The Raven

Bonus Chapter #4

One year later...

Having barricaded himself into the now abandoned room in the West Wing that has for decades contained every spell, potion, and otherwise magical entity housed within the castle, Caleb thoroughly studies the dusty and considerably valuable antique book within his hands. His fingertips gently caress the binding before edging along the front cover, the anticipation surging through him in electrified currents. He has been waiting for this moment for a long time; now that it has finally arrived, he must make certain that nothing disturbs the process. Caleb cautiously double-checks that the door is securely latched, preventing entry from any potential intruders, before finally flipping open the book.

In the dim and flickering candlelight, his ruby-colored eyes scan the somewhat faded and yellowed pages, searching once more for the particular spell he has resolved to make use of on this most glorious and highly anticipated day. His crimson orbs glow with glee as they land upon the needed incantation, reminding himself of every necessary step he must complete to ensure his success. Spreading out the gathered ingredients, he smiles to himself, recognizing that everything thus far has been adequately prepared, and nothing is left standing in his way of fulfilling his creation.

"I think I have almost got it," the raven mutters to himself, carefully rereading the passage before him for the umpteenth time. While the repetitive rehearsal of the written words is likely entirely unnecessary, he feels he cannot be too cautious in this particular scenario, not when something so incredibly precious is on the line. Placing the book upon the table beside him, Caleb turns his attention back to the ingredients sprawled on the surface, ensuring he has everything required to complete his task. With his heart filled with nothing but love, he allows his powers to work their magic, slowly adding the items to the boiling cauldron one by one.

He watches with bated breath as the shadows and smoke move through the air, stirring his creation to life as it bubbles in the black pot upon the fire. First, some intimately extracted genetic material, followed immediately by a leopard's spots, finished with all the affection and goodness possessed within him. He cannot stop it as his excitement mimics the rapidly heating liquid, morphing and expanding into something utterly magical and wholly beyond his wild imagination.

Reciting the eloquently written chant aloud and wholeheartedly believing the spell's success, the raven fills his every word with as much power and positive emotion as possible. His gaze never wavers from his brewing concoction until a puff of black-tinted magical powder explodes above the fire, extinguishing the flame and completing the process all at once. He hesitates only slightly before raising his hand, urging his shadowy limbs into the kettle to retrieve his masterpiece. Slowly and with the utmost caution, the darkened images of his hands draw outward, a tiny bundle held safely between their palms.

King Caleb stares at the majestic creation with unrestrained awe, his heart instantly swelling at the sight. With a quick flick of his wrist, he instructs the holder of the small being to place it tenderly into the magical incubator, where it can eventually thrive into something even more mystical. Unable to help himself, the raven hovers over the glass case, entirely entranced by the sheer beauty held within. Suddenly overtaken by utter exuberance, Caleb mindlessly sends a telepathic message to his dear husband, requesting his immediate presence within the typically locked room of the practically forgotten West Wing.

As King Henry's heavy and rushed footfalls can be heard approaching the door, the raven's magic works quickly to remove the barriers blocking off the room and allow him entry. When the golden-haired king arrives at his destination, his body instantly slouches forward, attempting to regain his breath. His chest heaves as he tries to calm himself from the long run through the castle and the many flights of stairs he had to climb to get to the specified place in such a hurry; however, his crystal blue eyes hold a sparkle that even his fatigue cannot hinder or dampen. "Caleb?" Henry barely manages to whisper, his voice hardly a squeak between panting breaths.

Caleb turns at the practically inaudible sound, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the wholly transfixing sight. A fluttering suddenly makes itself known in his chest as he grins broadly, gesturing his husband closer to witness the bewitching enchantment before him.

This time, King Henry approaches slowly, his steps along the concrete floor as delicate as possible, and his eyes glued to the glass box beside his husband, filled with a combination of hope and immense appreciation. He stops beside Caleb, entwining their fingers while lifting his other trembling hand to gently touch the transparent pane. "You did it," Henry whispers, unable to remove his gaze from the tiny being. "We..." he begins but finds he cannot complete his sentence; he is far too choked up with emotion to remember how to speak at the moment.

King Caleb lovingly squeezes his husband's hand before finishing his sentence for him. "We are going to be parents," he says proudly. "I cannot yet tell the gender or shift form our child will take, but... Henry, this is our baby."

The two men remain side by side, staring silently at the little fetus, their hearts overflowing with immeasurable and unending love for both each other and the mesmerizing beauty before them.

"Can we..." Henry begins, swallowing thickly in an attempt to reign in his emotions before they are able to pour directly out of his mouth without his consent. He clears his throat quietly before continuing, "Is it safe to move the incubator to the main part of the palace? I would like to settle her into the nursery as soon as possible; not only will she be safer there, but she will be close by so we can keep an eye on her."

Caleb's lips curve upward as he soaks in Henry's words, the fluttering warmth in his chest increasing drastically with every passing second. "Her?" he questions almost too faintly to be heard before turning his vision toward the now blushing man beside him.

With a one-shoulder shrug, Henry simply replies, "Just a feeling." He finds himself unable to suppress the smile forming on his own lips.

The raven responds with an eager nod, wrapping his arms around his husband's waist. "Yes," he answers, pressing his cheek against Henry's firm chest. "We can move her to the nursery as soon as we are done reveling in her mere existence."

Finding that answer entirely acceptable, King Henry finds that he wants nothing more than to do precisely that.