20. The Womb of the Realm #4
"Your mother is a desperate creature," Surin began, still watching the figure on the bench.
"When she loses the upper hand, she will find any way to gain another, by any means possible.
It's what makes her so formidable…dangerous even.
And for all her quirks and bad attitudes, I could never help but be drawn to her. "
He paused, fingers tightening on the window sill.
"What I did to her was unforgivable. I never truly believed in the effects of Vash'telor, or maybe I just never wanted to believe it because it meant she had the right to be with him and not me. And I could not stomach that. I was a coward."
Surin looked down at his hands.
"But dragging you into her pettiness... no mother should ever think about using their children for revenge. I don't think she would have done that if I had never broken her."
Malec listened, hearing his father speak with more vulnerability than he had ever witnessed. Surin, the stoic pillar of discipline and control, was finally cracking open.
"She didn't just use me," Malec said, his voice low and tight. "She used Allora, my son and Surian and Luko were caught in the crosshairs. I will never forgive her for that."
Surin glanced at him. "Nor do I expect you to. Just know that the fault is not only hers. It lies with me too."
A small golden dragonfly landed on Malec's shoulder.
He looked down and smiled. "It's my son's familiar. He must want to be part of the conversation."
Malec turned and walked to Luko, reaching out. "May I?"
Luko carefully transferred the baby into Malec's arms.
"So what's the name?" Luko asked.
"Vaeril," Malec said proudly. "That is the name he gave himself."
Surian beamed. "That is a proud ancient name, it's beautiful! I cannot wait for us to return to Caelistra so we can go shopping for baby clothes."
Malec's smile faltered. He glanced at Luko, then back to his sister.
"I will be taking them home to the North. Where it is safe. At least until Vaeril is older and can walk on his own."
Surian gasped. "But Allora won't?—"
"I know Allora is allergic to logical reasoning," Malec cut her off sternly. "But this is what must be done to keep them safe, Surian."
Luko interjected. "This time I agree with Malec."
Surian scoffed at him.
"Look, Surian," Luko continued. "I know Allora hates being isolated.
But half the realm must know about the baby by now.
That she produced a Talandros heir. It's not safe for her or them at the capitol.
Everyone will try to get her to bed their sons, grandsons, or even husbands for a chance at an heir. Malec is right this time."
Surin turned and joined them, placing a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "I agree. It is the best possible thing to do for her."
"I'll never see Allora again," Surian said, her voice breaking.
"Now, now, my child, that is overstating it. It may be a few years. But to an Awyan, it is a blink of an eye." Surin softly reassured his daughter.
Malec did not lift his gaze from his son's face. Vaeril held his fingers with tiny hands, shakily trying to focus with his newly formed tan eyes.
"I am going to force the council to give me a marriage rite," Malec said. "Sealed and bonded by the king himself. That will make her irrevocably mine, even in their own courts."
Surin's eyes snapped up to Malec. "They will never go for it. Never."
"If they do not want to see their own sons and daughters hanging by their bowels from their own balconies, they will sign the paper and be done with it," Malec said matter-of-factly.
"I am owed after all the wars I put out and the squabbles I stamped into submission.
The very least they owe me is my own Vash'telor.
None of them have a leg to stand on when arguing against a soulbinding. "
Luko rested his palm against the baby’s small belly, tracing slow, absent circles with quiet affection. “Whatever you decide, let Allora stand inside it with you. Do not make her an afterthought. If nothing else, allow her voice to shape what happens next, Malec.”
Malec looked up at Luko and nodded. "Aye. I can do that. As long as it does not become reckless and endanger her, I will do it. But how to do it without holding on harder... that will take time for me to learn."
Surian poked her brother, the voice of reason. "Well, you've had plenty of time. Now is the time to do, not feel."
Malec sighed. "I'm not even sure where to start."
Surin did not smile, nor did he soften the edge of his tone. “Begin with respect, my son. Return what you stripped from her. That alone would be no small beginning.”
Malec’s gaze lifted to his father, scanning his features for clarification. “You mean her freedom?”
“No.”
The deliberate absence of words between them pressed in like a third presence.
“Her name.”
