Swords clashed against swords, and the sounds of ringing metal filled the air. Blood sprayed out from open wounds, staining the ground red. Rhett pushed his shoulder into the man in front of him—an older soldier with trembling arms and sweat rolling down his forehead. The Drurus man fought like someone with nothing left to lose.

  But Rhett didn’t want to kill him—not like this.

  He twisted his blade and pushed it forward, stabbing the man’s side. The soldier gasped, collapsing without a word. Rhett caught him as he fell, easing him to the ground before standing once more, scanning the field for the next threat.

  This wasn’t the first old man he had faced that day—and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. Every one of the soldiers sent by Drurus was elderly…weathered… too old to be standing on a battlefield, let alone fighting in one. Yet here they were, swinging rusted swords and broken spears, giving everything they had against the younger, better-equipped army.

  Dust rose like clouds around the battlefield, turning the sunlight into a haze of yellows and grays. The air stung Rhett’s eyes, but he pushed through it, slashing down another soldier running for him. The man cried out in pain, but the dragon king quickly raised his sword, sending it down into the man’s chest, ending him quickly.

  Rhett paused, panting as he thought about his next move. The Drurus forces had no formation and no clear command. They were disorganized.

  “Shields up! Push forward!” He shouted across the field as he swung his blade into another soldier’s legs, twisting as he pushed the man to the ground. “Second line, with me! Push them back!”

  His soldiers responded, pressing forward, even as Rhett’s gut twisted. This was just a slaughter; he knew it. These men weren't sent here to win… they were here to die.

  But as he glanced toward the western horizon, the young king could see plumes of smoke rising in the air. In the distance, a town had been attacked about a day or two prior, which meant that after this fight, Rhett and his men would then go into search and rescue mode.

  They were being stalled. Every worthless battle, every hopeless skirmish—it was all a tactic to buy time for Arnav’s forces. Time to regroup, recover, and get stronger. And all Rhett could do was hope that Zayn’s forces to the north and Jadiel’s company to the south were making headway on their march toward Dunstead.

  Finally, when the last Drurus soldier hit the ground, the battlefield went quiet. Rhett lowered his sword slowly. Every single old man sent to face him lay motionless in the dirt. They didn’t surrender. Even when he called for it, begged for it, they pressed forward desperately.

  Fighting like this wasn’t by his choice, but it was done. He looked at one of his captains, motioning for him to come closer.

  “See to the wounded. All of them—ours and theirs. If they breathe, they’re treated.”

  The man nodded before relaying orders to his men.

  “Gather up the dead,” the king continued. “Identify the fallen if you can, then put them in a grave.”

  Rhett glanced once more at the rising smoke in the distance. He then raised his sword before calling out to his soldiers.

  “The rest of you, we march west!”

  His army began to move again, with many lining up in tired formations. As they moved away from the battlefield, Rhett turned his face into the wind, smelling the scent of smoke and ash. It would be a long march to the destroyed town, and all he could do was think about what nightmares awaited them.

  As the city beneath the rising plumes of smoke came into view, Rhett raised a hand. One by one, the long line of soldiers came to a halt, and the sounds of marching faded into silence.

  As Rhett stretched his sore muscles, Tristan, Jesup, and several of the captains approached. The young king didn’t look at them at first; instead, he lifted his gaze to the sky, noticing how the afternoon sun was heading toward the horizon. There wouldn’t be enough daylight left to check the city thoroughly and pursue Drurus’s fleeing forces.

  With a tired sigh, Rhett turned to his captains.

  “Set up camp here,” he ordered. “Make sure anyone who fought earlier is looked over for injuries. Then move them to the rear ranks—they’ll march tomorrow, but I don’t want them to fight unless absolutely necessary.”

  The captains nodded and quickly moved to relay his commands. Rhett then turned to Jesup.

  “Think you can gather a hundred men to go with me to the city?”

  The Prince gave a slight smirk as he scanned the field of soldiers.

