Chapter 20
SERAPHINA
I stare at the open trunk on my bed, my hands shaking as I fold another one of Azriel’s shirts. Dawn is only an hour away. After he stormed out of the chapel yesterday, Father spent the night trying to find legal loopholes while Mother held me as I cried. But we all knew the truth. There is no fighting this. Not without war.
“Mama?” Azriel’s small voice comes from the doorway. “Why are you crying?”
I touch my face and realize tears are streaming down my cheeks. I wipe them away quickly and turn to find him clutching his stuffed wolf—the one Elena made him when he was three. His eyes are wide with confusion and fear.
“Come here, sweetheart.” I abandon the packing and cross the room, kneeling in front of him. My heart fractures at how small he looks, how frightened. “We need to talk about something important.”
He walks toward me slowly, and I guide him to the small sofa by the window. He climbs up beside me, still clutching his stuffed wolf.
“Am I in trouble?” His voice is so small it breaks my heart. “I heard Grandpapa yelling earlier. And the servants keep whispering and looking at me funny.”
“No, baby. Never.” I take his free hand in both of mine. “But something has happened, and I need to tell you the truth about something. Something I should have told you a long time ago.”
He tilts his head, waiting.
Luna whimpers in my mind. “This is going to hurt him.”
“I know,” I whisper back. “But he deserves the truth.”
I take a deep breath. “Do you remember the man from the children’s area? The one who helped you build your fortress?”
Azriel nods. “The tall one with the scary face. But he was nice about my soldiers.”
“Yes, him.” My throat tightens. “His name is Kieran Frost. He’s the king of the Northern Kingdom.”
“I know. I asked him if he was really a king.” Azriel swings his legs, not understanding yet why I’m telling him this.
“Well, sweetheart, King Kieran is… he’s…” The words stick in my throat. How do I tell my five-year-old that the father he’s never known exists? That I’ve been lying to him his entire life?
“Mama?” Azriel’s voice pulls me back. “What’s wrong? You look sad.”
“I’m not sad, baby. I’m just…” I cup his face in my hands, memorizing every feature. “Do you remember how I told you that your papa died before you were born? In a border raid?”
He nods slowly.
“I lied.” The confession tastes like ash. “Your papa didn’t die. He’s alive.”
Azriel’s eyes go wide. “He is?”
“Yes.” I brush his dark hair back from his forehead. “And he’s… he’s King Kieran. The man from the children’s area. He’s your father.”
For a moment, Azriel just stares at me. Then his lower lip starts to tremble. “But you said he was dead.”
“I know. I’m so sorry.” Tears blur my vision. “I told you that because… because it was safer. Because I was trying to protect you.”
“From my papa?” His voice cracks on the word, testing it out. “Why? Is he bad?”
“No. He’s not bad.” The lie comes easier than the truth would. “But he’s very powerful, and very important, and I was scared of what might happen if he knew about you.”
“Did he not want me?” The question is so small, so broken, that I want to gather him up and never let go.
“Oh, baby, no.” I pull him into my lap, holding him tight. “He didn’t know about you. I never told him. That’s my fault, not his. You are wanted, Azriel. So, so wanted.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, his face pressed against my shoulder. When he finally speaks, his voice is muffled. “Is that why we’re leaving? Because he found out about me?”
“Yes.” I stroke his hair. “He wants to know you. To be your papa. And that means we need to go live with him for a while.”
“In the Northern Kingdom?” He pulls back to look at me. “Where it’s cold and snowy?”
“Yes.”
“Will Grandmama and Grandpapa come?”
“Not right away.” My heart clenches. “But they’ll visit. I promise.”
Azriel looks down at his stuffed wolf, his small fingers tracing the worn fabric. “Is he nice? My papa?”
The question nearly destroys me. How do I answer that?
“He can be,” I say carefully. “He’s… complicated. But he wants to know you very much.”
“Will he still like me?” Azriel’s voice is tentative, hopeful. “Now that he knows he’s my papa?”
“I think he’ll like you even more now,” I say gently. “He enjoyed helping you build your fortress, didn’t he?”
