be having a baby. Just a little break? Talk to Liam? Do something productive that isn’t wiping the counters to an early death, please?”

And like magic—of course—Drake sighs in defeat and kisses her tenderly, rubbing her stomach. “Fine. A few hours. Then I’m here until I return to work after the baby’s born, understand? And Jaela—don’t be a martyr—if anything happens—” Their eyes lock, his tone serious. Jaela knows in those chestnut eyes she hopes their child will have that he means it. “You call me, okay? Call me and I’ll be here to help you and we’ll be off to the hospital to have a baby. Understand?”

“Mmhmm…” She smiles wide, kissing the tip of his nose. “I do. Now… get to work. I need to catch up with some Housewives…” She taps his ass when he turns, rolling his eyes, and she giggles, happy for the peace and quiet—and settling dust—to come.

Although, an hour later, when the pain is constant her water breaks the second she’s out of the shower, all she can mutter is, “Well, shit.”

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