“HIDE THAT CHILD HE’S THE FUTURE KING,” SAID THE MYSTERIOUS MAN AS HE HANDED THE BABY TO THE WOMAN

Hide that, child. He’s the future king,” said the mysterious man, as he handed the baby to the woman. “Before we begin this beautiful period romance story, tell me in the comments where you’re listening from. I love knowing where you’re joining me from.
” The wind howled like a wounded beast that night, sweeping across the woods and rattling the shutters of the small stone cottage at the edge of the forest. Elellanena Witkim had banked the fire low and was mending an old shirt when the first knock came. A sharp, desperate sound that made her drop the needle. She froze, listening. Outside, thunder rolled across the hills, and the rain fell in relentless sheets. The knock came again louder this time, followed by a man’s voice and urgent.
Please open the door. Elellanena hesitated. No one ever came this far at night, not in weather like this. She took the lantern, lifted it toward the door, and called out, “Who is it?” The voice broke through the storm. “For the love of God,” woman, “Help me!” Something in that tone, fear and command, tangled together, made her heart race. She lifted the latch.
The door flew inward with the wind, and a tall figure stumbled inside, soaked to the bone. His cloak clung to him, dripping on the floor. In his arms, wrapped in silk of deep blue, lay a tiny child. Elellanena gasped, “Mercy above. What have you brought me?” The man shut the door behind him and turned, his face hidden by the hood, his hands trembled as he held out the bundle.
“Hide this child,” he said, his breath ragged. “Hide him well. He’s the future king.” The words hung in the air like thunder that never faded. Elellanena stared at him, thinking she had misheard. The what? He took a step closer. The lantern light caught his face for the first time. Sharp features pale with exhaustion. A scar cutting across his temple. His eyes burned with something beyond fear. There’s no time. Soldiers are coming.
You must keep him safe. Elellanena’s mind spun. Sir, you cannot mean I mean exactly that. He thrust the baby toward her. They must not find him. The queen’s enemies have already taken the palace. The child was smuggled out at dawn. If they learn he lives, he will not see another sunrise.
Eleanor looked down at the baby. The silk was fine enough for a prince, and the clasp that held it bore a tiny golden crest, a lion crowned with stars. The infant stirred soft and warm against her arms. She felt his heartbeat against her palm. “Why me?” she whispered. “I am no one,” the man gave a weary smile. because you are no one and that may yet save him. He turned toward the door, but she caught his sleeve.
Wait, who are you? What is your name? His eyes flicked toward the window where lightning flashed. Names are dangerous things tonight. Then how will I know if you live? You won’t, he said simply. You’ll only know that you must keep your promise.
Eleanor felt the weight of the baby in her arms, heavier than anything she had ever carried. If what you say is true, they’ll search every house, every barn. Then let them search, he said. You’ve lost your husband to the war. They’ll think you harmless. Tell them nothing. Trust no one. She could barely breathe. And if they find him, he met her eyes. Pray they never do.
Before she could speak again, the man opened the door. Rain and wind surged in. The lantern flame guttered, and he vanished into the darkness. The sound of his horse’s hooves faded into the distance, swallowed by the storm. Elellanena stood there, the baby pressed to her chest, her mind a whirl of disbelief.
The fire flickered low, casting long shadows across the small room. She whispered to the child, “Hush now, little one. Whoever you are, you’re safe here.” The baby’s tiny fingers curled around her thumb as if in answer. She laid him by the hearth near the warmth and peeled back the silk to see his face.
The boy was perfect, cheeks flushed, hair like fine gold, eyes closed in peace. She had buried her own infant two years before. The sight pierced her heart with a grief she had tried to forget. Outside, thunder rumbled again. She went to the window. No lights moved in the distance, only the dark swell of trees and the silver gleam of rain. Yet she could not shake the feeling of being watched.
Hours passed before the storm began to ease. Elellanena fed the fire, then sat beside the cradle she had hurriedly made from a basket lined with linen. The baby slept soundly, untouched by the fear that gripped her. When the first pale light crept through the shutters, she heard it, the distant drumming of hooves.
She froze, voices followed, men shouting, dogs barking, soldiers. Elellanena gathered the baby, heart pounding. She hid the silk wrappings under the loose boards beneath her bed and wrapped the child in a rough wool blanket instead. The knocks came soon after, hard, official, relentless. Open in the king’s name. Her hands shook as she lifted the latch. Three soldiers stood outside, their cloak spattered with mud.
The tallest of them, a captain by his bearing, stepped forward. “We’re searching for a man and a child,” he said. “They were seen riding through this way.” Elellanena forced herself to look calm. A man. No one’s passed this road since yesterday. The bridge is flooded.
