POV Selene
Dawn bled through arrow slits as we walked the silent corridors. The palace slept—stone, shadow, the rustle of guards changing posts. Casimir moved beside me without speaking, jaw set, hands clasped behind his back: the discipline he wore when holding himself together.
I led him through passages learned in sleepless nights when Ari needed medicine and I needed to avoid questions. The cloister clinic occupied the oldest part of the citadel, walls blackened by an ancient siege. Practical, isolated, forgotten. Perfect for a child no one was supposed to notice.
“This way,” I whispered.
His breath caught when the clinic door came into view. Such a small thing, that wooden door with its iron latch. Behind it, everything that mattered.
I pushed it open.
Ari’s room was spare: a narrow bed with clean linens; a chair where I had slept more nights than I could count; equipment humming softly in the corner, monitors tracking what his body could not do. Dawn slanted across the floor in pale gold bars.
Ari slept curled on his side, clutching the carved wooden raven Anya gave him for his fifth birthday. Dark hair tumbled across the pillow in tangles I would comb later. His face seemed paler than usual—delicate in a way that made my chest ache. So small.
Casimir stopped in the doorway, one hand on the frame.
I touched his arm. The muscle under my fingers felt like stone. “Come.”
We approached the bed. His hands trembled. He drank in every detail as if memorizing something that might vanish: a cheek’s curve, freckles, lashes against pale skin, the small chest rising and falling.
“He looks like you,” I breathed. “Your eyes. Your chin.”
“He’s beautiful.” His voice broke. “He’s perfect.”
Ari stirred, sensing us. Gray eyes fluttered open, unfocused with sleep; awareness followed.
“Mama?”
“I’m here, my love.” I sat and smoothed his hair. “Someone wanted to meet you.”
Ari’s gaze shifted to Casimir. Recognition sparked; he had seen the king from a distance. His eyes widened.
“Your Majesty?” He tried to sit up, to bow, and my heart cracked at the instinct taught by strangers.
Casimir knelt in one motion, eye level with his son. “You don’t need to bow. Not to me.”
“Why not?” Ari asked.
Casimir glanced at me. I nodded.
“Because…” His voice came raw. “Because I’m your father.”
Ari went very still. The room held its breath with him. He looked at me, seeing too much.
“Truly?”
“Yes, my love.”
He studied Casimir with an intensity beyond his six years, deciding whether to trust.
“I asked Mama to find you,” he said finally. “I wanted to meet you.”
“I wanted to meet you too,” Casimir said. “More than anything.”
“Where were you?”
Children find the blade. He shut his eyes briefly; when he opened them, tears shone.
“I didn’t know about you,” he said. “If I had known, I would have come sooner. I would have been there from the beginning.”
Ari weighed this, looked at me. I nodded.
Then the question that mattered: “Will you stay now?”
“Yes.” He made the word a vow. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Ari smiled, tentative and hopeful. “Good.”
He reached out. Casimir took the small hand with a carefulness that closed my throat, as if the bones were glass and one wrong move might shatter it.
Tears slid down Casimir’s face. He didn’t hide them. They sat like that as light filled the room—father and son meeting across six years of absence, fingers intertwined.
I moved to the window, giving them space. Outside, ravens woke in their tower. The sound had frightened Ari at first; now he called them his guards.
Behind me, Casimir’s voice softened. “Tell me about yourself. Everything.”
Ari warmed to the attention: ravens and books, the constellation map Anya painted on his ceiling, dreams of being a falconer or a ship captain, how his blood didn’t work right but Mama said that only meant he must be careful.
I pressed my forehead to cold glass and let myself feel it: relief, terror, gratitude—the weight of seven years lifting, then settling elsewhere.
The bells tolled second hour. Council would convene soon. Casimir watched me over Ari’s head.
“We need to go,” I said. “Morning session.”
He rose, still holding Ari’s hand. “I’ll be back later. I promise.”
“Will you bring ravens?” Ari asked.
“I’ll see what I can arrange.”
We left him with Anya, who arrived with breakfast and a knowing look. As we walked back through corridors filling with servants and light, Casimir spoke without looking at me.
“I’m declaring him a ward of the Crown today. Royal protection. He moves to the palace immediately.”
