Rhett sat atop a horse, riding slowly through the countryside of Drurus. He had departed from Dunstead the previous afternoon and was now heading back to the supply camp outside the city of Trin.

  It had been four days since the final battle with Arnav’s horde—four long, painful days since the lava had poured over his shoulder and seared its way down his chest and ribs. Rhett’s wound, which was now covered in layers of bandages, throbbed with each step of his horse. The pain was constant, but it was bearable compared to when he tried to shift into Silas. His dragon was working on healing the damage, so when Rhett attempted to change forms, it stopped Silas from managing the pain.

  If it hadn’t been for Jesup, Rhett would have never seen a healer in the first place. The young king was stubborn and had insisted they tend to others first—soldiers, townspeople. The Vesperan prince ended up cornering Rhett in a small room and physically held him down so the healers could do their work.

  Unfortunately, their verdict on the wound had been grim: it would heal, yes—but a scar would remain. One that not even Silas could erase.

  But it wasn’t just Rhett who would be left with a reminder of this war. The city of Dunstead would also have permanent scars from the battle—both physical and emotional.

  When the young king had left for Trin, they were still counting the dead. Rhett had lost twenty-one soldiers in the final fight—a lower number than expected. But the city hadn’t fared as well. There were over two hundred confirmed deaths. Nearly a hundred people were still missing, most likely lost beneath collapsed buildings or burned beyond recognition.

  Rhett looked ahead, watching as the outskirts of Trin came into view. Somewhere to the north, a dragon had been spotted in the skies the previous day—a signal that Amara was off the boat. She would arrive at the military camp today, and Rhett was anxious to meet her there.

  But he wasn’t alone on the road. Walden rode just behind him, flanked by several dozen soldiers. Rhett had argued that he could make the journey alone, but neither Walden nor the others would hear of it. Even Yasir, who was still bedbound, agreed that the young king shouldn’t travel without protection. Jesup and Zayn had backed the Crown Father, and Rhett ended up caving in the end.

  With the large group of soldiers following him, Rhett had opted to ride around the city rather than through it. It added some extra time to their travel, but he didn’t want to overwhelm the people of Trin when they were still recovering from their own attack.

  Eventually, the tents of the encampment stretched across the horizon. Anxiously, he nudged his horse into a trot, gritting his teeth as pain went through his side. It was excruciating, but he endured it.

  However, as they got closer, Rhett saw no carriages, which meant Amara hadn’t arrived yet. But there was someone waiting for them at the edge of the road—Tristan. As soon as Rhett dismounted, the young lord stepped forward and embraced the king tightly.

  Pain exploded in Rhett’s ribs, taking the air from his lungs. He sucked in a hiss through his clenched teeth.

  “Gods, I’m sorry!” Tristan gasped, pulling back as quickly as he approached. “I forgot—Ashur said you were injured. How bad is it?”

  Rhett offered a small smile, running a hand over the bandages beneath his tunic.

  “It’ll heal,” he murmured. “Though I'll likely have a permanent scar.”

  The young king glanced around the camp, looking between the tents and soldiers.

  “Where’s Lilibeth? Is she safe?”

  “She’s fine,” Tristan assured him quickly, stepping to Rhett’s side to pat his uninjured shoulder. He motioned with his arm, leading Rhett through the camp. “Adley, too. Libby, though, has been restless and anxious, waiting for news about her husband.”

  “Have you heard anything yet?” Rhett inquired as they made their way through the maze of tents.

  “I’ve sent out some letters and asked Ashur to have Joel check the prisoners in Jux. But so far, nothing has turned up,” Tristan said, running a hand through his hair. "However, it's only been a few days. I’m sure we’ll find out something here soon.”

  “Hopefully so,” Rhett murmured. “I’d like to, at the very least, get her answers… Especially after everything she’s done for Lilibeth.”

  “Well, I’m sure Libby would appreciate the effort all the same,” Tristan said as they came to one of the larger tents near the center of the camp.

  They stopped at the entrance, and Tristan moved the flap aside, motioning for Rhett to go first.

  Inside, the tent was warm and smelled of fresh herbs. A large wooden table was in the center, cluttered with maps, folded letters, and a half-empty inkwell. On either side of the tent were two cots. Beside one was a pair of newly made wooden cribs, unpainted but very well made. A few toys—wooden animals and a cloth doll—were scattered across the floor, alongside a neatly folded basket of laundry. Lastly, a large, empty basin sat in the corner.

