The manor on the Sidra is aglow with warm, golden light. Garlands of holly and fir line the bannisters, and twinkling faelights twine across the ceilings and walls. The scents of pine, cinnamon, and spiced cider fill the air, as do the sounds of laughter and chatter between old friends.

And also the sound of screaming—Aster is screaming, the teapot is whistling, and Nyx is also screaming.

Azriel spends Winter Solstices having chaotic snowball fights with Cassian and Rhysand, but none of that has ever compared to this. Although he is still pissed Cassian broke his winning streak earlier.

“Aster, please,” Azriel mutters as he picks up his wailing daughter—Feyre swoops in similarly for Nyx. The little girl’s dark hair—exactly like his own—is wild and tangled from her tantrum. Aster, cheeks flushed and tear-streaked, clutches a small toy in one hand and a broken ornament in the other.

“It was so pretty, Dada!” Aster sobs, holding up the cracked-in-half wooden ornament with trembling fingers.

Azriel gently wipes his daughter’s tears. “I know,” he says softly. “But it is alright. Things break sometimes. We will make a new one together, how does that sound? You, me, and Mama?”

He stands up, still holding her in his arms, and rifles through one of the drawers in the room until he finds a shimmering star-shaped object. Definitely not meant to be an ornament, but he can make it one. Aster’s sobs melt into hiccups as she stares at it, her wide eyes—the same as her mother’s—lighting up.

“It’s so sparkly,” she whispers, reaching out to touch it.

Azriel smiles. Never in a million years could he have expected this life, with his little daughter and beautiful mate. “Let us find some string so we can put it on the tree, yes?”

Aster giggles and Azriel ruffles her hair. She takes the ornament gleefully as Azriel carries her into the kitchen. He cuts a piece of kitchen twine and loops it around the star, then brings her back to the parlor, where they hang the ornament together.

He returns to the main group, where the Inner Circle lounges on the couches, armchairs, and floor (in Cassian’s case). Cassian smirks. “That girl has more drama in her pinky than you two combined.”

Azriel snorts. “She got it from Uncle Cassian.”

Cassian makes a face, but Nesta laughs. “That’s for certain.”

She stands up to come stand next to Azriel and Aster, lightly touching their daughter’s hair. He smiles down at her. “You’re beautiful. Don’t you think so, Aster?”

Aster, delightedly, chirps: “Yes!” Her tiny, chubby hands grasp out at her mother’s face, skimming her chin. “Mama!”