The captain’s eyes swept over her shoulder, taking in the single room, the hearth, the table, the basket by the fire. You live alone? I do, she said. My husband fell in the war. He nodded slowly, then gestured to the others. Check the barn. Elellanena’s heart slammed in her chest as the two soldiers moved past her toward the small outuilding. The captain lingered. “You have a kind face, Mrs. Witcom,” she said softly. “Ellanena Witum.
” He smiled without warmth. A quiet place for a woman alone. You’ve seen no strangers. Only the storm, sir. And she was fierce enough. The captain’s smile faded. He looked past her once more. The baby stirred faintly in the basket, a small sound escaping his lips. Elellanena stepped quickly between the captain and the cradle.
The wind plays tricks, she said. Even the rafters groaned tonight. The man’s eyes narrowed. For a moment, she thought he would push past her. Then the other soldiers returned, shaking their heads. “Nothing in the barn,” one said. The captain gave a short nod. “We’ll move on.” He looked at Elellanor one last time.
“If you see anything or anyone, you’ll report to the magistrate.” “I will, sir. They mounted their horses. As they rode off, Elellanena shut the door and pressed her back against it, breath shuddering out of her. The baby cried softly, and she gathered him up, whispering, “You mustn’t make a sound, little one. Not when the world is listening. For 2 days she kept to the house, afraid to fetch water or firewood.
But the storm had broken, and the silence outside felt heavier than the rain. On the third day, Margaret, the midwife from the village, came trudging up the path with her basket. “Nelitam, you’ve not been seen since the thunder,” she said as she stepped in. “Are you ill?” Ellena hesitated. Margaret was her oldest friend, but trust now felt dangerous. Still, she needed help. “Come in, Margaret.
There’s something you must see.” When Margaret leaned over the cradle, she went still. “Sweet heaven,” she whispered. That’s no orphan from these parts. Her fingers brushed the child’s cheek, then froze. That cloth? Where did you get it? Elellanena shook her head. Don’t ask me, Maggie. The less you know, the safer you’ll be.
The midwife’s eyes widened. What have you done? I did nothing. A man brought him to me in the storm. He said, “I must hide the child.” He said. She stopped, unable to finish. Margaret’s hand flew to her mouth. He said, “What?” Elellanena’s voice trembled. He said, “The boy is the future king.” Silence fell. Only the crackle of the fire filled the room. Margaret looked at her as though she’d spoken madness.
You cannot mean that. The queen’s child died. Everyone knows it. So they say,”Mar straightened. “Then that man was a traitor. And if the soldiers learn your harboring, I’ll not hand an innocent babe to their mercy,” Elellanena said firmly. “Whatever his birth, he’s mine now.” Margaret sank onto the stool.
Nell, you’ll hang if they find out. Then let me hang, Elellanena said quietly. I’ve buried one child already. I won’t lose another. The older woman bowed her head, then reached into her basket and pulled out a small silver cross. Take this, she murmured. If trouble comes, keep it close. It was blessed last Easter. Elellanena clasped it in her hand. Thank you, Maggie.
I’ll tell no one, Margaret said. But you must be careful. There are men who’d sell their souls for a rumor of that child. After Margaret left, Elellanena went to the table where the parish register lay open from years before. She dipped her pen, wrote in a new name beneath her own, and sealed it with the vicar’s unused stamp she had once been asked to keep. Thomas Witam, son of John and Elellanena Witam. It looked true enough.
As she finished, the wind outside shifted, carrying the sound of distant voices again, men riding, talking low. She hurried to shutter the windows, but something drew her toward the door. Through a narrow crack, she saw two figures on horseback near the edge of the clearing. One pointed toward her cottage, the other, taller, nodded.
Even from afar, she could sense the authority in his bearing. Their voices carried faintly through the trees. “The woman in the cottage,” one said, “Keep watch on her.” Elellanena’s blood turned cold. She pulled back from the door and snuffed out the lantern.
The baby stirred in the cradle, and she knelt beside him, whispering a prayer she barely remembered from childhood. Outside, the horses stamped and snorted. One rider dismounted, the crunch of boots on wet earth growing nearer. The cottage door creaked under the weight of his hand. The latch began to lift. The latch lifted slowly, and Elellanena’s breath stopped in her throat.
She held the baby close, her heartbeat loud in her ears. The door creaked open an inch, and a voice whispered her name. Elellanena, are you awake? Relief swept through her so fast she almost fell to her knees. Margaret. The door opened wider, and the midwife slipped inside, her shawl dripping from the mist outside. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, panting softly.
Forgive me for coming at this hour, Nell. I feared they might have come for you. Elellanena set the baby back into his cradle, her hands still trembling. I thought it was the soldiers. They were here before dawn. I know. Margaret’s face was pale under the flickering light. They’ve gone to the next village, but they’ll return.