  Libby was sitting on her cot, but the moment the men entered, she stood, scooping up Adley from where she was playing on the floor.

  “Libby,” Rhett greeted with a nod of his head.

  “I just fed the princess and put her down for a nap,” Libby said curtly as she walked toward the men. “Assuming the queen will be here soon, I’d suggest not waking the child. She gets quite fussy when she’s tired.”

  She paused, turning her attention to Tristan while adjusting the baby on her hip.

  “If you need me, Adley and I will be out by the cooking fire, making sure the men don’t burn our lunch—again.”

  With that, she left the tent, not bothering to wait for either man to respond. Tristan gave a shrug, shaking his head.

  “Don’t mind her,” he chuckled. “She’s taken it upon herself to be the camp mother. Bosses everyone around like it’s her god-given right. And honestly? It’s been good for morale. After weeks of marching and fighting, the structure feels… nice.”

  Rhett, however, barely listened to Tristan as he walked over to the cribs. In one of them, wrapped in a yellow blanket, was Lilibeth.

  The little girl was sound asleep, breathing softly. Her cheeks were a light shade of pink, and her lips were parted slightly, looking as if she were pouting as she slept. One hand had gotten free of the blanket and now rested near her face.

  Rhett reached into the crib, running his fingers gently across Lilibeth’s cheek, then up to the patch of brown hair on her head. Her skin was warm and smooth, almost like velvet. A small sigh escaped her lips, and her hand twitched slightly in her sleep. Rhett smiled, and for a moment, the pain from his wound disappeared completely. The bandages, the scorched skin, the memory of heat and lava—it vanished. All that remained was this tiny, perfect bundle wrapped in yellow.

  Tristan silently pulled two chairs from the table and placed them in front of the crib. With a quiet grunt, he took a seat and nodded for Rhett to sit as well.

  “Has she grown since I last saw her?” Rhett questioned, lowering himself onto the chair.

  “You saw her seven days ago,” Tristan replied with a chuckle, shaking his head.

  “Yes, but… she looks different. Like, her cheeks are fuller and her hair’s longer,” the young king argued as he looked at her from over the railing.

  “She doesn’t miss a meal, I can tell you that much,” Tristan murmured, crossing his arms with a smirk. “When Lilibeth is hungry, the entire camp hears about it. Her cries are so loud and piercing that they could make your ears bleed if you’re too close.”

  “It just means she has strong lungs,” Rhett chuckled as he leaned forward to rest his arms on the edge of the crib.

  He let out a soft sigh, and then his expression darkened.

  “I thought about her, about Amara, while I was fighting against Arnav,” he said softly. “When he struck me with his tail and the lava burned through my scales… I thought that was it. I was in so much pain I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know how I’d survive, let alone win.”

  Rhett paused, swallowing the lump in his throat as he fought back the tears brimming the edges of his eyes.

  “But then… I saw them. In my mind. I saw Amara’s smile. I imagined what it would be like to hold Lilibeth again. I thought about the future I wanted—the life I was trying to rebuild. And in that moment, I decided I couldn’t let go. I kept going… for them.”

  Tristan was silent for a few seconds before finally letting out a soft huff and shaking his head.

  “Gods, you really know how to make a man feel like an underachiever,” he teased, nudging Rhett’s arm gently. “Here I was, thinking that guarding the princess was the most important task of this entire war. Meanwhile, you’re out there getting scorched by lava and surviving on love and sheer will.”

  “Well, if it weren’t for you, I would have gone into that battle distracted and worried about Lilibeth,” Rhett admitted, smirking slightly. “I don’t think there are many people whom I would trust to protect my child when we’re in the middle of the enemy’s kingdom.”

  Tristan smiled at the compliment, but then he noticed a shift on Rhett’s face—the movement of his jaws, and the way he dropped his gaze down to his hands.

  “Tristan…,” the young king whispered in an almost broken voice. “Do you think Amara will accept her?”

  “Who? Lilibeth?”

  “Yes,” Rhett nodded, glancing up at the child once more. “We just lost our sons… And though I haven’t seen her in a few weeks, I know Amara is still mourning their deaths. Would bringing Lilibeth into her life ease that pain, like it did for me? Or would it reopen the wound all over again? I don’t want to pressure her, but I—I love this little girl. I already do. I want her to be ours.”