  “If I call for volunteers, you’ll have two hundred. Easily. They’ve been itching for action ever since we left Vespera.”

  “I know,” Rhett murmured, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “They’re restless. I’d love to give my men a rest from the front lines.”

  “You think you could convince Ruggeweyn soldiers not to fight and stand at the back of the line?” Tristan chuckled.

  “Well…” Rhett smirked. “Everyone but Walden’s company. They’ve earned a break. And I know there’s tension between my men and yours, Jesup. But my hands are tied—Mathias made it clear: his soldiers are to be used only if there’s no other choice.”

  “Yeah. I know,” Jesup scowled as he crossed his arms. “Alright… give me an hour. I’ll pull a hundred from my ranks.”

  As the prince turned to go, Rhett motioned to Tristan.

  “Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s find out which city we’re staring at.”

  They made their way to the supply wagons, finding the one carrying Rhett’s personal belongings. The young king crouched down, rummaging through a weathered chest until he pulled out a creased map of Drurus.

  He and Tristan found a clear patch of grass and unrolled the parchment, weighing down the corners with small stones. They crouched over the map, tracing the terrain with their fingers and matching the lines to the hills and rivers around them. After a few minutes of calculations, Rhett sat back on his heels.

  “We can confirm once inside, but it looks like we’re outside the city of Trin,” he said, scratching his beard.

  “Or whatever’s left of it,” Tristan murmured with furrowed brows.

  Rhett didn’t respond, but instead continued to stare at the map. Eventually, he let out a heavy sigh.

  “It looks like we are about fifty miles east of Dunstead,” he grumbled. “And we only have four days left before Riven’s soldiers converge on the capital.”

  “Do you think we can make it?” Tristan questioned with a raised brow.

  “On a good day, we should be able to march about twenty miles,” Rhett answered, biting the inside of his cheek.

  “But what about on a day when we have to fight Drurus soldiers or bury dead villagers?”

  “Five… maybe ten if we’re lucky,” the young king scowled.

  “So, what you’re saying is we’re going to have to push it,” Tristan remarked with a tired smile.

  “Unfortunately,” Rhett nodded as he rolled up the map. “Which means we will get moving right at dawn.”

  “Lovely,” Tristan muttered, rising from the ground with a childish huff.

  Rhett didn’t respond. He simply stared out toward the smoke rising into the sky.

  As the afternoon light darkened and the shadows stretched across the land, Rhett marched toward the destroyed city of Trin with Tristan, Jesup, and over a hundred Vespera soldiers behind him.

  This wasn’t the first time the young king had arrived to see the aftermath caused by Drurus’s army. And it likely wouldn’t be the last. But as they got closer to Trin’s broken gates, he could already see a difference. Trin wasn’t a small farming village—it was a city, home to probably hundreds of people. And this time… there were survivors.

  At the edge of the gates, Rhett raised a hand, halting the group.

  “No weapons unless you’re attacked,” he instructed firmly. “Your job is to check on the townsfolk. Assure them we’re not here to harm but to help. If someone is injured and the town’s healing hall isn’t functioning, bring them back to camp. Be gentle. And most importantly: be patient.”

  He paused, taking a deep breath before looking over the gathered soldiers.

  “Split into groups. Cover every street and be watchful for any threats.”

  With that, the men began to spread through the city like a rising tide. Rhett remained with Tristan and Jesup as they walked beneath the broken archway into Trin. Many of the streets were half-buried in rubble, doors were broken or torn off their hinges, and smashed carts were scattered everywhere.

  The people who were still alive within the city either stood in stunned silence as the strange soldiers passed by them or ran away in fear. However, Rhett was pleased to see some of his men taking the time to reassure the scared townsfolk, with a few even going so far as tossing away their swords to prove their point.

  The three men moved slowly, eventually coming across a severely damaged street. There was ash and char marks on the homes, and shattered glass littered the ground. Tristan split off toward a building with a partially collapsed roof, while Jesup went toward a row of homes that still smoked.