Everyone’s whispering that a noble child vanished from the palace. Some say the queen’s own son. Eleanor poured a cup of warm milk for her friend and sat opposite her. You think it’s true? Margaret nodded slowly. They say the queen was ill after the birth and the infant was declared dead that same night.
But two of the palace guards disappeared and one of the royal nurses vanished too. The countryside’s crawling with soldiers. They’ll search every house that has a child under a year old. Elellanena looked down at the sleeping boy. His tiny hand had crept out from the blanket, reaching toward her even in his dreams. He’s only an infant, Maggie. What harm could come from letting him live? the kind of harm men make when crowns are at stake,” Margaret said softly. “If they suspect, they won’t ask questions first.” Elellanena looked toward the shuttered window. “Then I’ll
need a story. You’ll need a miracle,” Margaret answered and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a silver cross, small but gleaming. “Keep this with him.” “If anything happens, you’ll know where to go,” Elellanena frowned. “What do you mean? There’s a chapel beyond Ashford Hill,” Margaret said in a hushed voice.
The priest there served the queen’s confessor once. If all else fails, take the child there. Tell him Margaret sent you. Elellanena took the cross and closed it in her palm. God bless you, Maggie. I’ll not forget this. Margaret touched her cheek. You’ve always had courage, Nell. But courage is one thing, secrecy another.
Promise me you’ll tell no one about that man. I promise. Elellanena said no one will ever know. By morning the village was crawling with news. The baker’s wife said two more patrols had arrived from London. The blacksmith swore he saw royal colors flying at the edge of the forest.
Elellanena kept to her cottage, tending to her sheep and fetching water as if nothing had changed. The baby Thomas, she had decided to call him, slept most of the day, but every time thunder rolled, he would startle, and she would whisper, “Hush, little king. No storms shall harm you here.” A week later, Margaret returned with supplies and grim tidings. They’ve begun questioning families with infants, she said as she set down a basket of bread and herbs.
“The constable rides with them. He’ll reach this end of the forest by tomorrow.” Elellanena’s face went pale. Then I must be ready. “You’ll tell him the child’s your sisters,” Margaret said firmly. “You’ll say she died in childbirth and left him to you. You have that cousin’s letter from Kent. Use it as proof. Say she married a soldier who fell at sea. That will do.
Elellanena nodded. “And if they ask his name?” “Thomas Whitam,” Margaret said. “Your own name will shield him better than any lie.” Elellanena felt a tremor of hope. “Thomas Whitam,” she repeated softly. “It sounds right.” That evening she sat by the table, the parish register open before her.
She dipped her pen and wrote the name carefully into the space beneath her husband’s forging the ink to look years old. Thomas Witam, born to John and Elellanena Witam, the first day of March. She sealed it with the vicar’s unused stamp and blew out the candle. Just after midnight, she woke to the sound of hooves again. She crept to the window. The soldiers were gone, but another rider had come. A man in fine clothes, the gleam of metal at his belt.
He dismounted and approached her door, his steps slow, deliberate. Eleanor lifted the poker from the hearth and stood ready, heart pounding. The knock came, gentle, almost polite. “Mrs. Witcom,” a deep voice called. “A word, if you please.” She hesitated, then unlatched the door a little. “Who calls at such an hour?” The man removed his hat. “Forgive me, madam.
I am Sir Alaric of Witmore. I’ve been ordered to inspect every household in this parish. May I come in? His voice was calm, but his eyes held shadows. Elellanena stepped aside. If you must, he entered, glancing around with the practiced ease of a man who missed nothing. His gaze lingered on the cradle. You have a child.
My sister’s boy, she said evenly. She died last winter. He approached and looked down at the sleeping infant. The fire light caught a flicker of emotion across his face. Something like recognition. A fine child, he said softly. How old? 6 months. He studied her for a long moment. You seem nervous, Mrs. Witkim. Have the soldiers frightened you.
Wouldn’t they frighten anyone? She answered. He gave a faint smile. They frightened me as well, though I’m supposed to command them. She looked at him sharply. You command them? Only for a little while, he said as if it mattered little. Then he turned back to the child. What did you say his name was? Thomas. He nodded thoughtful. And his father? My sister’s husband. A sailor.
For a moment he looked ready to speak again, but instead he reached into his cloak and drew out a coin, placing it on the table. For the boy’s milk, he said, the world grows darker every day. An innocent child deserves warmth. Eleanor studied him as he left, the wind swirling around his cloak. There was something strange in his manner, something unspoken.
