Page 72 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)

Lazarus, as if carrying the weight of his sin, stepped forward. Carefully—too carefully—he reached for the squirming bundle, cradling him for a breath before thrusting him toward me.

“Meet Marcellious. Your son,” he said, his voice heavy with forced solemnity, a weight that crushed my chest.

Time stopped.

The world narrowed to the small, perfect face peering up at me—my son. Our son. Blood of my blood. The war I had fought and the losses I had endured all led to this fragile moment.

Emotion surged in me, wild and consuming, a storm that tore through everything I thought I understood. My hands—hands that had wielded swords, shattered shields, and taken lives—trembled as they reached out.

And then he was there, against my chest, his warmth bleeding into my bones like sunlight after endless winter. His breath fluttered like a whisper, his heart beating against mine—a rhythm that ignited a different war within me.

A fight not of blades and blood—but of love. Of protection. Of insolence against a world of shadows that would seek to swallow him whole.

At that moment, I became something more than a warrior.

I became his father.

And I would incinerate the world to keep him safe.

Cradling Marcellious to my chest, I felt the dam—the barrier that had held back oceans of dread, guilt, and sorrow—shatter. Tears slipped down my face. I didn’t wipe them away. I let them fall, let them trace the jagged edges of the man I had become.

His tiny fingers curled around one of mine, gripping with pure instinct, a silent trust that tore through every hardened layer of me. That grip wasn’t just survival—it was faith in me.

“Marcellious,” I breathed the name of a wound and a balm in the same breath.

Saying it out loud felt like bleeding and healing at once.

Elizabeth… she remembered. Across the chasm of lies and forced separation, she had honored my wish.

She had given our son the name I had dreamt of, spoken to her long before the world fell apart.

That choice… was her whisper of love, carried to me across time, distance, and grief.

My heart surged with a love so fierce it threatened to break me. And beneath it, a new pain. The agony of holding our son while knowing she was gone, knowing that the gulf between us might never close.

And then Dancing Fire’s voice, rough with bitterness, broke through the fragile stillness.

“She will return to England,” he said, his gaze distant, fixed on something far beyond the cabin’s walls. “She won’t stay here. She refuses to be a party to this madness any longer.”

The words didn’t register at first. They floated in the air, senseless, foreign.

“What?” I muttered, breath catching like a snare in my throat.

“That’s what she told me,” Dancing Fire said, arms crossed, his stance as solid as stone. “She’s stubborn. I begged her to stay. But she refused.”

Lazarus—ever the immovable force—merely nodded as if none mattered. “Let her go,” he said. “England will serve as a sufficient veil over the truth.” His words held no emotion, no mercy. “The twins must grow under different skies, unaware of each other’s existence.”

My grip tightened around Marcellious, his warmth pressing against my skin, the only living tether to Elizabeth I had left. The chill that radiated from Lazarus’ words felt like death creeping under my skin.

“Have you no heart?” I grated, the question tearing from me, raw and bitter. “Elizabeth bears wounds deeper than flesh. You’ve torn her child from her arms, cast her into grief. Shouldn’t she at least know why? Shouldn’t she have the chance to kiss the brow of the son she’ll never see again?”

Dancing Fire’s voice joined mine, laced with steel. “A final goodbye—that’s not too much to ask. Do you want to shatter her world but deny her even at that moment? Cruelty doesn’t begin to name it.”

“No!” Lazarus’ voice cracked through the room like thunder, silencing us all.

His gaze locked on me, on the baby cradled in my arms—the child I would die to protect.

His eyes held no remorse, only resolve. “The boy comes with me. He shall be under my tutelage. He must be prepared for what lies ahead. Some truths are too dangerous, too heavy to bear. This is the path we must walk—for their sakes, for the world’s. ”

I stepped back, the instinct to shield Marcellious rising like a tidal wave in my chest. No. Not him. Not now.

But then Dancing Fire stepped forward, rebellion burning in every line of his face. “No. Give me the child,” he demanded, hands outstretched, eyes locked on the infant in my arms. “I am here. I can raise Marcellious, train him, and guide him. Let me shape him rightly for the road ahead.”

His voice cracked, grief threading through the fire. “Elizabeth will never allow him to fulfill his destiny. She told me herself. She wants to shield Roman from his Timeborne gift—she would do the same for Marcellious. She would smother the power in him… out of love.”

The tension between the two men was tangible, thick like smoke in the air, ready to ignite. But I said nothing. I couldn’t. I only held Marcellious tighter, his small body pressed to my chest as if I could somehow will him to stay mine.

Their words weighted with bitter truth. Yet the thought of being severed from my son was a torment too deep to name—a blade slowly carving me open from the inside.

“Please,” I heard myself whisper, my voice thin, raw, a man stripped bare. “Let me stay. Let me raise my son alongside you, Dancing Fire.”

The plea hung between us, a fragile thread of hope against a storm of inevitability.

Lazarus shook his head, finality etched in the motion, cold and merciless.

“I cannot allow it, Amir. But I will grant you this—you may visit them here.” His gaze locked onto mine, cold and calculating.

“But understand this—whatever permission you once had, it ends now. You are never to see Roman or Elizabeth again. That chapter is closed. In time, Roman will find his destiny. And we must be ready when that time comes.”

His decree settled over me like a burial shroud. I understood the reasoning—the cruel strategy. The war ahead demanded separation, anonymity, and sacrifice. But knowing this didn’t stop my heart from rebelling, raging, against the loss.