  Rhett remained on the main road, checking one house after another. The first was empty and looked like it hadn’t been lived in before the attack. The second had the body of an old woman, dead on the floor next to the door. The third had a pair of men—likely brothers—slumped against the wall. They were covered in stab wounds, while their blood had dried up in a pool beneath them.

  Rhett tied a red cloth to each door where he found a dead body, marking it so his soldiers knew there was someone inside who needed to be buried.

  When he stepped into the fourth home, he paused. A young couple lay in the center of the room, embracing each other in death. Rhett crouched beside them, putting a hand on their skin. They were cold… rigid.

  Looking around the room, the young king could tell they had fought hard to stay alive. Furniture was overturned, pottery smashed, and even the stone around the hearth was broken. After a moment, he began to search for anything red to tie to the door, but found nothing. With a heavy sigh, Rhett reached for a white rag, dipping it into the couple’s blood before stepping back onto the street.

  As he reached for the door handle to tie the red-stained cloth, a breeze blew past him. It carried with it the cool, late winter air and the stench of smoke. But he also heard a faint sound with the wind—a whisper.

  Rhett froze, standing still as he listened. However, there was nothing. He shook his head, assuming that it was his imagination.

  But then, when he tightened the knot on the handle, the wind blew again, rushing through the ruined street, and bringing with it the whisper. This time, the sound was unmistakable.

  And it came from within the home.

  Rhett yanked the door open and rushed back inside. He fell to his knees beside the couple, checking their bodies once more. But they were still dead… still not moving. His face scrunched up in confusion, but he forced himself to think. If the sound hadn’t come from them, then who did it come from?

  As he thought to himself, he heard it again—clearer this time, and behind him. He turned quickly, looking through the wreckage in the home. Chairs were broken, a dresser lay on its side with its drawers scattered, and a table was flipped over.

  Rhett moved quickly, tossing the debris aside, lifting anything that might be hiding someone beneath it. But when the room was cleared, he saw only the floorboards.

  He knelt down and tapped his fingers across the pieces of wood, listening for hollow sounds. Finally, one of them gave a slight creak, and Rhett hooked his fingers into the edges.

  Pulling on the board, it suddenly lifted, and beneath it, wrapped in a moth-eaten blanket, was a baby. Tears streaked its ash-smeared cheeks, and its lips quivered weakly as the little one let out another soft whimper.

  Rhett stared for a moment, frozen in place at the sight of the tiny baby. Then, with as much gentleness as he could muster, he reached down and carefully gathered the child into his arms.

  The baby quieted almost instantly, and its whimpers turned into little hiccups. The child’s face was scrunched up, as if they were on the verge of tears, but something about being held—being safe—seemed to calm them. Rhett adjusted the blanket, peeling it back slightly to check for any injuries.

  But aside from the dirt and grime smudged across the baby’s face and arms, they were unharmed… alive… and a little girl.

  When she began to tremble from the cold, Rhett instantly wrapped the blanket around her before pressing her closer to his chest. His body shielded hers as he straightened up, cradling her protectively. Deep within him, Silas stirred, sending a wave of warmth through Rhett’s limbs. The air around them heated up, and the baby slowly relaxed in his arms.

  She snuggled closer, pressing her cheek into the soft leather of his tunic. Rhett’s heart twisted, very similar to the way it did when he found out that his sons had died. However, his heart wasn’t hurting from grief… Not this time.

  The young king stood there, not moving and barely breathing. He was completely consumed by the baby in his arms. She was so small, so tiny. His gaze went to the fuzz of hair on her head. It was darker than the twins’—while theirs was blonde, hers was brown.

  The longer he stared at her, the more he thought about his sons. They had been smaller than this child, and their skin was paler. The little girl didn’t look like them. But somehow, while holding her, it was almost as if Rhett could feel them.

  And for the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. He didn’t feel empty. Holding this little baby, something inside started to mend—to bloom.