She felt sure he had not believed her story, and yet he had let it rest. When he was gone, she locked the door and pressed her back against it. The coin gleamed in the lantern light. It bore a faint mark she recognized, the same lion crest from the silk that had wrapped the child. By morning, she decided to bury the coin beneath the floorboards with the silk. Days passed in uneasy quiet.
The soldiers stopped their patrols for a while, though villagers spoke of new arrests closer to the city. Elellanena’s life slipped into a fragile rhythm of feeding, mending, watching. Each night she prayed that the man who had brought the baby would never return, that peace might come again.
Then one afternoon Margaret came running down the path, her face ashen. They’re back, she panted. The new captains come from London. He questions every house himself. Elellanena’s stomach twisted. What does he seek? They say he’s looking for the man you met, the traitor who stole the child. But he asks also about women who were seen helping travelers during the storm.
Then I must look harmless, Ellanena murmured. Margaret caught her hand. You’re brave, Nell, but promise me this. If the worst comes, take the child and flee to the chapel. Don’t wait for me. Elellanena embraced her friend tightly. I promise. That night she slept little. The next morning the captain came.
He was tall and young with sharp eyes and a manner too calm for a man used to shouting orders. He removed his gloves as he entered. Mrs. Witcom, I believe. Yes, sir. I’ve heard your husband died in the king’s service. He did. My condolences. He glanced around the cottage. You live alone? I have my sister’s child to care for. The captain crouched beside the cradle, and Elellanena’s breath caught.
The baby stirred and opened his eyes, blue and bright as summer. The captain smiled faintly. “He favors you.” “He does,” she said, her voice steady. He rose and studied her face for a long moment. “There are many tales in these woods. I hope none trouble you.” “Only the wind, sir.” He turned to go, but paused at the door.
“If you see strangers, anyone asking questions about the crown, send word to me. I’m quartered at the manor near the river. I will, Captain. When he left, Elellanena sank into the nearest chair, shaking. She had seen something in his eyes. A glimmer of curiosity not yet satisfied.
That evening, the storm clouds returned, heavy and dark as the wind moaned through the trees. Elellanena sat by the fire, rocking the baby. She hummed softly, her mind restless. The fire cast fleeting shapes across the walls, shadows that seem to move on their own. Suddenly, a knock came again, not sharp or desperate this time, but slow, deliberate, like the tapping of a clock. She froze.
The door creaked open a sliver before she could speak, and a voice came through. Deep measured the same calm tone as before. Mrs. Whitam, forgive the hour. Might we talk once more? Her heart lurched. The captain had returned.
She drew the blanket tighter around the baby and rose, unsure whether to hide him or face what must come. The lantern flickered as the wind pressed against the door. When she reached for the latch, she heard him say quietly, “I think we both know the truth about that child.” Elellanena’s hand stopped halfway to the door. The sound of his voice froze her where she stood.
The baby stirred in her arms, and she pressed him close, willing her hands not to tremble. The door creaked again, and the captain stepped inside without waiting for her invitation. His boots were damp, his cloak glistening from the rain. “Forgive my intrusion,” he said quietly. “I saw your candle still burning.” Elellanena forced her voice to remain calm. “You said we’d spoken enough, Captain.
What more is there to ask?” He removed his gloves and studied her face in the shifting fire light. “Only this. When you told me the child was your sisters, did you speak truthfully?” She met his gaze. I did. He stepped closer. You hesitated. I am a widow alone. I hesitate with every stranger who crosses my door. Something in her answer seemed to unsettle him. He glanced at the baby who blinked sleepily up at him.
He bears no resemblance to you, he murmured. Elellanena turned away. Nor did my husband’s cousin who left him to me. Families are like that. The captain studied her in silence, the fire crackling between them. Then he sighed. The queen’s household lies in ruins. Men whisper that a child was smuggled out the night she fell ill. Some think the tale is nonsense.
Others would kill to prove it true. “And which are you?” she asked. He looked at her for a long moment. “I’m a man tired of blood,” he said softly. “I’d rather see peace return to England than another hunt for ghosts.” Elellanena’s fingers tightened around the child. “Then let this ghost rest here.
” A faint smile touched his lips, though his eyes stayed weary. “You speak boldly, Mrs. Witam. I’ve little left to lose.” He nodded once and turned toward the door. “Keep the child close,” he said before leaving. “Storms have a habit of revealing what they should conceal. When he was gone, Elellanena sank onto the chair by the hearth.
The baby gurgled softly, as if unaware of the danger that hovered like mist around them. she whispered. He suspects my sweet, but not enough. Not yet. The following days passed in tense quiet. The soldiers left the village, though rumor said they would return before harvest. Eleanor resumed her daily work, hoping each sunrise might bring safety. But safety was a fragile thing.
