Chapter 10 #2
Now he had been asked to stand between disaster and the one person who steadied the entire damned clan.
Rhen moved to the foot of the bed and stopped.
The tether gave him more information than touch ever could.
No pulse beat beneath Veya’s skin. Her breathing continued from habit, shallow and measured, while the bond carried the faint, stubborn thrum of her altered body stabilizing.
The fever had broken days ago.
The transition had not finished settling.
She was conscious more often now, but far from safe.
Far from controlled.
Rhen was not stupid enough to leave her unattended.
He crossed to the door and pulled it open.
“Mary.”
The vampire head housekeeper appeared almost immediately, as though she had been waiting beyond the edge of sight.
She probably had.
Mary had served the clan longer than some of the fortress walls had stood. Calm as stone. Efficient as death. Loyal without requiring praise for it.
“Yes, sir?”
“Get the night medic.”
Mary’s attention shifted briefly toward Veya.
“The medic remains in the medical wing.”
“Then bring her here. She stays inside with Veya.”
Mary dipped her head.
“Understood.”
“You remain outside the threshold. If anything changes, you send for me immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rhen’s gaze hardened.
“No one crosses that threshold except the night medic. Anyone else waits for my word.”
“As you wish.”
Rhen looked past her into the corridor.
“Dax.”
He did not need to raise his voice twice.
Dax appeared at the far end of the hallway moments later, his expression hard and his body already prepared for violence.
“You’re on the door,” Rhen said.
Dax’s gaze moved beyond him toward Veya before returning.
“How unstable?”
“Stable enough to sleep. Not stable enough to trust.”
“Comforting.”
“If she wakes, contact me. If the medic calls for containment, get Malakai. No one else enters.”
Dax gave one curt nod.
“Got it.”
Rhen held his stare for another second, ensuring the order had landed exactly where it needed to.
Then he turned back to Mary.
“I won’t be far.”
Mary did not ask where he was going.
She already knew.
The night medic approached from the opposite end of the corridor carrying a case of supplies. Rhen waited until she entered the suite and confirmed that Veya remained stable.
Only then did he leave.
He moved through the colder corridors and the hush that had followed the heir’s birth, as though the fortress itself still listened for the scream that had brought him into the world.
* * *
The silence of the east wing pressed heavily around Rhen.
The hush following Sule’s departure felt less like peace and more like a void waiting to draw the remaining life from the house.
He did not want this duty.
He wanted steel.
Blood.
An enemy he could crush.
Instead, he reached Leena’s chamber and stopped at the threshold.
Fire murmured softly inside.
Leena sat in the chair near the hearth, a pale, fragile figure wrapped in warm light, her son sleeping against her chest.
She was Sule’s world.
The heart of the clan.
The only person who had ever looked directly at what Rhen was and loved him without pretending it made him better.
He entered and closed the door quietly behind him.
The room smelled of milk, clean linen, dying fire, and the lingering iron trace of birth.
The tether to Veya followed him inside.
It throbbed beneath his sternum, a reminder of the woman he had transformed and the obligation he could no longer discard.
Veya remained an unknown threaded with heretic magic and bound to him through a decision neither of them could reverse.
Leena was known.
Trusted.
Loved.
Untouchable.
Rhen watched her breathe.
Slow.
Shallow.
Too measured.
He was there because Sule had trusted him with the one life neither male could bear to lose—and because refusing had never been possible.
Leena opened her eyes.
“Rhen.”
Her voice was faint.
He remained near the door.
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
A tired smile touched her mouth.
“You sound like Sule.”
“That should terrify you.”
“It does.”
The attempt at humor did little to ease the cold beneath her skin or the strain around her eyes.
Rhen studied her.
“You’re worse.”
“I’m tired.”
“Bullshit.”
Her brows lifted weakly.
“Such tenderness.”
“Save the act for someone stupid enough to believe it.”
Leena looked down at the child sleeping against her chest.
“He feeds constantly.”
“He is ten days old.”
“He has Sule’s appetite.”
“And your talent for ignoring good advice.”
Her smile strengthened for half a second before fading.
Rhen heard the change in her breathing.
Saw the slight tremor in the hand supporting the baby.
He crossed the room before he consciously decided to move, stopping several feet from her chair.
“Give him to me.”
Leena’s gaze rose sharply.
“What?”
“You’re shaking.”
“I am not.”
Rhen stared at her hand.
Leena followed his gaze.
Her fingers trembled visibly against the blanket.
“I can hold my own child.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”
“That is exactly what you implied.”