“He did.” Azriel nods slowly. “He said I was good at it.”
“And that won’t change just because he knows you’re his son.” I stroke his hair. “If anything, I think he’ll be even happier to spend time with you.”
“What if I don’t like him?” The question is whispered, scared.
“Then you don’t like him.” I tilt his chin up so he’s looking at me. “You don’t have to love him right away, Azriel. You don’t even have to like him. All you have to do is be yourself, and I’ll be right there with you. Always.”
“Promise?” His eyes, those damning ice-blue eyes—search my face.
“I promise.” I press a kiss to his forehead. “Nothing will ever change how much I love you.”
He throws his arms around my neck. “I love you too, Mama.”
We stay like that for a long moment, holding each other while my world crumbles around us. Then Elena slips into the room, her face pale and tear-stained.
“Princess,” she says quietly. “Your parents are here. They want to say goodbye before…” She can’t finish the sentence.
I stand, keeping my hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Go pack your favorite toys, sweetheart. Whatever you want to bring.”
He nods and scampers off toward his room, and I watch him go with my heart breaking.
Mother and Father enter moments later, and the instant Mother sees the trunks, she makes a choked sound.
“Don’t,” I say quickly, moving to embrace her. “Please don’t cry. You’ll make me cry, and I can’t.”
But she’s already sobbing into my shoulder, her body shaking. “This is my fault. I should have fought harder. Found another way.”
“There was no other way.” I hold her tighter.
Father stands in the doorway. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and his formal robes look hastily thrown on.
“If he hurts you,” Father’s voice drops dangerously low. “If he does anything—”
“Then what?” I pull back to look at him. “You’ll start a war? Get more people killed?”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t answer because we both know the truth. Kieran holds all the power here. He has the law on his side, the military strength to enforce it, and the cold ruthlessness to follow through on every threat he made.
Mother wipes her eyes, reaching into her pocket. “I brought something for you.” She pulls out a delicate silver chain with a small pendant. “Your grandmother gave this to me when I married your father. It’s meant to protect the wearer and give them strength.”
She fastens it around my neck, and the cool metal settles against my skin. “Keep it with you. Always.”
“I will.” I touch the pendant, feeling the intricate designs under my fingertips.
A sharp knock on the door makes us all freeze.
The door opens before anyone can answer, and Kieran fills the doorway.
He’s dressed in traveling leathers—black and silver, weapons at his hip. His blue eyes sweep the room, taking in the half-packed trunks, my tear-stained face, my parents’ protective stance.
The moment he enters, pain lances through my chest. The bond—the supposedly dead bond—flares to life with devastating force.
I gasp, my hand flying to my chest as Luna surges forward inside me, a sound tearing from her—a mix between a growl and a howl.
Kieran freezes in the doorway, his own hand shooting up to his chest. His eyes widen slightly, and I see the moment it hits him, too. That impossible pull.
For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other. Both feeling what shouldn’t exist.
Then his expression hardens into ice.
“It’s time.” His voice is cold, controlled. “Dawn approaches. My men are waiting in the courtyard.”
“We’re not ready—” Mother starts.
“You’ve had hours.” Kieran’s eyes don’t leave mine. “That’s more consideration than I needed to give.”
“She’s packing her son’s entire life into trunks,” Father snaps. “Show some compassion.”
“Compassion?” Kieran’s laugh is sharp. “I’ve shown nothing but restraint. I could have taken him the moment I discovered his existence. Instead, I gave her time to prepare.”
“How generous,” I spit, clutching my chest as another wave of bond-pain rolls through me. “A few hours to pack five years of memories.”
“You had five years to tell me he existed.” Kieran takes a step into the room, and the bond pulls harder. “Don’t talk to me about time.”
The air between us crackles with tension. Luna is going insane in my mind, torn between the urge to attack him and the desperate need to close the distance.
“Where is he?” Kieran asks. “Where’s Azriel?”
“With Elena.” I force myself to stand straight despite the pain. “And before you meet him, before you say one word to our son, we need to establish some rules.”
