Page 24

B rielle

The garden flourishes around me, a gentle, vibrant rebellion against the years it once spent wilted and forgotten. Here, among roses and ivy, I feel her presence; Thorne's mother. Her statue watches over this place with quiet reverence, and as I tend to the blossoms that rise beneath her gaze, I feel a whisper of her strength, guiding me.

A warm, familiar voice breaks the stillness. "You’ve got another package from that old man," Thorne huffs as he strolls into the garden, his brow furrowed yet softened by a hint of a smile. He greets me with a kiss, and I take the package from his hands, my fingers lingering over his for just a moment.

“I’ve told you many times,” I say with a smirk, untying the string, “his name is Alaric.” Thorne just shakes his head as I open the letter attached.

"Dearest Brielle," it reads. "I loved the book you sent. I can guarantee I've already finished it by the time this reaches you. I found this one on the shelves and had to send it your way. The main character reminded me of you, strong, fierce, and determined. Please let me know what you think. Until next time, sending all of my love."

I clutch the letter to my chest, smiling softly. The weight of his kindness wraps around me, a reminder of the man who showed me compassion when I needed it most. Thorne watches me with that familiar, amused look.

“Their knights are still trying to conquer our maze, the bones line the walls, and here you are sending letters and books with one of the townsfolk.” He smirks, and I reach up, touching his face with a warmth that feels natural.

"Alaric is a sweet man. The only one who showed me kindness when I was at my lowest; you know that.” I place a gentle kiss on his lips, savoring the moment.

He brushes a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear, his gaze holding a rare softness. “Yes, and that’s why he’s allowed to live,” he murmurs with a smirk, and I laugh, swatting at his chest.

After I settled here, I forgave Alaric for what happened in the past. I always knew he was only trying to protect me. He isn’t my father, but he’s felt like one, and now we share stories and letters, a bond that threads back to a time when life was much darker.

“Be careful,” Thorne says, his voice gruff but tender, “if they find out what he’s done for you...”

I nod, knowing his concern is real. "He’s careful, my love.

He gives me that familiar, soft scolding look. "Come inside; it’s hot out here, and you need to eat,” he insists, gently resting his hand on my swollen belly. Since learning we’re expecting, he’s been extra protective, watching over me like I’m made of glass, making sure I eat enough, not letting me overheat, rubbing my aching feet every night. Not that I’d ever complain about that last part.

“I’m fine,” I protest, trying to hide my smile. “Stop worrying so much.”

He raises an eyebrow, his expression amused yet unwavering. “It’s noon, your cheeks are rosy red, and I’m hungry. I can’t enjoy my food without your company, it doesn’t taste the same when you’re not there.”

His hand extends to me with a playful bow. “So, my queen,” he says, grinning as I slip my hand into his, “let’s eat.”

“Fine,” I say with a sigh, feigning reluctance as he leads me toward the house. Just as we cross the threshold, I hear his voice mutter, “Difficult little thing, I swear.”

I chuckle softly, savoring the warmth of his arm around me. My life has transformed in ways I never dared to dream. I escaped the shadows of my past, found not only love with this man but also a sense of belonging I thought lost to me forever.

As we step into the dining room, the smell of roasted meats and fresh bread is nearly enough to make me swoon. Thorne strides in behind me, his hand resting possessively on the small of my back. His stomach growls, and I can't help but smirk at his impatience.

Before we can sit, Grom bursts through the door, his massive frame nearly colliding with the doorway in his haste. “My queen, please, you must come with me. You have to see this.”

His usual stoicism is completely absent, replaced by an almost boyish excitement. It’s such a stark contrast to his appearance and it swells my heart with his contagious excitement.

“What is it?” Thorne’s voice cuts through, sharp and impatient. His brows draw together as he glares at Grom. “She’s about to eat.”

Grom ignores him, his eyes locked on mine, practically vibrating with enthusiasm.

“Wait,” I blurt, my heart leaping. “Is it Nyxie? Has she; has she had the babies?”

Grom grins, wide and uncharacteristically open. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he nods vigorously.

“Oh, gods!” I gasp, grabbing his arm. “Take me to her!”

“Brielle.” Thorne groans from behind me, his tone a mix of exasperation and hunger. “I’m starving.”

I glance back, catching the pleading in his gaze, but I wave him off, already following Grom to the door.

“I’ll be right back,” I call over my shoulder, practically skipping to keep up with Grom's long strides.

Thorne mutters something under his breath about priorities but I don’t hear him.

We hurry through the yard, as Grom leads me to the shadowed grove where Nyxie made her nest. My heart pounds, excitement bubbling in my chest.

“She’s just there,” Grom whispers, gesturing ahead.

I step closer, and my breath catches as I see her curled protectively around a cluster of tiny, wriggling bodies. Nyxie’s glowing eyes meet mine briefly before she lets out a soft hum of contentment. The babies—small, sleek, and dark as ink—nuzzle against her, their eyes already pulsing with light.

“They’re beautiful,” I breathe, dropping to my knees beside them.

“How many?” Thorne’s deep voice startles me as he suddenly appears behind me, his hand brushing my shoulder.

“Nine,” Grom says proudly, his grin as broad as ever. To think, when I met him he preached about having to slaughter these same animals to survive. Now to see his excitement match mine has me smiling enough to hurt my cheeks.

“Oh, gods,” Thorne groans, rubbing his brow as though the weight of the number physically pained him.

I squeal, clapping my hands in delight. “We’re keeping them all!”

He exhales, long and slow, before crouching beside me. His gaze softens as he looks at the wriggling bundle of shadow coils. “I know, my love,” he murmurs, his voice resigned but warm. “I know.”

The journey back to the house is filled with chatter and laughter, and by the time we settle at the dining table, the food is almost cold. Thorne mutters something about priorities again, but he smiles at me in the way that makes my chest fill with warmth.

As I settle into my chair and look at him from across the table—my husband, my king, the soon-to-be father of our child—I feel a swell of gratitude so strong it nearly overwhelms me.

I once believed I’d live and die in darkness, convinced that love was a fantasy I could never touch. But now, with him beside me, I’ve discovered a love deeper than any wound, a connection that surpasses everything I ever thought possible. I never knew love could feel like this—so full, so consuming, like it’s woven into every part of me. It’s a warmth that melts away all my doubts, a light I never expected to find.

I reach for his hand, my fingers slipping into his with a tenderness that says more than words ever could. As I squeeze it gently, I feel the weight of the promise between us. Whatever comes next, whatever challenges we may face, I know one thing for certain: I’ll never walk alone.

Not anymore.