Marcellious stirred in my arms, soft and unaware, untouched by the chaos that had shaped his birth. He deserved more. More than a father hidden in shadows, more than a love kept at arm’s length by prophecy and war.

With every breath, I vowed—to him and to the woman who still held my soul across oceans and lies?—

I will guard you both and Roman. Unseen. Unwavering. Until the end of my days.

“Just… let me stay,” I croaked, my voice raw with everything I couldn’t bring myself to say. “Give me until the next full moon.”

Lazarus paused, his silhouette a clean slash against the dying light beyond the doorway. A breath passed—one heartbeat of silence—before he spoke.

“Very well.”

He didn’t turn to face me.

“But don’t forget your purpose, Amir.” His voice was steel now, cold and honed. “You are a warrior first and foremost.”

A warrior.

And yet, as I looked down at my son’s face—peaceful in sleep, untouched by the world’s chaos—I knew that was only half of who I was.

Now, I was a father. And I would never forget.

“I will protect them,” I vowed into the silence of Lazarus’ departure. “With everything I have.”

The heavy wooden door closed behind him with a deep, echoing thud, sealing us in the small, cloistered cabin. That sound wasn’t just the end of a conversation—it was a seal on my soul, binding my promise deeper than any oath I’d ever sworn on the battlefield.

I turned to Dancing Fire, standing like a sentinel in the fading light. The weight of betrayal hung between us, heavy, unspoken—but too real to ignore. I met his gaze, his eyes shadowed with sorrow and spoke through the knot in my throat.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly, struggling to keep my voice from cracking. “Sorry for what you had to do… for betraying her trust like that.”

His expression shifted—the anger in his brow easing, replaced by a deep, aching sadness.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Amir,” he replied quietly. “It is I who owe you both… everything. She saved my life once. Tended to my wounds not as a duty but with a kindness I didn’t deserve.”

His eyes drifted toward the forest beyond the cabin’s rough-hewn walls as if searching for something—or someone—already lost.

“She’s leaving now,” he murmured, his voice catching. “Taking with her the light and warmth she brought into my life. I’ll feel her absence every day.”

In my arms, Marcellious stirred, blissfully unaware of the war, the grief, and the shattered bonds that welcomed him into this world. He was innocence incarnate, the embodiment of all we had lost and all we had left.

Dancing Fire stepped forward, his hand settling gently on the baby’s soft head, a gesture filled with quiet reverence.

“This child is yours, and I will raise him with all my honor and strength. For you. For her. That’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice thick with the sting of tears I refused to shed.

Between us was a bond that needed no words—not forged by blood but by fire. Brotherhood born from adversity, sealed by choice, and now, by this child.

Marcellious would be raised with love, even in my absence.

As silence settled around us, broken only by the gentle gurgling of the nearby creek, I felt the last vestiges of resistance crumble within me.

We were fated to walk this path—not one of choice, but of necessity—each of us bearing our own burden of sacrifice.

The future loomed uncertain, cloaked in shadow, but one truth remained immovable?—

I would guard them all. From the shadows, if I must. Until fate deemed otherwise.

Marcellious’ cry pierced the stillness, a plaintive sound that shattered the numbness in my chest. I shifted him gently in my arms, soothing him with murmurs. His weight a comfort and a searing reminder of what I had lost… and what I was about to lose.

“Amir,” Dancing Fire said, drawing my gaze to his solemn face, filled with the same sorrow I felt. “Your duty is clear. If you cannot stand beside her, you must still protect her. Elizabeth must never want protection—even if it comes from the shadows.”

I nodded, the muscles in my jaw tightening as I swallowed the anguish rising in my throat. “I will watch over them,” I said, the words grinding like gravel. “As if I were a ghost… haunting the periphery of their lives. A silent guardian, warding off invisible threats.”

A pang twisted inside me—a jealous, aching thing—as I looked at the man who would raise my son in my stead. “You will raise him,” I murmured, unable to hide the bitterness in my voice. “Teach him to fight. To stand strong against the storms that await him.”

“I will,” Dancing Fire replied, his voice unwavering. “And I will honor your name in doing so.”

I stared at him, knowing my trust in him had to be absolute. There was no other choice. “Do well by him,” I said, my voice steady despite the ache threatening to splinter my chest. “Marcellious will grow to be a warrior under your guidance. And one day… one day, the brothers will stand united.”

“Until then,” Dancing Fire agreed, his gaze fierce with conviction, “we keep them apart. For their safety. For the future.”

“Until then,” I echoed, the words like a stone in my mouth. I looked down at my son, his innocent eyes wide and unburdened, untouched by sorrow or the weight of our choices. His tiny fingers curled around my thumb, gripping with quiet strength.

And my heart shattered anew.

“Until the full moon. I will watch over him. After, I will protect him… even if it’s only from the shadows.”

Dancing Fire nodded, his eyes softening. “I know it’s hard, Amir. Be with him while you can. But when the moon is full, you must let him go. For his safety… and the future we fight for.”

I said nothing. There were no words for this—only the fierce, aching need to hold on. I cradled my son closer, memorizing him—the softness of his cheek, the rise and fall of his breath, the warmth of his body pressed to mine. I would stay for as long as the moon allowed.

As long as I draw breath, you, your brother, and your mother will know peace, I vowed in silence.

And until the moon demanded our parting, I would remain—watching, waiting, protecting.