I faltered. “That will raise questions.”
“Let them.” His voice went cold, warmth locked behind duty and steel. “I won’t leave him vulnerable.”
Council convened. I took my usual place, exhaustion dragging hard. Casimir entered with his guard, face granite, eyes burning with something that made the room go still.
“I have an announcement,” he said, dispensing with courtesies. “Effective immediately, Prince Ari of Lysara is declared a ward of the Crown. He will reside under royal protection.”
Silence fell like a blade. Then the room erupted.
“Majesty, who is this child?” Lord Corbin demanded.
“Why royal protection?” Lady Thane asked.
Kestrel leaned forward, eyes bright as knives. “Is there a threat to the boy, sire?”
Casimir’s gaze cut to him. “That’s not your concern.”
“The Council has a right to know—” Corbin began.
Casimir’s fist slammed the table. The crack rolled like thunder. Goblets jumped; papers skittered.
“This is not a debate. It is an order.”
I had never seen him like this. Fury radiated, barely leashed. This was the man beneath the crown—the father beneath the king.
“The boy is under my protection. My personal protection.” His voice dropped to something dangerous. “Anyone who questions that answers to me. Are we clear?”
Nods. Murmurs. Isolde sat frozen, pale as snow. Kestrel’s expression was unreadable; his fingers tapped a slow, deliberate rhythm.
“Your Majesty,” Corbin tried again, careful now. “We mean no disrespect. But the Council must understand the justification—”
“The justification is that I have declared it,” Casimir said. “That should suffice.”
“If there are threats, security measures must be coordinated—”
“Already in place.” He cut him off. “Double guard rotation. Restricted access to the medical wing. Doctor Saren reports directly to me.” He met every gaze, daring anyone to push. “The matter is closed.”
He dismissed them with a flick of his hand. The Council filed out in unusual silence. Kestrel lingered. His eyes found mine. Something cold passed between us—recognition, or calculation. Then he was gone.
Casimir waited until the last footsteps faded. “Come.”
We returned to the cloister, moving quickly now that the decision was public. Anya had begun packing. Ari’s things lay spread across the bed—clothes I mended by candlelight, toys carved from cheap wood, books with worn spines, and the medical supplies that traveled with us like anchors.
Ari swung his legs, excitement making him forget to be careful. “We’re moving to the palace?” he asked for the third time.
“Yes, my love.”
“Will I have my own room?”
Casimir answered first. “You’ll have three—bedroom, study, playroom.”
Ari’s eyes went huge. “Three?”
“And a balcony that overlooks the raven tower.” A ghost of a smile touched his face. “I thought you’d like that.”
“I will!” He bounced, then stilled. “Will Mama be close?”
“Right next door.” I knelt. “I’ll hear you through the walls.”
Casimir crouched to join us. “And I’ll be down the hall. If you need anything, you call, and I’ll come.”
Ari nodded solemnly, then flung his arms around Casimir’s neck.
Casimir froze; then his arms came up, wrapping carefully around the small body. He closed his eyes and held his son properly for the first time.
I turned away, tears burning tracks down my face. Anya squeezed my hand.
Carriages bore us to the palace. Servants carried trunks. Courtiers lined corridors to stare. Whispers followed like smoke.
The royal family wing stunned me: ceilings painted with constellations, tapestries of ancient hunts, windows over winter gardens. Ari’s rooms were as promised—canopy bed carved with ravens, shelves waiting for books, playroom windows facing the tower.
He ran from space to space, marveling.
My chambers connected to his through a sitting room in emerald and silver; a bedroom large enough for three; a bath with heated water. Luxuries I hadn’t known since before exile.
Casimir showed us everything, explaining with the nervousness of a man trying too hard. He wanted desperately to get this right.
“Will you stay for dinner?” Ari asked from the window, where ravens wheeled.
Casimir looked at me. I nodded.
“I’d like that,” he said.
In the corridor outside, we didn’t notice the shadow pausing by the door, the careful retreating steps, or Lord Kestrel drawing fresh parchment with a satisfied expression as he began to write:
Emergency petition regarding Prince Ari’s custody. Medical evidence attached. Request immediate review.