  It was hope… but it didn’t replace the loss or the grief left by his sons. Instead, it sat beside it.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  At that moment, Rhett knew he didn’t want to let her go. She needed someone, just like he did. Carefully, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

  He pictured Amara, remembering how broken she had been, and how shattered her heart was at their loss. But… if this little girl could bring comfort to him, maybe—just maybe—she could do the same for Amara.

  But a shiver went down his spine as a sudden realization crossed his mind. They were still in the house where her parents died—fighting to keep her from being discovered. Rhett turned slightly, looking at the two lifeless bodies on the floor. At the blood pooled beneath them.

  He shifted the baby gently in his arms, adjusting the blanket to shield her face, even though she was already tucked securely against his chest. He didn’t want the scent, the feel, or the memory of this place to reach her.

  Rhett stepped out onto the street, carefully stepping over the rubble. The little girl in his arms stirred, but he adjusted her gently, murmuring softly to keep her calm. He glanced up at the sky, surprised by how dark it had grown. The king could have sworn that there was still plenty of daylight left when he entered the home. But as he stood there, debating how much time had passed, he heard someone shout.

  “There he is!”

  He turned his head just as Tristan and Jesup ran up the street.

  “Where have you been?!” Tristan exclaimed in relief. “We were looking every—”

  “Hush,” Rhett said in a low, harsh voice. “You’re being too loud.”

  Tristan blinked in confusion.

  “What do you—?”

  But then his eyes dropped to the bundle in Rhett’s arms, and his mouth snapped shut. The confusion on his face faded away, replaced by a solemn expression.

  “The parents?” He questioned quietly.

  Rhett just shook his head. He didn’t want to speak the words, not here—not with the baby so close. She wouldn’t understand, not yet, but still… he refused to speak of her parents’ death in front of her. Jesup stepped closer, trying to get a better look at the baby.

  “Is it injured?”

  “No,” Rhett replied. “She was—”

  “Where did you find that baby?!” A woman’s voice interrupted.

  The men turned around, noticing a young woman hurrying toward them with a baby on her hip. Her eyes were wide, frantic even, as she looked between them and the baby in Rhett’s arms.

  “He just came from there,” Jesup said, gesturing to the ruined house. “Do you know her?”

  “Lilibeth was alive?” The woman gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I—I looked inside. Jayce and Gemma were… they were gone. I thought… I didn’t see her.”

  “I found her hidden beneath the floorboards,” Rhett explained quietly. He was cautious as he spoke, not trusting the woman at first. However, after a second, his eyes narrowed and he tilted his head slightly. “Wait… what did you say her name was?”

  “Lilibeth,” the woman repeated, overcome with guilt. “The poor thing…”

  As the woman spoke, Rhett could only focus on one thing: Lilibeth. It was the name he used to tease Amara with during her pregnancy, when they would discuss what to call the twins. It would always make her scowl, and she would purse her little lips at him. Amara hated the name—said it reminded her too much of the Aether Lily, the flower that nearly killed her. And yet now, here it was again.

  Like a complete circle.

  A second chance…

  Rhett’s eyes drifted to the baby in the woman’s arms—chubby, content, likely nearing a year old. And then, without shame, he looked at the woman’s chest.

  “This is… uncomfortable to ask,” he began, glancing down at the sleeping infant in his arms. “But are you still producing milk? Enough to feed your child—and this one?”

  “Oh—yes,” the woman nodded quickly. “I’ve been weaning Adley for a few weeks now, but I still have plenty. I can feed Lilibeth, absolutely. Here, if you want to hand her to me—”

  “No,” Rhett said quickly, stepping back without even thinking. His arms tightened around Lilibeth, and the woman flinched slightly at the firmness in his voice.

  Before tensions could rise, Tristan stepped forward.

  “How about you take us to your home?” He interjected calmly. “Or somewhere quiet? Private. You can feed the baby there.”

  The young lord glanced at Rhett, who hadn’t moved.

  “Since you already have your hands full,” Tristan continued, looking back at the woman. “Let Rhett carry Lilibeth for you. Just for now.”

