After relentless persuasion from Carl and Maika, a room was finally prepared for Caveen and Lysandra—adjoining the healing chamber where she had been recovering. Despite the massive sprawl of the Landon estate, the shared quarters were chosen for one reason alone: protection.
The child had to be kept safe.
Caveen entered first, tossing his bag carelessly onto the chaise. The room was elegant but understated—silver and emerald drapes hung from the high windows, the four-poster bed sat like a quiet sentinel in the center, and the stone fireplace still held the fading warmth of earlier flames.
He scanned the room with cool detachment.
Lysandra sat curled near the hearth, draped in heavy blankets, her fingers wrapped around a cup of tea. Her skin had regained its warmth, her posture was no longer rigid with pain. She looked… better.
"Thank you," she murmured, her voice almost drowned by the fire's soft crackling.
Caveen paused mid-unbuttoning his coat. "For what?"
"For staying."
His hands stilled. He looked at her, really looked—like he was trying to understand a puzzle with missing pieces.
"I didn't expect to be here like this," he said eventually, voice low. "But I'm not walking away."
She smiled, soft and brief. "You still don't trust me."
"No," he replied without hesitation. "But I don't hate you either. You made a choice, Lysandra. Now we both live with it."
A heavy silence followed, not cold… just thick with all the words neither of them dared to speak.
Then Lysandra shifted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you… want to share the bed, or...?"
Caveen arched a brow. "If it helps the child sleep easier, then yes. I'll take the edge."
A dry chuckle slipped from her lips. "How romantic."
He walked toward her, and without another word, lowered himself beside her.
The child stirred beneath him being close. A soft thump. Then another. Not agitated. Calm. Steady. As if it recognized him.
"We're in this now, Lysandra," he said, his voice barely more than a breath. "Might as well start being honest with each other."
She turned toward him, really looked at him. And something flickered in her gaze. Something unguarded.
"Honesty," she repeated quietly. "That's new for me."
He gave her a look. Wry. Dry. "You'll get used to it."
Without another word, they lay down—side by side. Not lovers. Not enemies. Something else.
Something quietly forming between their silences.
The air no longer felt heavy.
It felt… possible.
---
Meanwhile, in Maika's Private Study
The room was dim, the only light coming from the dozens of candles lining the stone walls and the soft glow of the fire in the hearth.
Maika sat in her high-backed chair, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had gone white. She hadn't moved in minutes.
Across the room, Carl stood by the window, arms folded, jaw clenched. Every line of his body was drawn taut—like a bowstring pulled too tight.
"It won't be long," Maika said quietly, her violet eyes never leaving the dancing flames. "Even with the concealment spell, the child's aura is too strong. Sooner or later, the Council will start asking questions."
Carl let out a sharp breath. "They already are. One of the northern Seers sent a hawk this morning. Asked why we're harboring a Moonwell mage."
Maika turned her head slowly. "We need a reason. A public one."
Carl nodded grimly. "An engagement."
Maika smiled faintly. It was the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Exactly. Tie her to the Landon name. Use the ancient bloodline laws to shield her. No one dares touch royal-bound blood. Not even the Council."
Carl scrubbed a hand through his hair, frustration etched in every movement. "Caveen won't like it."
"He'll understand," she said softly. "This isn't about liking. It's about survival. That child inside her…" Her voice caught, just slightly. "He's not just their heir. He's a threat. A miracle. A ticking bomb."
Carl's eyes narrowed. "If the Council figures out who that child really is before the Awakening—"
"They'll take him," Maika said, voice flat. "Or kill him. Or worse."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Maika broke it first, her voice lower than before, almost reverent. "I remember what it was like when I carried Elira. The sickness, the threats, the whispers that followed me wherever I walked. And when we lost our daughter—when they took her before I could hold her…"
Carl moved beside her, silent. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
Maika didn't resist.
"I won't lose another," she whispered. "Not this time."
Carl nodded slowly. "Then we move forward. We announce it next week. Quietly. Just the noble houses. Maybe a leaked record or two in the Vampire Coven, Witch Registry and the Lycan Herald. Enough to make it law."
Maika allowed herself to lean into him, just for a moment.
"Enough," she echoed, "to give that child a fighting chance.
---
Back in the Adjoining Room
Caveen couldn't sleep.
Neither could Lysandra.
But they didn't speak.
They lay in shared silence—two broken pieces shaped by war, betrayal, and blood. The warmth between them was tentative. Real. Frightening.
And in the darkness, the smallest pulse of magic flickered from beneath Lysandra's skin… a silent promise from the unborn child:
I'm here. And I'm watching.
They both felt it. And neither dared move.
Not yet.
But the bed they shared was no longer a battleground.
It was the start of something dangerous—
And possibly… sacred.