My blessings remain untouched but the corridor grows strangely still. A presence brushes the edges of my mind, small and curious.
One of the Un.
A child? You ask much tonight,her voice slipping into my mind.
I steady my breathing.
"Not for me," I whisper within the silence. "For Siofra."
The presence lingers for one suspended heartbeat.
Then it vanishes with no promise or blessing.
I keep praying anyway.
Isolwen. If you hear anything tonight, hear this. The healers said it was a miracle she could carry this child. So let the miracle hold. Let it hold just a little longer.
The door opens.
I straighten.
The matron who steps out looks tired and flushed. She sees me and pauses, surprised. "Your Highness. I didn't know you were—"
"Is she well?"
A real smile breaks through her exhaustion. "Both of them. Mother and son."
I close my eyes for just a moment. Then I step inside and peer silently through the curtain.
Siofra lies pale against white sheets, dark hair damp against her temples. Darstan is seated beside her, his enormous hands cradling something impossibly small. Tears track down his face openly. The knight who has stood at my back through battles and trials is crying. I have never once seen him so undone. He holds the bundle with the careful terror of someone convinced he might break it. The child looks pink and entirely unbothered.
Siofra watches him from the pillows. She reaches out, touching the child's cheek with trembling fingers. Her smile is brighter than any crown I have ever worn.
For a moment, the war recedes. The Fae King, the silence, the book hidden in my chamber.
All of it fades.
Life has chosen to begin.
I watch them silently and feel something loosen inside me.
Wild things aren't meant to be caged.
I need to let Svenn go.
I slip back before either of them sees me. The bells begin to chime as I descend the temple steps. Evening prayers, calling the faithful to Isolwen's blessing.
Be careful, Rhianelle.The Un whispers.
I am halfway down the steps when a stack of parchment explodes in front of me.
"Cedwyn," I say, recognizing the dark hair.
He bows so quickly he nearly topples forward again.
I raise a hand to still him. He looks the same as ever. A squire who never quite grew into the armor. Yet something about him unsettles me.
"Your Highness. I'm so sorry. I didn't see you," he says.