One morning, as she drew water from the well, she noticed something carved into the damp wood, a symbol she recognized at once. the royal crest, small but unmistakable. Her stomach turned cold. The mark was fresh. Someone had been there in the night. She scanned the forest’s edge. The world seemed still, too.
Still, the air smelled of rain, and not a bird sang. Then, through the tangle of trees, she saw a glint of metal. Sunlight striking the tip of a blade or buckle. A rider sat motionless on a dark horse, watching her. Elellanena stood frozen, the bucket slipping from her hands and splashing into the mud. The rider did not move.
She backed away slowly until she reached the door, closed it quietly, and barred it. That night, she could not sleep. Each creek of the roof, each sigh of wind felt like footsteps. She kept the poker near her chair and watched the fire burn low. When dawn came, she saw hoof prints near the gate, fresh ones circling the cottage.
Margaret arrived soon after, bringing bread and a frightened look. They say the queen’s guard has split, she whispered. Half serve the new council, half hide the old secrets. Some want the air alive, others dead. Elellanena’s voice was tight. Someone’s marked my well. Margaret went pale. Then they know.
Or they’re warning me, Ellanena said. Perhaps that man who brought him still lives. Pray that he doesn’t, Margaret said sharply. If he returns, he’ll bring danger with him. But the words came too late. That evening, as the sun sank behind the trees, Elellanena heard the distant thud of hooves again, slow, unhurried, familiar. She stepped outside before fear could stop her.
The same cloaked figure who had appeared years ago rode out of the shadows. His horse, weary and mudstained, halted before her gate. Elellanena’s breath caught. “You.” He dismounted with difficulty, wincing as if injured. You kept him alive, he said horsely. Thank God. She stepped closer, searching his face. He was thinner now, older, his eyes haunted.
They said you were dead. I should be, he said with a grim smile. But death is choosy. It took better men first. Elellanena’s heart pounded. Why have you come back? If they find you here, they already search, he interrupted. That’s why I must see the boy. I have news you need. She hesitated, then opened the door and motioned him inside. He removed his cloak, revealing a bloodstained bandage at his side.
She fetched water and cloth, but he waved her away. Later, listen to me, Eleanor. The queen lies dying. The council will move against her before dawn. If she falls, the child’s life will mean everything or nothing. Elellanena stared at him. He’s only a child. Why must his life matter so much to men who’ve never even seen him? Because he is proof, the man said, proof that the crown was stolen.
Proof that the old line endures. If he lives, England will have a king again. If he dies, a usurper will sit in his place. She sank into the chair, her voice barely a whisper. You ask me to keep protecting him. But where can I hide him now? He leaned forward, gripping her hand. There’s one man you may trust. The new captain who came here, Lord Nathaniel Harrow. He’s no friend to the council.
If I fail to return, take the child to him. Elellanena’s eyes widened. The captain? Yes. Tell him you have the queen’s heir. He will know what to do. Before she could answer, a noise outside made them both freeze. The faint echo of hooves again, closer this time. The man rose painfully and moved to the window. “They followed me,” he whispered. “I led them straight here.” Elellanena’s pulse quickened. “You must leave.
” He turned toward her, his expression bleak. If I ride, they’ll catch me within the hour. But if they find me here, she shook her head fiercely. No, not again. I won’t let another die at my door. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his eyes softening. You’ve more courage than any soldier I’ve known.
I’m no soldier, she said. You are tonight, he answered. He drew a small sealed envelope from inside his coat and pressed it into her hand. If I fall, give this to Harrow. Promise me, Elellanena. I promise, she whispered. He smiled faintly. Then whatever happens, you’ve already saved the crown. The baby began to cry.
The sound was sharp and small, slicing through the tense silence. The man looked toward the cradle, then back at her. “He has his mother’s voice,” he said softly. Before she could ask what he meant, there came a shout from outside. Torches flared beyond the trees. The man’s eyes met hers. They found me. Hide him. Hide yourself. Elellanena caught his sleeve. Go through the back. He shook his head. They’ll be watching.
If they take me, they might leave you be. He moved to the door, drawing his cloak tight. Whatever you hear, do not come out. Do you understand? She wanted to stop him, to plead, but he was already gone. The night swallowed him whole. From the window she saw torches darting among the trees, voices rising, then silence. Then the sound of a single horse galloping hard into the distance. The child whimpered.
Elellanena gathered him close, whispering his new name. Thomas! Thomas! Hush! Now! Her tears fell onto his blanket. The next morning, the forest was quiet again, too quiet. The road outside her gate bore the marks of many hooves and a dark stain where rain pulled red. She stood in the doorway holding the baby, knowing without needing to ask that the man who’d brought him would never return.
