Elara’s POV
The ride back to the castle felt endless.
William’s weight sagged heavily between Caden and me, his blood warm against my hands despite the chill of the morning air. Every jolt of the horses sent a fresh wave of pain through him, and each time he groaned softly, my heart clenched tighter. James rode ahead, clearing the path, his posture rigid with urgency. Serena followed close behind, holding Lise tightly against her chest, one arm wrapped around Elena as well.
I kept my eyes on William’s face.
“Stay with us,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “Please. Just a little longer.”
His lashes fluttered. His lips parted as if he wanted to answer, but only a weak breath escaped him. The wound at his side bled steadily despite the pressure we kept on it, darkening our clothes and the saddle beneath us.
Caden leaned closer, his jaw clenched. “You’re not allowed to die,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Not after what you did.”
William’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “You sound like him,” he murmured faintly.
Caden stiffened. “I sound like someone who believes you deserve to live.”
That seemed to reach him.
When the castle gates finally came into view, relief slammed into me so hard my vision blurred. Guards shouted, rushing forward as soon as they saw us. Orders were barked. Horses skidded to a halt. Healers ran out with stretchers, their faces blanching at the sight of William’s wound.
“We found him barely alive,” James said briskly as they took William from us. “Blade wound. Deep.”
“He protected the Queen,” Caden said sharply. “You save him.”
They didn’t argue.
As they carried William inside, I stumbled after them, my legs shaking now that the adrenaline had begun to drain. Serena gently pulled Lise closer to me, guiding her into my arms.
“Mother,” Lise whispered, her small hands clutching my sleeves. “Is he going to die?”
I knelt, pulling both girls close. Elena wrapped her arms around Lise too, pressing her forehead to her twin’s as if anchoring her to the world.
“I don’t know,” I admitted softly. “But he deserves a chance. And we’ll make sure he gets it.”
Lise nodded shakily. Elena’s jaw tightened, her young face already set with a gravity no child should have to carry.
“I hate him,” Elena said quietly. “Alexander.”
“So do I,” I said. “And he’s gone now.”
The words felt strange on my tongue. Gone. Finished. The man who had haunted my entire life lay dead in a field at sunrise, taken down by the very son he had tried to mold into a weapon.
And yet the weight of him still lingered.
Hours passed in a blur.
William’s surgery stretched on painfully long. Caden and I waited outside the infirmary, hands clasped tightly together, neither of us speaking. Blood had been washed from our skin, but not from our minds. Every time the doors creaked open, my heart leapt into my throat.
Finally, the healer emerged.
“He lives,” she said, exhaustion heavy in her voice. “Barely. He lost a great deal of blood. Another inch, and the blade would’ve pierced his lung.”
I sagged against Caden, relief flooding through me so powerfully it left me weak. He pressed his forehead to mine briefly, eyes closed.
“Thank you,” I breathed.
“He will not wake for some time,” the healer added. “But if infection doesn’t set in… he may recover.”
May. That word followed me like a shadow.
The days that followed felt unreal.
The fortress was repaired with quiet efficiency. The damage Alexander had caused was visible but manageable—cracked stone, broken towers, scorched banners. The people mourned their dead openly. Bells rang in remembrance. Candles were lit in every church.
And yet, beneath the grief, there was something else.
Relief.
Alexander was gone.
The civil war that had threatened to tear Verdana and Verloren apart dissolved almost overnight. His supporters scattered without his command, their cause hollow without the man who had fueled it with fire and blood. Some fled. Some surrendered. Some simply went home, ashamed and exhausted.
Peace did not arrive gently.
But it arrived.
Lise and Elena barely left each other’s sides after that.
I often found them curled together in quiet corners of the castle, whispering, holding hands, as if the fear of losing one another had finally taught them what words never could. Elena still spoke of duty and rule, of preparation and strength—but now she listened when Lise spoke of kindness and mercy.
And Lise, though still soft-hearted, no longer ran blindly toward danger. She stayed close. She asked questions.
They had both changed.
So had I.
William survived.
When he finally woke, weak and pale, he asked only one question.
“Is she safe?”
“Yes,” I told him. “Because of you.”
Tears slipped down his temples, disappearing into the pillow. He said nothing else.
The kingdom healed slowly.
Verdana and Verloren did not suddenly love each other. Old hatred does not vanish with the death of a single man. But without Alexander’s poison feeding it, the rage dulled. The shouting quieted. Trade resumed. Borders reopened.
Life began again.
And then the council convened.
They filled the chamber in solemn rows, faces stern, voices cold. The mood shifted the moment William’s name was spoken.
“He killed Alexander,” one noble said. “Regardless of motive.”
“He is Alexander’s son,” another added. “The blood alone makes him dangerous.”
“He supported the rebellion for years,” someone else argued. “How many died because of him?”
I listened in silence, my hands folded tightly in my lap, my jaw aching from how hard I clenched it. Caden sat beside me, his posture rigid, eyes dark.
They spoke of justice.
They spoke of law.
They spoke of ending a curse.
But all I could hear was fear.
Finally, the council’s speaker turned toward us. “The people demand accountability,” he said. “William of Verdana must be punished.”
Caden’s hand tightened around mine. My heart sank. Because I knew this war was not finished yet.