  Tristan exhaled through his nose, pursing his lips as he thought to himself.

  “It could go either way,” he said honestly. “She might be too broken. Her heart’s already been shattered; not everyone knows how to let love back in once that happens. But… I think one look at Lilibeth, and her heart will soften. Maybe not right away—but it will.”

  “However…” Tristan added hesitantly. “If Amara can’t… if it’s too much… I’ll talk to Molly Rose. Maybe we could raise Lilibeth. She’d still have a good life. She’d be safe, cared for. Wanted. And probably spoiled beyond reason.”

  Rhett chuckled, though it faded quickly.

  “I suppose taking in a child when you’re already expecting one is easier in some ways,” he murmured. “You’re not trying to overwrite the grief with new life. You’re just… growing what already exists.”

  “It might be overwhelming to raise two at once,” Tristan admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But yes, emotionally—it’s different. Easier, maybe. But Rhett… I already see Lilibeth as yours—as the princess.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Rhett nodded with a small smile. “You and Libby both have called her by that title.”

  “It’s just one of those natural things,” Tristan shrugged. “You see the child of a king, you automatically call them prince or princess. The same goes for the child Molly Rose and I shall have—they’ll be a little lord or lady the moment they take their first breath.”

  “You know,” Rhett said after a minute of silence. “I’m hoping you have a boy.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?” Tristan raised a brow, grinning. “Planning to combine our houses already? A royal engagement arranged from the cradle?”

  But Rhett didn’t return the smile. Instead, he gave a low growl and narrowed his eyes.

  “If your son so much as thinks about flirting with Lilibeth,” he muttered. “I will fly him high above the Sea of Bain and drop him into the deepest trench I can find.”

  Tristan blinked, stunned for a moment before suddenly laughing.

  “Gods above, Rhett! Lilibeth isn’t even walking yet, and you’re already thinking of ways to get rid of her suitors?”

  “It’s called being proactive,” Rhett said without hesitation.

  “Sounds more like a death threat.”

  “It is.”

  Tristan only laughed harder, holding his hand over his mouth to avoid making too much noise.

  “You can’t be serious…”

  “Dead serious,” Rhett said flatly, though he was fighting to hold back a smile. “With it being your son, I can only imagine how wild he shall be.”

  “What if he ends up being nothing like me?” Tristan crossed his arms. “What if he’s quiet, gentle, bookish even?”

  “Then I’ll drop him from a lower height, make it less painful.”

  “Ah, yes, I can see how this conversation will go with my flower,” Tristan laughed again, shaking his head. “Thank you, Molly Rose, for giving me the perfect son… now keep him fifty feet away from the princess at all times.”

  “A hundred would be better,” Rhett murmured, finally smirking.

  “It would almost be easier to teach my boy to swim,” Tristan muttered, rolling his eyes.

  “But I am serious, your son can’t go flirting with Lilibeth,” the king stated, more seriously now.

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  “And why not?”

  “Because… when Mathias agreed to send me soldiers and supplies, one of his conditions was that a marriage would be arranged between my firstborn and one of his grandchildren.”

  “Oh,” the young lord straightened in his chair, lifting his brows. “I thought the agreement was about Vespera expanding and taking some of Drurus’s lands. You never said anything about a marriage.”

  “That’s because I didn’t want to.” Rhett looked away, disgusted with himself. “At the time, I was angry. I had put distance between Amara and me, which extended to our unborn children. I couldn’t even think about the marriage contract… But the agreement had been made before my sons died. Now, if Amara and I officially adopt Lilibeth, the marriage will pass to her.”

  “So she’s promised to someone in Mathias’s horde?” Tristan inquired softly.

  The king was silent, but nodded in response. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.

  “But then,” Tristan added curiously. “Why do you want me to have a boy?”

  At this, Rhett let out a deep exhale before glancing at his friend.

  “Because someone has to inherit your Duke title.”

  “Oh, right,” Tristan nodded absently—then froze. He turned to Rhett with a surprised expression. “Wait… what?”

  “You heard me,” Rhett said as he sat up straight. “The Viriou line ends with me. I need someone I trust to care for my mother’s castle—someone who will respect it. So, when we return to Sylvaris, I’ll have someone draft up the decree, naming you the Duke of Apathle.”