When Margaret came later that day, Elellanena told her nothing. She only said, “We must prepare. They’ll come again soon.” Margaret nodded grimly. “Then you’d best decide whom you can trust.” “That night,” Elellanena placed the sealed letter inside the floorboard beneath the cradle.
She sat by the fire, rocking the child and listening to the restless wind outside. Hours passed, the embers dimmed. Then came another sound, hooves again, slower, deliberate, a single rider. She stood, heart hammering. Through the window she saw the faint glow of a lantern, and then a familiar figure dismounted before the gate.
The captain, Lord Nathaniel Harrow, walked toward her door with measured steps, his face half shadowed by the light he carried. Elellanena felt her blood turn cold. She had no strength left for lies. He stopped before the door and called softly, “Mrs. Whitam, forgive my late visit. There are questions that cannot wait until morning.” She closed her eyes for a moment, whispering a prayer she barely remembered.
Then she reached for the latch, knowing that the moment she opened the door, her world would never be the same again. The latch lifted with a small click, and as she pulled the door open, Lord Nathaniel’s eyes met hers, sharp and knowing. Tell me, Mrs. Whitam, he said quietly.
Who is that boy really? Eleanor stood frozen, one hand gripping the doorframe. The lantern light between them flickered against the wind, painting shadows across Nathaniel’s face. His tone wasn’t cruel, not even accusing, just certain. He already knew. She drew a steady breath. You’ve come to ask what you already suspect. Nathaniel stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
Suspicions are not truth, but I must have the truth now, Mrs. Witcom. She looked toward the cradle where the child slept. “And if I tell you, what will you do with it?” “That depends on what you say,” he answered. Elellanena moved slowly, keeping her body between him and the baby. “I have nothing to hide that would harm a child.
” Nathaniel removed his gloves, setting them on the table. “That’s not true. You’re hiding something that could alter the crown.” His eyes softened. I’m not here to condemn you, but others will come soon, and they won’t ask as gently. She hesitated. You speak like a man torn between duty and pity. He smiled faintly. You’re not wrong. He glanced around the cottage, the modest walls, the threadbear curtains.
I expected to find treason in fine houses, not a cradle beside a poor woman’s hearth. The words pierced her. Treason, she repeated. Is love treason now? Nathaniel’s voice lowered. Love has little to do with it. This is politics. If that child is who I think he is, you hold the key to England’s peace or its ruin.
Elellanena turned to face him fully. Then perhaps you should decide whether you serve peace or power, my lord. He blinked at the title. You know my rank. I hear things, she said. Villagers talk when soldiers drink. He studied her for a long moment. Then you must also know I cannot simply walk away from what I suspect.
She drew closer, her eyes fierce. And yet you haven’t drawn your sword. Why? He hesitated. Because you remind me of something I once believed in. Because when I look at you, I see someone who has already given more to duty than I ever have. Elellanena’s voice trembled. You’ve no idea what duty has cost me. Then tell me, he said. The fire cracked softly between them. At last, she spoke.
Years ago, a man came here in the storm. He carried a child wrapped in silk marked with the royal crest. He said the boy was the queen’s son, the future king, and that I must hide him or watch him die. That’s all I know. Nathaniel’s breath caught, though his face remained composed. And you believed him? I didn’t at first, but soldiers came before dawn.
They searched the house, the barns, the fields. They asked of a missing infant. And I realized then that belief didn’t matter. The child was real enough. Nathaniel turned away, running a hand through his hair. “Good God,” he murmured. “You’ve kept him all these years. I raised him as my own. He calls me mother.” He faced her again.
“And you’ve told no one? Only one woman, a friend I trust, as I trust my own heart.” Nathaniel’s jaw tightened. “You understand what danger that man placed upon you? I understand I could have refused, but I didn’t. What else could I do? Let them take an infant to his death. He looked at her for a long time, his expression unreadable.
You risked your life for a child not your own. Why? Because I’d lost one, she said quietly. And I swore no child under my roof would die again. Nathaniel’s eyes softened, and he exhaled slowly. “You’ve done more for this kingdom than half its nobles.” “Then will you betray me to them?” she asked. He shook his head.
No, I’ll protect you for as long as I can. Her breath shivered. Why? Because I’m tired of being loyal to men who’ve forgotten what loyalty means. For a moment, neither spoke. The baby stirred, sighing in his sleep. Nathaniel looked down at him. “He has her eyes,” he said softly. Elellanor frowned. “Who’s the late queens? I saw her once as a boy.
The same blue, clear, and questioning.” Eleanor swallowed hard. If he truly is her son, what will happen to him now? That depends on who reaches him first, Nathaniel said. There are those in London who would keep him hidden, others who would use him, and some who would see him gone forever.
