Morpheus held my gaze. “And the other part you. You’re right. How could he be anything but perfect?”

Teary, I smiled and counted the baby’s fingers for the hundredth time, entranced by the blue sparks already brewing at their tips. “I never expected his magic to have a color,” I conjectured aloud. “Mine doesn’t. And he’s a half-blood, like me.”

Morpheus rested his cheek on his pillow, eyelids growing heavy. “Not like you, blossom. Both of his parents have magic.”

I quietly studied the baby’s hands, curious if he’d ever be able to take another form like his father, and wondering over the chaos he’d soon wreak upon this castle and its occupants. Raising a fairy child blessed with imagination was going to keep us all busy, to say the least.

As soon as our son fell asleep, so did Morpheus and I—exhausted from the night’s events.

Now I’m awake, and in the soft amber glow of the candlelight, I study them: my prince, and my king, lying side by side next to me. My throat catches at their beauty, and my heart brims with love. They have the same pout when they sleep . . . that mischievous turn to their lips softened to an angelic expression and shaped by fragile tremors of breath.

As if sensing me watching him, Morpheus’s fathomless eyes open. I brush back a strand of hair from his face. He catches my palm and kisses it.

“It took a while to get here,” he murmurs against my scars, his voice rough with sleep.

By here, I’m not sure if he means the birth, or the two of us.

“Thank you for your unfathomable patience,” I respond, because either way, it’s the answer he deserves. I caress our prince’s plump elbow with my free hand, memorizing his cherubic face. Though his eyes are shaped like his father’s, they’re colored like mine. And I can see myself in other places . . . in the dimple on his chin, his button nose, and the platinum blond tips frosting the ends of his long, dark lashes. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Morpheus releases me and stretches, his powerful wings fluttering on the other side of him. “The best things. Impossible things. Most impossible of all is a lone creature, who never once needed another living soul, having a family he would die and kill for.”

Still studying the baby, my face flushes. The possessive resolve in Morpheus’s confession comes from a place so deep inside, it must’ve gored his heart to say it. It’s obvious he’s awed by being capable of such a love.

“We haven’t decided on a name yet,” I whisper to hide how touched I am by this rare glimpse of his frailties. I refuse to embarrass him. Tomorrow we’ll be presenting our son to the kingdom, which makes for the perfect segue. “I don’t think Trouble is a name befitting the prince who’s going to make our world a better place.”

Morpheus nods sagely, but there’s a wicked glint in his eyes. “Yes, we wouldn’t wish to risk a self-fulfilling prophecy. Can’t have him too much like his old man.”

I smirk, although I’m going do everything I can to assure our son will be like Morpheus—as fierce and unpredictable and chaotic as all the varied landscapes of Wonderland that we’ll one day share with him. “Should we look through your list again?”

We spent the afternoon yesterday sorting through the options as we had so often before: Argon, Durian, Iseld, Rhyanon . . . and so many more I can’t even recall. Each one was lyrical and powerful, and ideal for a fairy prince, yet nothing seemed to capture all that he would someday be.

“Only one will do, now that I’ve seen him.” Morpheus strokes the blue, downy tufts on our son’s head. In time, he’ll have a full head of luminous hair like his daddy’s. “Muse.”

I consider the name. It wasn’t on the list, but as I study the baby’s flawless features, I can’t deny it fits. My muse led me into this world in the first place, then gave me the power to rule it; Jeb’s muse repainted Wonderland so many years ago, then stayed here to bring peace between two realms. Even though Morpheus would never admit it aloud, this is his way of honoring Jeb’s contribution, my other side, and human flights of fancy. The sentiment affects me deeply, warms me all the way from my wing tips to my toes, and I’m grateful beyond words.

But there’s one more thing that makes this name fitting above all else: This baby is our dream-child, destined to inspire the imagination of the creatures in the nether-realm, a gift that will bring eternal balance to our kingdom.

I smile, big enough it strains my face. “Muse, first prince of the Red Court. I love it.” I tear my gaze from the baby—as difficult as it is to look away—because I want to see my king’s expression.

My effort is rewarded. He’s happy and proud; carefree and unkempt; most of all, smiling. A beaming smile, just like he used to flash as a child. After all this time, he’s young at heart again.

I can’t resist, and catch him by his nightshirt to pull his face close for a kiss. “Do you realize?” I ask against his savory lips, overwhelmed by so many emotions I have to struggle to stay afloat. “He’ll have the same initial as you: M.” The teasing statement barely leaves my tongue before I’m giggling.

Morpheus laughs, too, deep and soft. He clamps a hand over his mouth when our son begins to squirm, long-lashed eyes struggling to open.

“Shhhh, go back to your dreams, little one.” Still smiling, I cuddle Muse’s body to mine, nuzzle his head, and inhale his baby scent. Triggered by my senses, I’m reminded of other babies I once welcomed into my arms—each precious birth preserved like a fossil within the amber tinge of distant memory. It makes me happy just to glance upon them now, knowing that I had a hand in their lives, if only for a fleeting moment. Knowing that in this world, I’ll never be separated by death from Muse or Morpheus, or the netherling creatures that I’ve come to love like family.

“Where are you, Alyssa?” Morpheus asks in a breathy voice, stroking my braided hair. “Reminiscing?”

I lean my cheek into his palm. “I’m here with you. Always with you. And our prince.” Tilting my face, I whisper into the baby’s tiny ear. “I intend to see that you never have to learn the word good-bye.” He snuggles close, and my heart fills with so much adoration I could burst. I turn my teary eyes to Morpheus, who’s watching us both reverently. “I think your son wants you to sing to him.”

My king trails the skin around my eyes with a fingertip. “I think you do. You’re spoiled to my lullabies.”

“I am,” I say, and wriggle my nose for emphasis.

He beams once more, his jeweled markings sparkling pink and purple. “Good. I can’t be the only diva in this relationship. It is far too exhausting.”

And with that, he drapes a long, satiny wing over me and Muse, sheltering our family from the world as he sings a new song with new words—a tribute to all things mad, wild, and beautiful.

An anthem to our beloved and eternal Wonderland.