[Aldric’s POV]
Seraphine’s scream tore through the air as she dangled over the abyss, with our daughter crushed to her chest. My grip on her arm slipped—dust, blood, and sweat making her skin impossible to hold.
“Hold on!” I roared.
The bridge shook violently beneath us, threatening to drop us both into the void.
“I’ve got you!” Rowan shouted from the far ledge. He reached out, bracing his entire body against the rock, arm extended. His face was rigid with fear.
Seraphine’s fingers curled desperately around my wrist. “Don’t let go—don’t let her fall—”
I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.
With a guttural cry, I heaved upward, dragging her inch by inch against the crumbling stone. Pain ripped through my ribs—each breath a gamble—but I tightened my grip until my knuckles turned white.
“Pull!” Rowan shouted. “Aldric—PULL!”
With a final, violent wrench, I hauled Seraphine onto the collapsing bridge. Rowan seized her other arm and dragged her fully onto the ledge. She rolled onto solid ground, gasping, sobbing, clutching our child.
I collapsed beside her, with every muscle trembling. Behind us, the bridge gave one final shudder, and then the entire mountainside cracked open like a split shell.
The stronghold vanished under an avalanche—stone, timber, earth crashing downward in a thundering wave. The roar drowned out every sound as Blackharrow’s fortress collapsed, swallowing the chambers, the guards, and the halls we had just fled.
He and his men were buried beneath the mountain he had tried to use as a weapon. When the last rumble faded, silence pressed in—heavy and unreal.
Rowan pulled me upright. “We have to move. The ridge might fall next.”
We staggered away from the ruin, slipping along the narrow trail until the mountain finally stilled. Only when we reached a distant ridge—safe enough—that we stopped.
Seraphine sank to her knees, with both babies pressed to her chest, rocking them through their cries. Rowan collapsed against a boulder, panting, blood streaking his arm.
I stood for a moment, and then my legs gave out. I dropped to one knee in the dirt, barely catching myself. Blood dripped from my tunic. My breath shuddered.
Seraphine looked up at me, startled, as if she wasn’t sure whether to gather me too or keep both children shielded. I bowed my head before them—before her, before my heirs.
My voice was raw. “I swear… I will rule differently.”
Seraphine’s eyes widened. I forced the words out:
“For them. For you. No more fear or conquest. Only what keeps you safe.”
Her mouth trembled. She didn’t speak, but something in her gaze—something long frozen—shifted. Not forgiveness. Yet. But the door cracked open. I collapsed sideways, with Rowan catching me before I hit the ground.
***
The journey back blurred into fever and half-conscious hours. I drifted in and out, jolted awake by the movement of the horse, by the throbbing pain in my ribs, by Seraphine’s voice: soft, steady, and close.
“Drink,” she whispered once, pressing a cup to my lips. “Aldric—drink slowly.” Her hand trembled as she held my jaw.
Other times, I woke to find her wiping blood from my side, preparing herbs, whispering curses under her breath at how deep the wound went. Once, when fever raged, I opened my eyes to see her leaning over me, damp cloth in hand, the twins asleep in her lap as she held me steady.
Her touch cooled my skin. Her presence steadied my breath.
And each time, I sank into darkness again, unable to hold onto the moment long enough to speak.
But Rowan saw. I caught glimpses of the way he watched her tend me—quiet, resigned pain flickering across his face. No anger or bitterness, but just the heartbreak of a man who realized he was losing something he had never fully had and stepped back with dignity.
At night, he kept watch by the fire. Sword across his legs, never looking too closely at where Seraphine sat beside me, murmuring reassurance when fever tore another groan from my throat.
“Stay with me, Aldric,” she whispered into the darkness. “Don’t you dare die now.”
***
The night everything changed was quiet—too quiet. Snow drifted outside the tent, soft against the canvas. A tiny fire crackled nearby, Rowan asleep against a log.
Seraphine sat beside me. Her hair fell around her shoulders, loose from exhaustion, half-shadowed in firelight. She thought I slept, but I opened my eyes.
She startled softly. “Aldric?”
I swallowed, throat raw. “Here.”
She leaned closer. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
Her hand hovered over my ribs. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should never have let you fall behind—”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I murmured.
She looked down at the babies pressed against her. “If you hadn’t grabbed me… if you hadn’t jumped—”
“I would do it again,” I said. “A thousand times.”
Her breath hitched. For a moment, the world held only the four of us—huddled against the cold, battered and alive. I reached weakly for her hand. She flinched, then let me take it. Her fingers were cold. Mine trembled.
The tent flap rustled, and a soldier stepped inside, breath steaming in the cold air.
“Your Majesty,” he said quietly, respectful of the sleeping infants. “Forgive the intrusion. A rider arrived from the castle.”
Seraphine tensed beside me. “What news?” she whispered.
The soldier bowed his head. “The realm has heard of your rescue… both heirs are being celebrated. The people are preparing to welcome you at home.”
Seraphine’s breath shuddered. My own chest tightened.
The soldier stepped back. “They await their king… and their queen.”
He slipped out as softly as he came, leaving the tent still and warm with the fire’s glow. Seraphine looked down at our children, then at me — uncertain, shaken, and yet somehow softened by the moment. I tightened my hold on her hand.
“I meant what I said,” I whispered. “I will spend the rest of my life earning this.”