“I said give him to me before your arms fail and you drop the heir.”
Her expression hardened.
“I would never drop him.”
“No. You would tear yourself apart preventing it.”
Silence passed between them.
Rhen extended his arms stiffly, looking as though he would rather face a battlefield than hold a newborn.
Leena studied him.
“You’ve never held a baby.”
“I’ve killed things smaller.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“It wasn’t intended to be.”
Despite herself, she laughed.
The sound was weak, but real.
Carefully, Leena adjusted the bundle and allowed Rhen to take the child.
Rhen’s entire body locked.
The heir weighed almost nothing.
Heat radiated through the blankets, startling in its intensity. One tiny fist escaped the swaddling and pressed against Rhen’s chest.
He stared down at it.
The child slept on, utterly unconcerned by the Charon holding him.
Leena watched Rhen’s expression with quiet understanding.
He hated that look.
“Do not start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was only thinking that he seems comfortable.”
“He lacks survival instincts.”
“He trusts you.”
“He cannot focus his eyes.”
“Perhaps he is an excellent judge of character.”
“Then he is doomed.”
Leena settled back in the chair, relief briefly softening her face now that the baby’s weight had been removed from her aching body.
Rhen noticed.
Something was wrong.
He could smell no fresh blood. Hear no failing heartbeat. Yet every instinct warned him that her stillness was not simple exhaustion.
He stood guard against an enemy he could not identify, fight, or kill.
The irony tasted bitter.
He had bound himself to a dying stranger because a corpse could give him no answers.
Now he watched the only person whose life had ever mattered beyond usefulness drift toward something quiet, mortal, and invisible.
Leena’s eyes closed.
Rhen’s attention sharpened.
“Do not fall asleep.”
Her eyes opened again.
“I thought you ordered me to rest.”
“Not while I am holding this.”
““He has a name, you know.”
“You haven’t told me what it is.”
Leena looked down at her son, then back at Rhen.
“We hadn’t decided.”
“Ten days, and the future king remains nameless?”
“Sule wants something traditional.”
“And you don’t.”
“I want something that belongs to him rather than to a prophecy.” Her gaze settled upon the tiny face resting against Rhen’s chest. “I keep coming back to Norse.”
Rhen looked down at the child.
“Norse.”
“It feels like his,” she said softly. “Not the heir’s. Not the future king’s. His.”
The child’s fist remained curled against Rhen’s shirt, small and stubborn.
“Then stop arguing with Sule and tell him.”
A faint smile touched Leena’s mouth.
“I will.”
For once, Rhen had no argument.
Leena drew a slow breath. Her face tightened almost imperceptibly.
Rhen saw it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Do not lie to me.”
“I’m cold.”
The admission came reluctantly.
“How long?”
“A few days.”
“Sule said forty-eight hours.”
Leena looked irritated.
“Sule worries.”
“Sule is right.”
“I’ll recover.”
“You don’t know that.”
She turned her face toward the fire.
Rhen crossed to the hearth without surrendering the child and kicked one of the logs deeper into the flames. Sparks rose through the grate.
Heat spread slowly into the room.
It changed nothing.
Leena remained pale.
Too pale.
Rhen looked at the baby in his arms, then at the woman in the chair.
“What did the medic say?”
“That I need rest.”
“What else?”
“Nothing useful.”
“Did she take blood?”
Leena hesitated.
Rhen’s expression hardened.
“No.”
“Why?”
“She didn’t think it was necessary.”
“Then she is incompetent.”
“She delivered our son.”
“Ten minutes too late.”
Leena’s mouth twitched.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re hiding something.”
Her gaze moved away.
That was answer enough.
Rhen crossed to the bell pull and yanked it once.
“What are you doing?”
“Summoning the medic.”
“Rhen—”
“Sule ordered me to watch you.”
“He did not order you to terrorize the household.”
“He should have been more specific.”
Leena pushed herself upright.
The movement stole what little color remained in her face.
Her body swayed.
Rhen was beside her before she could fall, one arm locking around her shoulders while he kept the sleeping heir secured against his chest with the other.
“Sit.”
“I am sitting.”
“Then stop trying to stand.”
Her breath came shallowly.
Rhen’s jaw tightened.
“Leena.”
“I’m fine.”
“No. You are not.”
For once, she did not argue.
That frightened him more than anything else had.
Footsteps approached rapidly outside.
Rhen shifted the child more securely and stared toward the door, every predatory instinct sharpening around a threat he still could not name.
For the first time, Rhen wondered whether the threat had already passed him.