  Tristan looked like he might protest, opening his mouth then closing it again.

  “But…” he said after a minute. “Only princes can be dukes.”

  “You’re as much my brother as Emmett was,” Rhett stated firmly. “It doesn’t matter that we share no blood between us. You are my brother.”

  Tristan’s throat tightened. He had grown up in privilege—yes. He had been trained for responsibility and war, to be loyal to the crown. But this was different. This wasn’t an inherited title, but a gift he could never make up for.

  “I always thought Apathle would pass to one of your sons,” he said quietly.

  “I did too,” Rhett admitted. “But fate had other plans. And while it has taken more than my fair share from me, I believe it also gave me you, my brother.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Tristan blinked, feeling overwhelmed and emotional.

  “Good,” Rhett said with a small smile. “Because I don’t need you to say anything. This isn’t a choice where you can say no.”

  Tristan chuckled, shaking his head as he wiped the edges of his eyes.

  “Well then,” he murmured. “Let’s hope my son takes after Molly Rose. I’d like the future Duke of Apathle to have some sense.”

  “Oh, I’m sure between you and me, we can train him to be a good man,” Rhett said with a grin. “After I make sure he knows to keep far, far away from my daughter.”

  Hours later, the sun had begun its slow descent behind the Blackened Mountains. The supply camp had gone quiet, and the scent of roasted meats filled the air. Inside the large tent in the center, Rhett and Tristan sat at the table, going over maps and supply charts. Lilibeth was curled up in the king’s right arm, clutching his tunic as she stared at a flickering lantern above them.

  Libby and Adley had returned some time ago. Now, the woman knelt on the floor nearby, folding and organizing the girls’ clothing into chests. Tristan leaned over the table, his brows furrowed, as he traced a line on the map with his finger.

  “You know, we still have an abundance of supplies,” he said. “When the three armies begin their march home, what do you think about having them distribute the extras to the people of Drurus?”

  Rhett nodded, shifting slightly to adjust Lilibeth in his arm.

  “It would be a must for our men, that’s for sure… The Drurus army left enough destruction in their retreat from Sylvaris. I’m sure there are villages that we didn’t even come across that were pillaged or destroyed.”

  As the young king reached for a charcoal pencil, getting ready to map out his army’s route home, horns echoed across the camp. Both men instantly stood from their seats, their hearts racing with anticipation. The young king gently kissed Lilibeth’s forehead, then turned to Libby.

  “Here—take her,” he said softly. “I’ll be back shortly with Amara.”

  Libby nodded and stood to her feet, holding out her arms to accept the baby. Rhett hesitated for a second, touching Lilibeth’s hand before transferring her over.

  Without another word, he and Tristan stepped out into the camp, heading straight for the sound of the approaching carriages. They nearly ran to the northern edge, reaching the road just as the first carriage stopped. Rhett reached for the door, his heart pounding in his chest.

  The moment it opened, he barely had time to brace before Amara threw herself into his arms, sobbing. He grunted as pain radiated across his wound, but his arms still wrapped around her, holding Amara close. Her body trembled against his, and she buried her face into his shoulder.

  “Little dove…” he whispered into her hair, inhaling her familiar honeyed scent.

  Behind Amara, a tearful Molly Rose stepped down from the carriage with Tristan’s help. The moment her feet hit the ground, she launched herself at her husband, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her swollen belly pressed between them as Tristan held her close.

  “I’ve missed you, my flower,” he whispered, burying his face into her hair.

  “I’ve missed you more,” she cried, gripping him tighter.

  From the carriage, Stella emerged next, followed by Elara. Tristan reluctantly pulled away from Molly Rose to help his mother and Amara’s sister down.

  “My boys,” Stella said softly, embracing her son with one arm while reaching up for Rhett’s cheek with the other hand. She paused as she looked between the two men, narrowing her eyes at their long hair and unkept beards. “You both look like hell.”

  “How kind of you,” Rhett replied with a small smile.

  But Stella’s attention had already gone to Amara, who still held onto Rhett, unwilling to let go.

  “Your Majesty,” Stella said gently, placing a hand on Amara’s back. “Be careful. Ashur said Rhett was injured from his shoulder down to his ribs.”

  Amara immediately pulled back, eyes wide with guilt.