  “Well… alright,” the woman murmured, though she was clearly hesitant. She looked Rhett over from head to toe but said nothing more. She had seen how the foreigners had been helping since their arrival. A few had already checked on her earlier, with some even bringing firewood for her stove.

  “My daughter and I were blessed by the Gods,” she added softly. “Because our home hadn’t been ransacked or destroyed… not like many of our neighbors.”

  “Blessings indeed,” Tristan said with a nod. “Please, lead the way, Miss…?”

  “Libby,” she replied over her shoulder as she walked up the street, adjusting the baby on her hip. “And there’s no miss about it. I’m not noble. Just the wife of a blacksmith.”

  “Blacksmith? That’s a noble craft in itself,” he replied, following alongside her. “Did your husband… survive the attack?”

  Libby’s shoulders sank. She pulled her baby closer to her chest before giving her a gentle kiss.

  “He wasn’t here,” she whispered. “He was taken nearly a year ago… conscripted to serve His Majesty’s army. They said they needed skilled blacksmiths to arm the soldiers.”

  Tristan glanced back at Jesup, then Rhett. None of them responded angrily, even though her husband forged weapons for the enemy. Instead, they were quiet because they knew the truth. If he had been taken into Drurus’s forces, his odds of survival were slim.

  After several more minutes of silently walking, they arrived at a modest blacksmith’s shop. The forge inside was dark and cold, and the walls were covered in years of soot. Libby led them around back, pushing open a narrow, hidden door tucked between the building and a fence. They went up a narrow staircase into a tiny apartment built over the shop.

  “I didn’t even realize there was a second floor up here,” Jesup commented as they stepped into the small space.

  “I always told Archie this place was too small for a family,” Libby said, brushing a tear from her cheek. “I hated it. Thought it was cramped and stifling… but in the end, it’s what saved us. No one thought to look up here.”

  She paused then, turning to the men with reddened eyes.

  “I know you’re the ones fighting against my kingdom. But… do you think he’s alive? My husband?”

  “If he was taken as a blacksmith, I can promise you this,” Tristan offered with a gentle smile. “He wasn’t on the front lines fighting. Men like him are too valuable. He’s likely still out there… shaping steel and sharpening blades.”

  Libby gave a slow nod, but her voice trembled with the next question.

  “Do you know why… our own soldiers did this? Why they would kill their own people?”

  “To slow us down,” Rhett stated coldly. “They slaughtered your people so we’d stop. So we’d bury them. It bought their army time to escape and regroup before our next fight.”

  Libby’s eyes widened as she gasped in fear.

  “Rhett,” Jesup hissed, pulling him back with a scolding whisper. “She didn’t need to hear that.”

  But the damage was done. Libby’s eyes shifted to Rhett, and they were no longer filled with nervous gratitude. Instead, she was uneasy, and her grip tightened on her child as her free hand slowly extended toward the other baby.

  “Give me Lilibeth.”

  But Rhett didn’t move.

  “I said—” she began again, but before she could finish her demand, Rhett instinctively pulled the baby closer to his chest. His posture shifted, as if to create a protective barrier… but it was too tight.

  Lilibeth whimpered, then let out a loud cry, startled by the sudden pressure. Rhett immediately loosened his grip, looking down at her with a guilty expression—but it was too late. Libby stepped forward, desperately holding out her hand.

  “I’ll take her,” she said frantically.

  However, as she reached for the child, Rhett’s body stiffened, and he let out a low, rumbling growl. Libby’s eyes widened in shock, and she stumbled back a step, nearly falling before catching herself on the edge of a chair.

  “You… You’re a dragon!” She shouted, holding her baby closer as she looked at the man in horror.

  Rhett was still growling like a feral beast, and his eyes flashed burnt orange. In his arms, Lilibeth had started to wail, her screams echoing through the small apartment. Jesup and Tristan moved immediately, stepping between Libby and Rhett. Tristan held out his arms as he approached his friend.

