The palace held its breath.
For a heartbeat it seemed one loud word might banish him back into the dark.
Then voices broke, servants wept, guards saluted, and the hall surged with joy.
Caedrion smiled where he must, nodded where it was demanded, but all the while the faint pulse of the artifact at his chest reminded him he was not free.
A leash, she had called it.
Six months. No more.
Sylene cut through the crush with a soldier's authority, carving space for Aelindria at his side.
She clung to him, face pressed to his chest, unwilling to let go even as Sylene ushered them into the solar and slammed the door on the noise outside.
Only then did Caedrion see her clearly.
Time had not paused when he was taken.
Where once he had traced a secret swell, now her belly rounded full beneath her gown, the unmistakable weight of life.
The sight staggered him more than any spell.
"You're staring," she whispered, laughing through tears.
"At a miracle," he said, and meant it.
