Aegon's hands are warm as they rest against the gentle curve of her belly, his palms cradling it with a reverence that makes Joana's heart stir.
She lets out a soft, delighted laugh, her voice full of warmth and affection, as his fingers brush lightly over her skin. His touch is slow and admiring, as though he is trying to memorize the shape of the life growing inside her.
She runs her fingers through his thick, dark hair, which is damp with sweat, much like her own skin. A thin sheen clings to her body, but Aegon seems not to care.
He leans close, smiling down at her stomach as if the child inside might somehow recognize him as if it could feel the joy he carries in his grin.
His eyes, deep and dark like a midnight sky, glance upward to meet hers, and the soft smile on his lips spreads wider. There's an innocence to the moment, a tenderness that she feels deep in her chest.
"What do you think it is?" he murmurs, his gaze drifting back down to her belly, his voice low and thoughtful.
Joana lets her hand drift down, covering his as she smiles. "I don't think it matters now," she says gently. "His Majesty already has sons to secure the succession." Her fingers continue to move lazily through his hair, soothing and slow.
"I think it will be a girl," Aegon says, his voice quiet but filled with a hope that tugs at something tender inside her. He presses his palm more firmly into the slight swell beneath her skin. "As pretty as you."
Her cheeks grow warm at the compliment, the words sliding over her like a silken ribbon, but she keeps her expression calm, her voice light as she responds. "If you say so," she murmurs. "What shall you name her?"
"I don't know," he admits softly. There's a smile on his lips again as he strokes her gently. "I want to see her little face before I decide."
Joana hums thoughtfully, her hand still resting over his. "And if it's a boy?" she asks. "Will you hold your disappointment then?"
Aegon chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest as he leans a little closer. "A boy is never a disappointment," he says with a smirk. "But I already have three."
"And a daughter," she reminds him, unable to push aside the thought of little Elaena. Even with Jaehaerys by her side, Margaery remains the mother of the Emperor's only daughter—a distinction that gives her not just political strength but power within the family, too. Joana feels the weight of that unspoken truth settles in her chest.
"But none by you," Aegon replies without hesitation, sitting up so that he can look into her eyes. His tone is calm, but there's something sincere beneath the words. "How long until this one is born?"
"nine turns, I believe," she answers. "Maybe less." She lets her hand rest again on her belly. It's still hard to distinguish what's new growth from what remains of the softness she carried after bearing Jaehaerys. Perhaps her estimate is off, though both the midwife and the Mother had agreed with her thoughts on the timing.
"Quite close to my name," he murmurs, eyes thoughtful as he rubs slow circles over her skin. She nods. If their calculations are correct, the child could be born in the same fortnight as him. "I wonder if we might share it."
"Perhaps," she says, her voice soft as she watches the faint smile return to his lips.
"When is your name day?" he asks suddenly, turning his eyes to her with a curious light. "I don't think we've ever celebrated it."
"We haven't," Joana replies quietly. She doesn't sound upset, because she isn't. It's not surprising that it never came up. Aegon has always been surrounded by formalities and expectations, grand celebrations, and known dates. "I don't have a name day."
His expression shifts to confusion, a crease forming between his brows. "What?" he says, clearly surprised. "How can you not have a name day? What day were you born?"
"I don't know," she tells him, her voice calm. His surprise seems almost amusing to her. He looks offended as if she's broken some ancient law by not knowing the exact date of her birth. "My mother never told me."
Aegon stares at her, stunned. "How do you know what age you are, then?"
"When the year changes, I add a year," she explains softly. "It's how some of the smallfolk do it, Your Majesty. When there's no holy day close to the date." She arches one brow gently, a subtle reminder of her origins—one she suspects he forgets now and then. "I know it was spring when I was born. My mother said that on the night I came into the world, there was a pale wanderer in the sky, kissing the crescent moon. She said it meant I was lucky. The wanderer brings fortune to babies, she always said."
"I see," Aegon murmurs, his tone quieter now, more thoughtful. "I shall ask someone tomorrow if they know of the night twenty years ago when that happened. Though the season makes it difficult." She nods slightly, knowing the season alone wouldn't narrow the search much—spring could last many moons. "When we do know, I'll give you plenty of gifts to make up for my carelessness."
She gives him a soft smile, touched by his eagerness, but doesn't respond. Instead, she settles more comfortably against the pillows, feeling the weight of the day press lightly over her. Aegon shifts to lie beside her again, watching her with his deep, unreadable eyes.
"What are you thinking?" he asks after a moment, resting his cheek against her stomach.
"I'm thinking how gentle you can be once you've come back from a hunt," she whispers, brushing his hair back from his face. Aegon smiles at her words, his cheek warming against her skin.
"I suppose it makes sense," she continues, her voice as soft as her touch. "You must have released all your urges out in the woods."
He laughs, low and amused, the sound vibrating softly against her. Then he lifts his head and begins crawling slowly over her, his bare body radiating warmth. "I have the urge to release if you so wish to help me," he murmurs against her skin, voice laced with mischief as he wraps one strong arm around her waist, pulling her close.
Joana laughs again, letting her eyes fall shut as she shifts gently onto her side to meet him.
"Already?" she teases, her voice light with mock reproach as he nestles behind her. "Aren't you tired, Your Majesty?"
"Of you?" Aegon breathes, his voice low and fond.
"I won't get tired of you... how could I? You have such a figure and such a lovely heart. Sometimes, in hope, I could love you forever."
Joana blushed.
"Well... you can love me... at least the whole night."
He slides one hand beneath her cheek and wraps the other around her from behind, gripping her shoulder as he draws her in close. She smiles, eyes still closed, feeling the press of his body and the steady thrum of his affection.