She looked toward the shuttered window. They’ll come here again, won’t they? Yes. And soon. Then we must run. He shook his head. Running will only draw attention. We must be cleverer than that. Elellanena drew closer. We he met her eyes. You’ll not face this alone. She hesitated. You would risk your position for me.
For the truth, he said, and perhaps for something else, he said no more, but the silence between them deepened, charged with something neither could name. The rain outside softened to a whisper. At length, Nathaniel took a step back. I’ll return to the garrison and delay the next search.
If anyone asks, I found nothing unusual here. You’ll have a few days at most. Elellanena’s hands trembled. And after that, I’ll come back, he said, with a plan. She wanted to believe him, though her heart whispered otherwise. And if you don’t, then hide the child as you did before. But keep faith, Mrs. Witam. I will come. He put on his gloves again and opened the door. Rain blew in cold and sharp.
Lock your door after me, he said. She nodded, and he left without another word. For a long while, Elellanena stood where he’d been, staring at the empty doorway. Then she shut the bolt and leaned her forehead against the wood. Days passed in uneasy quiet.
The soldiers rode past without stopping, and she dared to hope Nathaniel had kept his promise. The village settled into its rhythm again, and for the first time in months she slept through the night. Then one morning the postrider came to her door with a sealed message marked by the royal crest. Elellanena’s heart leapt. She broke the wax with shaking fingers. The note was brief, written in Nathaniel’s firm hand.
They suspect I must return to London at once, burn this letter, and trust no one until I send word. The paper trembled in her grip. She held it to the fire and watched it curl into ash. That evening Margaret came, her face pale and tight. Now there’s talk in the tavern. Word from the capital. They say a nobleman named Harrow is to be recalled for questioning. Some accuse him of treason.
Elellanena’s pulse thudded. Treason? They say he aided a woman hiding a royal child. They say her name is unknown. Elellanena felt the ground tilt beneath her. He’ll hang if they find proof. Margaret’s voice broke. And so will you. Elellanena looked down at the sleeping boy. His curls glowed gold in the firelight, innocent, untouched by fear.
I must keep him safe, no matter the cost. Where will you go? Margaret asked. I don’t know yet, Ellanena hesitated. But if Nathaniel cannot return, I’ll go to London myself. Are you mad? They’d arrest you the moment you stepped into the city. Perhaps, Elellanena said softly. But I’ll not let him face their wroth alone.
He risked his life for hours. Margaret gripped her arm. Then wait a little longer. If he lives, he’ll find a way to reach you. He seems the sort who keeps his word. Elellanar smiled faintly. He is. But even as she spoke, the wind outside shifted, and she heard again the sound she dreaded. The thunder of distant hooves. Margaret looked toward the window. “It’s too soon for another patrol.
” Ellena’s blood ran cold. She blew out the lamp, plunging the room into shadow. “Take Thomas,” she whispered. “Go to the cellar.” Margaret lifted the child while Elellanena moved to the door. The sound grew louder. Lanterns glimmered between the trees. Five, maybe six riders. A fist struck the door.
By order of the crown, open immediately. Margaret’s eyes were wide with terror. They’ve come for him. Elellanena forced her voice to stay steady. Hide now. She unbarred the door and faced the light spilling in from the torches. A tall soldier stepped forward, his cloak bearing the royal insignia. We’re here for Lord Harrows accomplice, he said.
The woman who harbored a traitor and concealed the queen’s son. Elellanena met his gaze. Then you’ve come to the wrong house. The soldier’s eyes flicked past her shoulder toward the cradle by the fire. Search it, he ordered. Boots thundered through her home. She prayed they wouldn’t lift the cellar hatch. Each heartbeat felt like a blade poised above her.
Moments later, one of the men reappeared, shaking his head. Nothing here, Captain. The officer frowned. Keep watch on her cottage. If she’s hiding something, she’ll slip before long. He turned to leave, and Elellanena’s knees nearly gave out. The door shut, and the sound of hooves faded once more into the night.
She rushed to the cellar, pulling open the trap door. Margaret sat there in the dim light, holding Thomas close. Both were trembling. “They’re gone,” Eleanor whispered. Margaret’s eyes filled with tears. “Not for long. Next time they’ll bring the gallows.” Eleanor gathered the child in her arms. Then we must pray Nathaniel keeps his promise and comes back soon.
But before she could speak again, the faint echo of another horse sounded outside. Slow, solitary, deliberate. Margaret’s face went pale. Dear heaven, not again. Elellanena moved to the window, her heart in her throat. Through the mist, a single rider approached the gate. The horse was dark, the rider cloaked. The wind carried a voice she knew too well.
