Viya's POV
Four years later.
It's strange, how much can change in four years, and yet standing here in the doorway of the living room, watching my husband get absolutely destroyed in a pillow fight by two very determined children, I feel like I've lived an entire lifetime since that night at the masquerade ball.
"Again, Daddy! Again!" Seraphina—our oldest, four years old and already the spitting image of me in miniature, right down to that same stubborn tilt of the chin I'd apparently had as a child—launches another pillow directly at his face.
I'd given her my birth name. My mother had told me once, eyes glassy with old grief, how much she'd longed to watch little Seraphina grow up—all the years she never got to have.
So when our daughter was born, I knew exactly what to