The word did not accuse. It simply existed, undeniable. And in that stillness, Malec understood the magnitude of what he had erased. He had not only confined her. He had taken the one thing that belonged solely to her, and he had forgotten it as though it were nothing at all.
Back in Caelistra, only a day after the child came into the world, news had already spread like rapid wildfire.
The palace had become a hive of celebration.
Congratulations came in waves, golden wine sloshing in crystal goblets, laughter echoing off the high-arched ceilings.
Surion accepted each one with the grace expected of a king, nodding at perfectly timed intervals, fingers brushing goblets in practiced gratitude, a charming grin held so long his face began to ache.
But somewhere between the fourth and fifth toast, something began to sour. The compliments were too generous, the handshakes lingering a touch too long. Those polite, tight-lipped political masks were not celebratory but expectant, measuring him and testing him.
Lady Neysha leaned in again, her voice lilting and honey-smooth. "It's such a relief to know the bloodline has been secured. And in such a miraculous way, too."
Surion blinked, still smiling, though his lips felt suddenly dry. He turned his head, feigning amusement. "Yes, well. I suppose even my cousin can't stay mad forever."
Neysha tilted her head, confusion flickering briefly across her painted features before dawning. Her eyes widened just enough to betray it. "Oh," she said softly, her gloved hand lifting to her mouth. "You mean... you don't know?"
A jarring, icy jolt ran down Surion’s spine. His smile froze, brittle and hollow.
Before he could demand more, another noble approached. Lord Daram, broad-shouldered and perfumed, one of the wealthier borderland barons, clasped Surion's hand warmly. "Magnificent news, my king. The realm is truly blessed to see such proof of union. The child must be radiant."
"Child?" Surion's voice dropped a register, the edges fraying.
Lord Daram hesitated. His laugh was thin, unsure, as though he believed Surion's discretion was part of some greater strategy.
He leaned closer, breath reeking of sweet brandy.
"Of course, I understand. State secrets and all.
But rest assured, once word spreads officially, we'll be first in line to pledge support.
Perhaps a trade pact? Or—" his tone lowered, conspiratorial "—even just one moon's visitation with the Canariae mother.
A few noble houses would be honored to... how shall I put it... borrow her womb."
Surion stared at him, unblinking, the grin dying by degrees on his face.
Lord Daram's smile faltered.
Behind them, another politician stepped forward eagerly. "Just to see if it's true. If the compatibility is stable."
"Imagine," another cut in, eyes gleaming. "An entire generation of mixed-blood heirs. No more sterile lineages. No more desperate cross-house matings."
Lady Neysha's silken voice wound through them all, sweet as poison. "A Canariae who can bear an Awyan child... she could elevate entire bloodlines."
There it was. The truth, unveiled in the open, barbed and naked. They weren't toasting him or the realm. They were circling, smelling blood.
Surion, at the center of it all, felt his chest tighten as though he were the one trapped in a gilded cage.
They weren't just congratulating him on Malec finding his pet.
They were congratulating him on an heir.
An impossible heir. The one thing the Awyan people had long since stopped believing in.
He clenched his goblet so hard the stem groaned, the glass nearly splintering between his fingers.
His teeth ground together as the murmurs around him grew louder, more eager, obscene even.
Alliances, marriage offers, temporary contracts. Noble women whispering titles and coin if they could simply have access to the Canariae. To Allora. Every single offer carried the same poisoned sweetness, the same soft question buried beneath their silken words:
Can we use her, too?
Surion's teeth rang in his skull from the pressure.
He was being cornered in his own court with his own crown still on his head.
Worst of all, he hadn't even been the first to hear the news.
The moment the last noble's voice dropped into that humiliating murmur, Surion's smile cracked.
His mask shattered. He didn't excuse himself or offer a final toast. He simply turned on his heel, the hem of his black-gold robe slicing the air behind him like a whip, and strode out of the summit hall with fury laced beneath every boot fall.
Two guards and his steward stumbled to keep pace behind him, nearly tripping as they tried to match his long, elegant strides.
His knuckles were white where they gripped the signet rings at his hip.
The moment they turned into the corridor, his voice snapped like a blade through silence. "Get me Ilyra. Now."
One of the aides peeled off immediately, running.