Chapter 240
*Nathaniel*
The house didn’t smell like smoke anymore.
It smelled of herbs from the garden Jiselle had planted, of bread baking in the lower hearths, of wet stone after a night of rain. If I closed my eyes, I could almost forget that once the walls of this stronghold had trembled with screams, that blood had run through its corridors, that we had all but begged the world to hold together one last time.
Now it held.
Now it thrived.
And so did we.
I stood by the window, the glass newly fitted, watching as Solara darted across the courtyard below. She was three years old, though even saying it out loud never felt quite right. She had been born in fire, wrapped in silence and flame, and there had always been something older behind her eyes. But this morning, she was just a child–hair tangled, feet bare, her laugh carrying across the stones as she chased a pack pup who had stolen her wooden doll. She shrieked with indignation, then collapsed in a heap when the pup dropped the toy and licked her cheek.
Her laughter rose like sunlight. And my chest eased in a way it never used to.
Behind me, the door creaked open. I didn’t need to turn to know it was Jiselle.
Her steps were slower now, careful, steady. I glanced over my shoulder and saw her hand resting lightly against the curve of her stomach. My heart squeezed. I’d thought the fear of losing her, of losing another child, would return with her second pregnancy. But this time was different. No flames licked under her skin. No visions tore through her nights. This time, she glowed in the way women are meant to glow when they carry life–softly, naturally, without weight or terror.
She smiled when she caught me staring. “You’re watching again.”
“Guilty,” I admitted, grinning.
She came to stand beside me at the window, her head brushing my shoulder. Together we watched Solara dart back to her doll, triumphant as though she had defeated the entire pack on her own.
“She looks happy,” Jiselle said softly.
“She is happy.”
“She’s ours,” she murmured, her voice warm, reverent.
And gods, she was. Ours. Ours in ways the world had tried to steal, to claim, to twist. But we had fought, and we had burned, and we had bled, and in the end we had chosen love instead of ruin. And love had given us
her.
9:30 Thu, Oct 2
Chapter 240
Later that day. I sat with Solara in the garden while Jiselle napped upstairs. The trees were heavy with spring blossoms, the aft sweet and alive. Solara sat cross–legged on the grass, her doll in one hand and a stick in the other, which she used to draw patterns in the dirt.
“What are you making?” I asked, leaning back on my palms.
She looked up, her hair sticking in every direction. “Not making. Remembering.”
I blinked. She said things like that sometimes–words that didn’t belong to a three–year–old. But before the weight could settle, she giggled and scribbled another line, tilting her head like the shapes meant something only she could see.
Her innocence steadied me. Because even if some part of her still carried the flame of Sovereigns past, most of her was just a child. Our child.
She dropped the stick and climbed into my lap without warning. Her small hands pressed against my cheeks as she studied me seriously. “Papa, are you happy?”
The question startled me. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because I am,” she said simply. “And I want you to be too.”
My throat tightened. I kissed her forehead and whispered against her hair, “I’m happier than I ever thought I could be.”
And it was true.
For so long, happiness had felt like something reserved for other people, other lives. I had known duty, rage, loss, and love sharpened into desperation. But now, sitting in a garden with blossoms falling like snow, my daughter in my lap, and my mate sleeping safely above, I finally understood what peace felt like.
Not loud. Not triumphant. Just steady.
Like breathing.
That night, after Solara finally fell asleep tangled in her blankets, I found Jiselle sitting by the fire in our room. Her hair spilled loose down her back, her hand resting on her stomach again. She looked up when I entered, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe.
“Can’t sleep?” I asked, crossing to her.
She shook her head. “The baby’s restless.”
“Like her sister,” I teased, lowering myself beside her.
She leaned into me, and I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, breathing in the scent of her hair, the warmth of her against me.
“Do you ever think about it?” she asked after a while.
“About what?”
9:30 Thu, Oct 2
Chapter 240
“Everything we lost. Everything we almost lost.” Her eyes flickered toward Solara’s small form sleeping across the room. “Sometimes I wake up and wonder if it was all a dream. If the Hollow, the flames, the Gate… if it really happened.”
“It happened,” I said quietly. “But it’s over now.”
She exhaled slowly, her hand brushing mine. “I don’t want to rule them, Nate. I never did. I just want to rebuild.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” I said. “Together.”
Her eyes softened, and in them I saw every piece of her I had fallen in love with–all the fire, all the strength, all the tenderness she never tried to hide anymore.
“I love you,” she whispered.
I kissed her then, slow and sure, not because we had survived but because we were living. Really living.
The years ahead would bring challenges. I knew that. Fear didn’t vanish overnight. Wolves still whispered about the Hollow. Some scars would never fade. But tonight, we were together. Safe. Strong.
And as Solara stirred in her sleep and murmured something in a language older than any of us, I looked at Jiselle and knew we had built something the world could not break.
A house.
A family.
A life.
Born of ruin, yes. But reborn in love.
And for the first time in all my years, I believed that was enough.
AD
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