He laughs. Actually laughs. The sound is cold and sharp. “Rules? You think you’re in a position to set rules?”
“He’s my son.”
“He’s OUR son.” Kieran takes a step closer. “And in a few hours, he’ll be in MY kingdom. You don’t dictate terms to me.”
I want to argue that I am his mother, that I’ve raised him, that I know what’s best. But what hasn’t been said between us that I could say right now? We’ve already torn each other apart with words. There’s nothing left but the same circular accusations.
The silence stretches between us, thick with years of pain and anger, and that cursed bond trying to pull us together even as we tear each other apart.
Finally, Kieran speaks, his voice carefully controlled. “Bring him here. It’s time I met my son.”
I hold his gaze for a long moment, letting him see that I’m not doing this because he commanded it. I’m doing it because Azriel deserves to meet his father, even if that father is him.
Then I move to the door and open it. Elena is in the hallway with Azriel, who’s clutching his stuffed wolf and looking very small.
“Azriel, sweetheart. Come here.”
He walks toward me slowly, his eyes darting to Kieran with a mixture of fear and curiosity. I kneel down beside him, one hand on his shoulder.
My parents move to stand behind us—a united front.
“Azriel, this is King Kieran.” My voice is gentle despite the turmoil inside me. “Your father.”
Kieran takes a step forward, and I see him consciously soften his expression. He crouches down, making himself less imposing. It’s the first considerate thing I’ve seen him do.
“Hello, Azriel.” His voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “It’s nice to officially meet you.”
Azriel looks up at me, seeking permission. I nod, and he takes a tentative step forward.
“Hello.” His voice is barely a whisper. “Mama says you’re my papa.”
“I am.” Kieran’s expression shifts into something I can’t quite read—wonder mixed with possessiveness. “And I’m very happy to know you.”
“Were you really dead?” Azriel asks suddenly. “Mama said you died in a border raid, but then she said it wasn’t true.”
Kieran’s eyes flick to me, and I see the accusation there. But when he looks back at Azriel, his expression is patient.
“I wasn’t dead. Your mama was protecting you the best way she knew how.” He pauses. “Sometimes adults make mistakes, even when they’re trying to do the right thing.”
The generosity of his words surprises me.
“Do you live in a real castle?” Azriel’s fear is slowly being overtaken by curiosity. “With towers and everything?”
“I do. It’s called Winterhold.” A small smile touches Kieran’s lips. “It has many towers. And it snows there even in summer sometimes.”
“Real snow?” Azriel’s eyes widen. “I’ve only seen snow once.”
“Then you’ll see it often now.” Kieran shifts slightly. “Do you like the snow?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t play in it last time because Mama said I’d get sick.” He looks at me. “Will I get to play in the snow at your castle?”
“We’ll see,” I say carefully.
“I think you should definitely play in the snow,” Kieran says, and I can hear him trying to win our son over. “Every boy should know how to build a proper snow fort.”
Azriel’s face lights up. “Snow forts? Like my wooden fortress?”
“Exactly like that. Only much bigger and colder.” Kieran’s smile grows slightly. “I could teach you, if you’d like.”
“Really?” Azriel looks at me again. “Mama, can he teach me?”
“If you want him to.” I stroke his hair, my heart breaking.
Just then, the first hints of gray light appear on the horizon outside the window.
Kieran stands. “It’s time to leave.”
I release a shaky breath and glance at Elena, who’s been waiting silently by the door. She understands immediately, moving to retrieve our traveling cloaks from where they’ve been laid out in preparation.
She helps Azriel into his, her hands shaking as she fastens the buckles.
“Be good, sweet boy,” she whispers, kissing his forehead one last time.
She helps me into my cloak next, and I squeeze her hands—a silent thank you for everything.
Father scoops up Azriel one final time, holding him close without words. When he sets him down, his eyes are bright with unshed tears.
Mother touches my face, then pulls back, unable to speak.
“We need to go.” Kieran’s voice cuts through the moment. “Now.”
I take Azriel’s hand, and we walk out of my chambers. Out of the palace I’ve called home my entire life. Each step feels like walking to my own execution.