  “I—I forgot, I just—gods, Rhett, I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “I was just so scared, and when we heard the news from Ashur about the battle, and how you took down two dragons, but that you were seriously injured, I—”

  Words were tumbling from her mouth quickly, and Rhett reached out, cupping her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed the tears from her cheeks as he looked at her for the first time in weeks.

  Just like when he looked at Lilibeth, the fighting, the blood, the lava—it all faded away.

  He leaned in and kissed her, gently but deeply, and his fingers trembled against her skin. His own tears spilled out, not from pain, but from the unbearable relief of finally having her back in his arms. Of knowing she was safe…

  Amara gasped softly against his lips but didn’t pull away. Her hands clutched his tunic, and when they finally parted, his forehead rested against hers.

  “I missed you,” she whispered.

  “And I’ve missed you,” he smiled breathlessly. “So much.”

  Her hands moved slowly to his chest, hovering just above the bandages.

  “Your wound… does it still hurt?”

  He gently took her hand away from his chest and instead kissed her palm.

  “It does,” he admitted quietly. “I’ll tell you about it, but first, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  “Who?” She questioned, tilting her head.

  “Come,” he said, holding out his arm for her to take. “She’s waiting for us.”

  Amara looped her arm through Rhett’s, and he led her across the camp. Soldiers were moving around, lighting torches and lanterns as it grew darker outside. The young king would occasionally glance at his wife, hardly believing that she was back at his side. It almost felt like a dream, and at any moment, she would vanish.

  “How have you been?” He finally inquired softly. “Was the trip from Jux too much on you?”

  Amara tilted her head, brushing her fingers against his arm.

  “I’ve been well, actually. Gwendolyn checks in on me several times a week, ensuring I’m healing properly. The pain is mostly gone, but… sometimes I get these little spasms in my back. Right by the scar. It never lasts long, though.”

  Rhett nodded, but at the mention of her scar, he felt a twinge of guilt in his chest.

  “The journey here was good,” she continued, smiling up at him. “It was my first time on a boat! Though we just went up a river and through a swamp... I hated the bugs, but I didn’t get sick, so I would consider that a successful trip.”

  “Sounds like you’re on your way to becoming a great sailor,” he chuckled. “Perhaps next time we are in Apathle, I’ll take you out on the Sea.”

  “I’d like that,” Amara nodded, leaning closer to him as they walked.

  When they reached the large tent at the center of the camp, Rhett pulled back the flap and ushered her inside. It was warm, lit up by several lanterns hanging from poles. Libby stood beside the cribs, gently bouncing her daughter in her arms. Upon seeing them enter, she quickly shifted, managing a clumsy curtsy despite the baby on her hip.

  “Your Majesties,” she murmured. Then she turned and slipped out of the tent, closing the flap shut behind her.

  Amara blinked, confused.

  “Was… was that who you wanted me to meet?”

  Rhett shook his head slowly and reached for her hand.

  “No,” he said softly. “Come here.”

  He guided her across the tent to the cribs. Inside one was a tiny baby girl, lying wide awake. She made soft cooing noises as she stuffed her little fist into her mouth. Her big, brown eyes blinked up at the ceiling, utterly unaware of the two people watching her.

  Amara furrowed her brows and looked at Rhett.

  “Who is she?”

  He exhaled deeply, closing his eyes before speaking.

  “When we pushed Arnav’s army out of Jux and into Drurus, they began turning on their own people. Destroying villages, killing everyone who lived there.”

  “Why would they do that?” She gasped, covering her mouth in horror.

  “Because they knew I’d stop to bury the dead,” he answered, looking back at her. “It was their way of buying time… They thought the delay would let them regroup.”

  “And did it?”

  “Never,” he shook his head. “We buried the dead and kept moving before Drurus’s army was ready. But then… they attacked a city instead of a village. Trin—the one just outside the camp. This time, not everyone had been killed.”

  “Some of Jesup’s men and I went in to search for survivors. I checked house after house, finding only the dead. Until I came to a home with a young couple. Both were gone, with blood pooled beneath them. I turned to leave, but—it felt like something or someone whispered to me. Told me to turn back, so I did. And that’s when I heard her.”

  Amara’s gaze shifted back to the baby, who was still suckling quietly on her fist, but her eyes had shifted to the people beside her crib.