  “Give me Lilibeth,” he said firmly. “Now, Rhett.”

  The young king blinked as if coming out of a trance. He looked at Tristan, then at Lilibeth—at her frightened face and trembling hands.

  He hadn’t meant to scare her.

  He hadn’t meant to hurt her.

  “I don’t want to lose her…” he choked out as tears welled up in his eyes.

  “You won’t,” Tristan promised softly. “I’ll stay with her. You have my word.”

  Rhett hesitated for only a moment longer before slowly, reluctantly, handing Lilibeth over.

  “Please,” he whispered. “Don’t let her get hurt…”

  “I won’t. I swear it, “Tristan said, cradling the baby gently against his chest. “We’re just going to step behind that curtain, alright? Take deep breaths, Rhett. She’s safe.”

  The young king nodded before backing up against a wall. His trembling body slid down to the floor, and Jesup knelt down beside him. Meanwhile, Tristan turned to Libby, who stood frozen in the corner.

  “Can we go in there?” Tristan inquired gently, motioning toward the curtain that led to the bedroom.

  The woman didn’t answer at first, but instead stared at Rhett.

  “Libby,” Tristan said more softly. “Lilibeth is hungry… and we could really use your help to feed her.”

  At that, something shifted in Libby’s expression. She looked away from Rhett and instead looked at the baby in Tristan’s arms—still red-faced, still crying. After a second, she nodded and moved toward the curtain, leading him inside.

  The bedroom was small—just enough space for a modest bed and a wooden bassinet. Libby gently set Adley on the floor with a few toys to distract her, then turned to Tristan and held out her arms.

  He passed Lilibeth to her without hesitation. But rather than leave, Tristan quietly sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the edge of the bed. This caused Libby to hesitate.

  “You’re staying?”

  “I won’t look,” he assured gently. “Just want to make sure you both are safe.”

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, Libby stepped just out of his line of sight. She adjusted her dress, baring one breast, and offered it to Lilibeth. The baby, still whimpering, immediately began to root. Within seconds, she had latched and started feeding greedily.

  The room was quiet, except for the occasional slurp of the baby and the rustling of toys. Eventually, Adley noticed Tristan. With a curious look, she crawled over to him, giggling softly. Libby moved to intervene, but Tristan raised a hand.

  “She’s fine,” he smiled. “I won’t hurt her.”

  “Dragons always hurt people,” Libby said flatly.

  Tristan chuckled softly, running his fingers through Adley’s dark hair.

  “Well, I’m not a dragon. The other two are.”

  “Oh… so you’re friends with them,” she muttered.

  “They’re more like brothers, really,” he said gently, offering his hand for Adley to hold. She took it with a delighted little squeal. “Rhett—the one who found Lilibeth—was raised alongside me. So, I can assure you, he’s not a monster. Neither is Jesup.”

  “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe,” she spat bitterly, frowning toward the young lord. “Every dragon I’ve ever heard of enjoys using people. Torturing them. Breaking them.”

  Tristan didn’t argue right away. He simply looked down at Adley, who had climbed into his lap and was now playing with a strap on his tunic.

  “Not Rhett… Nor any dragon I’ve ever known. The worst dragon I knew was a selfish man—greedy, arrogant, always putting himself first—but he didn’t enjoy hurting people. Maybe that’s what Arnav and his horde do, but not Rhett. Not Jesup. And most certainly, not their families.”

  “Then why did he growl when I tried to take Lilibeth?” Libby questioned as her voice rose. “Why was he holding her so tight that she started crying?”

  Tristan let out a long, weary sigh before closing his eyes.

  “Because… I think he might have grown attached to her.”

  “What?” Libby blinked, sounding skeptical—no, stunned. The idea of a grown man forming an instant bond with a stranger’s baby was almost laughable to her.

  But Tristan’s expression softened as he glanced briefly toward the curtain separating them from the others.

