I arched a brow. “What?”
“Nothing,” he grumbled.
“Mmm?” Claire mumbled, stirring from her rest and causing the baby to awaken against her chest. Rather than cry, he lifted big blue eyes up at his mother before staring straight at Cyrus.
My lips twitched. “Yeah, he’s going to be bold.”
“Of course he is,” Cyrus cooed, smiling down at the little bundle. “He’s a future king.”
“King?” Claire repeated on a yawn, her long lashes fluttering open. “Oh. Yes. King. Hi there, little king. Oh, what a handsome little one you are.” She positively beamed, her sole focus on the tiny faeling.
He blinked his eyes back to her, his love and adoration evident in the way he worshipped her with that intelligent gaze.
She cocked her head. “It’s like he understands me.”
“He does,” Cyrus replied. “Faelings are a little different from human infants.”
She slowly drew her gaze to Cyrus. “A little different, like ‘nine-week pregnancies instead of nine months’ different?”
I bit my lip to keep from smiling.
Cyrus, however, didn’t bother to hide his grin. “Yeah, sort of like that.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I want a better explanation than that.”
“How about we name him first?” he offered. “Then we can talk about the differences.”
I crept forward, very interested in this conversation now. Not that I wasn’t amused before, but this took precedence.
“Name?” she repeated, swallowing. “Oh, I… In all our preparation… I…”
“Shh,” he hushed. “I haven’t thought of one yet either. I wanted to meet him first before I decided.”
“Do you have one in mind now?” she asked.
“Sort of.” He studied the faeling, his gaze intense. “He’s our Christmas baby, born in the Human Realm beneath a wave of all five elements. So he needs a strong name, one that represents his birth and his elemental status. What do you think about Storm?”
“That’s not very Christmassy,” she said slowly. “But he did create quite the catastrophe on his way out.”
“He came in like a rough storm, yes,” my brother agreed, his lips twitching. “I also thought of Frost because he created some ice on the ceiling that not even Titus could melt.”
“He’s going to be a handful,” the Fire Fae said, his voice full of adoration. “I like Storm. It suits him.”
“I like it, too,” I admitted. “But I want Claire to love it.”
She stared down at the baby. “What about Blizzard?” Her lips twisted. “No. That’s too much. Hmm.” Her expression turned pensive. “Jack is too plain. Winter isn’t right, and Christmas doesn’t fit.”
“What about Ciro?” I suggested. “It’s a variant of Cyrus, but it means ‘of the sun.’?”
Claire blinked at me, then down at the baby once more. “Ciro,” she repeated, her expression brightening. “King Ciro.”
“Prince Ciro,” Cyrus corrected. “I’m still King Cyrus.”
She beamed. “Yes, Prince Ciro. Oh, that’s perfect. I love it.” The baby seemed to agree, because he released a little giggle, which caused Claire’s eyes to widen. “They can do that when they’re this young?”
“Faeling,” Cyrus reminded her.
But rather than demand he start listing all the differences for her, she just hummed in agreement and continued repeating, “Prince Ciro,” to the little one in her arms.