  “She was hidden under the floorboards,” Rhett continued, softer now. “Wrapped in a soiled blanket, barely breathing. She had been alone for days.”

  “What’s her name?” Amara inquired as she placed her hand gently on the baby’s stomach.

  “Lilibeth,” he said quietly.

  Amara’s head snapped toward him, and she narrowed her eyes.

  “Rhett,” she hissed. “That’s not funny. Not anymore.”

  “I’m not joking,” he assured her. “Libby—the woman who just left—she knew the baby’s parents and was the one who told me her name is Lilibeth.”

  Amara’s lips quivered, and her gaze dropped to the floor. Slowly, she looked at the baby girl before moving her hand. Gently, Amara took Lilibeth’s small fist, easing it from her mouth. The baby’s damp hand grabbed onto one of Amara’s fingers, gripping it tightly.

  And then the tears came—not from the child but Amara.

  They fell down her cheeks slowly at first, and as she took a shaky breath, the dam broke. Amara’s shoulders shook as she began to sob.

  “She has no one,” Rhett murmured, placing a hand on Amara’s back. “There’s supposedly a grandmother on her father’s side, but no one knows where she lives. The girl has no family…no one… And I thought maybe, if you were willing, we could be that for her.”

  He paused as Amara leaned into the crib, scooping Lilibeth into her arms. She cradled the child against her chest, holding her tightly.

  “If you don’t think you can do it,” he continued with a lump in his throat. “We don’t have to. I don’t want to pressure you into taking Lilibeth in. We can find someone else who—”

  “No,” Amara whispered, cutting him off as she shook her head. Her tears dripped down onto Lilibeth’s clothes, and she gently wiped them away. “We can take her.”

  She then looked up at him, trembling as she met Rhett’s gaze.

  “I want to keep Lilibeth.”

  The young king stepped closer and gently wrapped his arms around both of them, resting his hand over Amara’s as they held the baby close.

  “We’ll raise her as our own. As far as anyone else will know, she’ll be our daughter—our flesh and blood.”

  “But how?” Amara questioned, furrowing her brows slightly. “She won’t look like us.”

  Before Rhett could answer, a familiar voice spoke up behind them.

  “You’d be surprised...”

  They both turned to see Gwendolyn standing just inside the tent, with a basket in her arms.

  “She’ll have brown hair, a shade lighter than yours, Amara,” the witch said as she stepped closer. “But it’ll fall straight as a board. Not a curl in sight. Her skin will be fair like yours, but without freckles. And she’ll grow to be taller than you, but shorter than Rhett.”

  Amara stared at Gwendolyn in shock before glancing down at Lilibeth. A small, stunned smile grew across her face as she imagined the features that the woman described.

  “So… she’ll look like she belongs to us?” She whispered.

  Gwendolyn nodded, then moved the basket on her arms.

  “I’ve brought a gift for the princess.”

  She reached in and pulled out a golden blanket with white dragons and flowers embroidered across it. Rhett took it from her, unfolding it gently. His eyes immediately found the name stitched into the corner.

  Lilibeth.

  He held his breath as he looked at the design—it was nearly identical to the blanket the twins had been wrapped in before they were laid to rest. He blinked, surprised the witch had time to make another blanket so quickly when he found Lilibeth only a week ago. But then, he suddenly remembered something Gwendolyn had once told him—a future that would never be…

  “You would have had four boys… And a little girl.”

  That was when Rhett realized that, whether or not his sons had lived, he would have found Lilibeth no matter what. He would have brought her home…

  She was always meant to be their daughter.

  When he looked up again, Gwendolyn met his gaze knowingly and lifted a finger to her lips. Like a silent reminder that this burden was his carry…

  Rhett gave a quiet nod, then turned and held the blanket out to Amara, who took it with a smile.

  “And there’s one more gift for you, Amara,” the witch added, showing them the leaves in the basket. “When this is brewed into a tea, it can help a mother produce milk.”

  “Even for me?” Amara blinked back fresh tears. “Even though it’s been… weeks?”

  “It will work,” Gwendolyn assured her. “Not enough to fill her belly every time, so you’ll still need a nursemaid. But you will make enough for you and her to bond—as mother and daughter.”

  Amara’s grip on Lilibeth tightened slightly, and she looked down at the child dozing off against her chest.

  “Yes… I would love to drink it. Please.”