  “Rhett lost his unborn twin sons several weeks back. His wife, Amara, was attacked while we were out fighting. Someone put a sword through her back, and it went through her womb.”

  “Did she…?”

  “She lived,” he said gently. “Barely. But the twins didn’t survive. And now… now Amara will never be able to carry children again.”

  “That’s horrible,” Libby whispered as a lump formed in her throat.

  “Rhett saw the boys,” Tristan continued in a strained voice. “But their wounds were so bad, he couldn’t even hold them. I think… I think when he held Lilibeth, something clicked. She filled that empty space left by his sons.”

  Libby looked down at the tiny girl nestled in her arms, now dozing peacefully with a full belly. Her fingers touched Lilibeth’s soft cheek. If she had lost Adley before she was ever born, she, too, might look at this little thing as a way to fix her shattered heart.

  However, Libby still didn’t trust Rhett… not yet.

  “You said he might be attached,” she whispered while gently adjusting her dress before placing Lilibeth against her shoulder to burp her. “But what happens next? We’re still in a war, aren’t we? And when it ends—what then? Does he just… leave her? Forget about her?”

  “No,” Tristan shook his head, turning to meet her gaze. “I know Rhett. If he’s bonded to her the way I think he has, he won’t walk away. He’ll claim her as his own.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means she would be named as his daughter… and become the princess of Sylvaris.”

  Libby’s mouth fell open. Princess? The word didn’t seem to fit the sleepy infant or the cramped bedroom around them. Suddenly, she glanced toward the curtain, as if expecting to see a crown behind it.

  “The man sitting on my floor in there… that’s a king?”

  “Yes,” Tristan nodded. “And Jesup—the other one—is a prince. Heir to the Empire of Vespera.”

  Libby staggered slightly, and a hand went to her stomach.

  “Oh, gods… I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Tristan rose to his feet quickly, holding Adley in his arms as he moved to Libby’s side.

  “Are you alright?” He questioned with concern.

  She leaned over the bed, closing her eyes.

  “Just… overwhelmed. This is a lot.”

  “That’s fine,” he whispered kindly. “Take your time.”

  She nodded weakly, then glanced down at Lilibeth.

  “She’s finished eating,” Libby said. “But I need to burp her properly, change her, and then find her a clean blanket.”

  “Of course,” Tristan nodded, stepping back to give her space. “Take all the time you need. Rhett can wait.”

  After about fifteen minutes, Lilibeth was cleaned, changed into one of Adley’s smaller outfits, and wrapped in a fresh blanket. Libby had every intention of returning the baby to Tristan… but when the time came, she refused to let her go.

  Instead, she held Lilibeth close to her chest and stepped back into the main room. Tristan, still cradling Adley in his arms, followed her.

  Rhett rose from where he had been sitting on the floor. His eyes went to the baby in Libby’s arms, then to the woman. He looked sheepish, guilty, and unsure of what to say or do.

  Libby’s scowl deepened as she approached, putting on a brave front despite knowing who Rhett was. She might have been a peasant, but in that moment, she stood like a warrior before a dragon king.

  “Swear to me,” she said clearly. “And to the Gods, that you will care for Lilibeth. That you will love her as your own.”

  Rhett blinked, caught off guard by the demand.

  “I will,” he said slowly as his gaze went down to the small, sleeping bundle in her arms. “But… if there’s someone out there—other family—who would come for her… I can’t promise that I won’t let her go.”

  “As far as I know, it was just the three of them,” Libby explained, her tone quieter now. “Gemma was an orphan. Jayce only had a mother, and she lived somewhere in the countryside. I don’t remember the name of the place.”

  “Countryside doesn’t really narrow things down much,” Jesup remarked with a raised brow.

  “And you’re sure there’s no one else?” Rhett questioned cautiously. “I don’t want to take her away from people who might be looking for her.”

  “I’ve told you what I know,” Libby shrugged, though her arms held the baby a little tighter. “They moved into that old place only a few months before Gemma gave birth, so I haven’t known them for long.”