  “I’ll have it prepared by the time you arrive at the palace in Dunstead,” the witch smiled.

  And then, just as suddenly as she had arrived, the woman vanished, leaving only the scent of herbs and magic behind. After a few minutes, Rhett turned his attention to Amara.

  “Are you ready to go back to the others?”

  “What are we going to say? About her?” She inquired, glancing down at the baby.

  “Tristan already handled that,” Rhett assured her with a smile. “While we were in here, he told the others about Lilibeth. And, he and I came up with a signal. If you and I walked out of this tent with her, it would be our sign that we’ve chosen to adopt her. But if we left without her, he would quietly go back and collect her. No questions asked.”

  Amara let out a sigh of relief before nodding her head. Gently, she wrapped the golden blanket around Lilibeth, securing it tightly around her.

  “I’m ready now.”

  Rhett stepped to her side and placed an arm around her waist. Gently, he guided them out of the tent, where the skies were dark as the evening light faded away.

  Outside, the soldiers had formed two lines along the path leading back to the carriages. As the three of them emerged, silence fell over the camp. Some soldiers stood at attention, others pressed their fists to their hearts, and the rest bowed when the royal family passed by them.

  When they reached the others, a gasp went through the group at the sight of the infant in Amara’s arms. But before anyone could step forward, Rhett lifted a hand, pulling everyone’s attention to him.

  “Everyone… allow me to introduce you to Princess Lilibeth.”

  There was a hush that fell over the group. But there was no confusion, no anger, only happiness. Then, several people stepped forward one by one to meet the baby.

  Molly Rose approached first, already crying. She touched Lilibeth’s foot through the blanket as she rubbed her own swollen stomach.

  “Our children will be the best of friends,” she whispered, causing Rhett to frown.

  “Not if it’s a boy,” he mumbled.

  Amara shot him a look but didn’t say anything because Stella and Kieran were approaching. The older woman smiled brightly at the baby, while the Earl shook Rhett’s hand in congratulations.

  Amara’s father, Westin, walked up slowly, fighting to hold back his tears as he looked at his granddaughter for the first time.

  Then came Amara’s siblings—Finley, Riley, and Elara—each offering soft greetings to the baby.

  “She’s so little…” Elara whispered before stepping to the side.

  Skylar, Liza, and Claire approached next. The maids whispered delightedly among themselves as they looked at the baby, grinning from ear to ear.

  But after a while, Rhett leaned in close, kissing Amara’s head before whispering into her ear.

  “It’s getting dark. We should leave soon.”

  Amara nodded, but paused as she frowned slightly.

  “When was the last time she was fed? Who’s been taking care of her?”

  Rhett straightened, gesturing toward a woman standing nearby, holding a chubby baby with dark curls.

  “Let me formally introduce you to Libby and her daughter, Adley,” he said, smiling as he guided Amara toward the woman. “You’ll probably like her. She reminds me of you. Kind. Honest. Grew up working hard. Libby? Amara was wondering when Lilibeth last ate.”

  The woman stepped forward, offering another awkward curtsy.

  “Your Majesties,” she said nervously. “I fed the princess not too long ago. She should be content until we get to Dunstead.”

  Amara looked at the woman momentarily, then suddenly reached out and hugged her. Libby froze for a second before letting out a surprised laugh and hugging her back.

  “Thank you,” Amara whispered. “Thank you for taking care of her…”

  But then she paused as she pulled back, looking at Libby sheepishly.

  “It’s not fair of me to ask this, because I don’t know you or what you might have waiting for you here. But… would you be willing to come with us? As Lilibeth’s nursemaid? A-and even after, I’d like for you to stay as her nanny… or whatever position you’d prefer. Your daughter can be raised alongside mine, be educated and—”

  “I accept,” Libby interrupted, reaching out to touch Amara’s arm. “You don’t have to try to persuade me. I’ve already told your husband that he won’t be able to get rid of me.”

  Amara swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, wiping her eyes quickly.

  “Thank you,” she whispered before returning to Rhett’s side.

  He guided her toward the first carriage, helping her up the steps. Once inside, he followed, closing the door behind them.

  Amara settled onto the cushioned bench, holding a sleeping Lilibeth in her arms. Rhett sat beside her, wrapping an arm gently around her shoulders, pulling her close to him.

  It was just the three of them riding together—as a family…