  “How old is Lilibeth?” Jesup inquired, leaning forward curiously. “She looks small.”

  “Just over a month, I think,” Libby replied, furrowing her brows in thought. “But I couldn’t tell you the exact day. We don’t usually keep track of things like that…”

  “That’s fine,” Rhett murmured, stepping a little closer. “And if it’s an oath you want, I’ll make one. I’ll cut my palm, swear it in blood if you need—”

  “No!” Libby interrupted quickly, making him stop mid-sentence. “Just your words. Do you swear—truly swear—that this baby isn’t some bandage for your grief? That she’s not a temporary comfort? That you will raise her, love her, and not cast her aside when it becomes inconvenient?”

  Rhett straightened his back, lifting a fist to his heart.

  “I swear to you, to Lilibeth, and to the Creators above, that I will love this child as though my own blood runs through her veins. That I will protect her, raise her, and never treat her as less than my daughter.”

  Then, his shoulders lowered, and his hand dropped from his chest.

  “But…” he added in a whisper. “She will need to meet my wife first. If… if Amara cannot accept her, I won’t force the child into a household where she’s resented. I will find a good family—one who will love her as much as I would. That, too, I swear.”

  Libby looked at him for a long minute. Then, slowly, she looked down at Lilibeth, who had stirred slightly in her sleep. The woman hesitated for a moment before giving a slow nod. Carefully, she extended Lilibeth to Rhett.

  He accepted the child, giving her a soft kiss to the top of her head. Lilibeth sighed in her sleep before pressing a curled hand against Rhett’s tunic.

  “This may be a lot to ask,” he whispered as he looked back at Libby. “But… would you consider coming back to my camp? It isn’t much—hardly comfortable—but Lilibeth will still need to nurse, and you seem to know how to calm her.”

  Libby glanced over at Tristan and held out her arms. He passed Adley back to her without a word.

  “Will it be safe?” She questioned quietly, looking around at each of the men.

  “Truthfully, it might be safer to send you to Jux,” Rhett admitted hesitantly. “It’s back in Sylvaris, and far from the front lines. I could arrange an escort, maybe even send a rider ahead to prepare—”

  “I’ll stay with them,” Tristan interrupted, placing a hand on Rhett’s shoulder. “There’s no need to relocate them right now. We’re close to Dunstead—close enough that our current camp may be more useful as a supply base where it is. I can remain behind, make sure Libby, Adley, and Lilibeth are well looked after.”

  “I don’t know…” Rhett frowned, clearly torn as he turned to Jesup. “What do you think?”

  Jesup crossed his arms, exhaling deeply as he thought to himself.

  “We know Drurus’s forces are retreating west, and we’ve nearly cornered them in their own capital. It makes sense to hold the camp here. We’ll need supplies once the final push begins, and it’s smarter to keep them far behind the front lines.”

  Rhett nodded slowly and turned his attention back to Libby.

  “Then what say you? Would you be willing to stay in the camp to help care for Lilibeth? I’d pay you, of course, and—”

  “You don’t need to pay me,” Libby interrupted. “Not with coin… But, I do have a request.”

  “Anything within my power, I will do it.”

  “Find my husband,” she said quietly. “I know it’s a tall order, and I don’t even know where you would begin looking. But I just need to know. Is he alive? Or… or is he gone? Please. I need to know what happened to him.”

  “You have my word,” Rhett stated firmly. “I’ll send messengers to check among our prisoners and have them ask around—see if other Drurus soldiers remember Archie. I won’t make false promises, but I swear we’ll do everything possible to find him.”

  “Thank you,” Libby whispered, holding her daughter tighter.

  “Come on, then,” Tristan said, motioning toward the door. “It’s late, and everyone’s running on fumes. Jesup and I will stay behind to get a full report on Trin. Rhett, take Libby and the girls back to camp.”

  Rhett gave a small nod, then turned and opened the door, stepping out into the cold night air with Lilibeth held protectively in his arms.