Elellanar. Her breath caught. Nathaniel. He dismounted his face grave in the moonlight and stepped toward her door. She lifted the latch with trembling hands. Nathaniel’s voice was low. We have no time. They know everything. And behind him she saw the glint of another lantern in the trees and the shapes of men closing in.
The night was thick with fog, the forest nothing but shifting shapes and muffled hooves. Eleanor held Thomas close as Nathaniel pulled her inside, his cloak dripping rain on the floorboards, his eyes once calm now burned with urgency. “They followed me,” he said. “You must leave, Elellanena.” “Tonight.
” Margaret stepped out from the shadows of the cellar, clutching the silver cross at her neck. “Leave? Where can she go? They’ve sealed the roads.” Nathaniel turned to her. “Then she must go where roads do not matter. The woods have old paths that the king’s men have long forgotten. Elellanena’s voice broke through his rush of words. How did they find out? There are spies in London, Nathaniel said.
Someone read the letter I sent you. The council knows you hold the child. They mean to seize him before dawn. Elellanena’s heart clenched. Then all is lost. Not yet, he said sharply. Listen to me. I’ve arranged a carriage waiting 2 mi south by the Ashford ruins. It will take you to the abbey beyond the marshes.
The abbis there is loyal to the late queen. You’ll be safe. She stared at him, uncertain whether to believe or fear him. And you? What will you do? He looked toward the window where faint lights flickered through the trees. I’ll delay them. It’s the only way. Margaret stepped forward. No, my lord. They’ll kill you. They won’t.
Not until they have answers. And I’ll give them none. Eleanor shook her head fiercely. You’ve done enough. I won’t let you sacrifice yourself. Nathaniel turned to her, his voice low and steady. You gave up everything for that child. Let me do this much. He crossed the room, knelt beside the cradle, and looked down at Thomas. He’ll never remember this night, he said.
But one day, when truth returns to England, he’ll know who kept it alive. The baby stirred, his tiny hand curling around Nathaniel’s finger. Elellanena felt tears sting her eyes. “He trusts you already,” she whispered. Nathaniel looked up at her, his expression softening. “Do you?” “Yes,” she said. “And that frightens me more than all the soldiers in the world.
” He rose, pulling a folded parchment from his coat. “Keep this,” he said, handing it to her. “It bears the queen’s crest. It will prove his lineage if ever you must.” Elellanena took it with shaking hands. How did you I found it in the archives before they recalled me. I wasn’t sure until I saw his eyes. There’s no doubt now. She pressed the parchment to her chest. You risked your life for this.
For you both, he said simply. Margaret opened the door a crack and peered into the night. They’re close. The torches are moving through the lower woods. Nathaniel turned to Ellanena. There’s a path behind the barn through the hollow stream bed. Follow it west until the marsh begins. You’ll see the ruins of a chapel. From there, ride hard to the abbey.
Elellanena hesitated, gripping Thomas tighter. And if we’re caught, don’t be. The sound of voices outside broke through the rain. Nathaniel drew a deep breath. It’s time. Margaret touched Elellanena’s arm. Go, Nell. I’ll stay and stall them. Elellanena stared at her friend. No, you can’t. But Margaret’s eyes held the same quiet strength Elellanena had once seen in her husband before he went to war.
Every child deserves someone to fight for them. Tonight he has two. Elellanena kissed her cheek. God keep you. Nathaniel pushed open the back door, motioning for her to follow. The night air was thick and cold. They slipped into the dark, the baby quiet against her shoulder. Behind them, the glow of torches grew brighter.
They ran without words, their feet sinking into the wet earth. The forest closed around them like a black sea, branches snatching at Elellanena’s cloak. Nathaniel kept ahead, glancing back often to be sure she followed. The rain began again, heavy and cold, masking their footsteps.
At last, they reached the hollow where the stream once ran. Nathaniel stopped, listening. They’re spreading out. We must hurry. Elellanena looked over her shoulder. Through the trees, a faint orange glow flickered. Her cottage was burning. She stopped in shock. No. Nathaniel caught her hand. You can’t go back. But Margaret, she knew the risk. His voice broke slightly.
Come, we’re almost there. They pressed on until the trees thinned and the outline of ruined stone appeared ahead. The old chapel stood half sunken, its roof long gone, but its bell tower still rose like a finger pointing toward heaven. The carriage waited beyond it, two horses restless in the rain.
A cloaked driver held the res, nodding at Nathaniel as they approached. “She’s ready,” the man said. Nathaniel lifted Elellanena up, helping her and the child into the covered seat. “You’ll ride until the road bends east, then follow the trail markers until you see the abbey lights.” Elellanena looked down at him, her voice unsteady. “You’re not coming. I’ll lead them elsewhere,” he said.
“If they catch me, they’ll stop searching the woods.” She reached for his hand. “Nathaniel, please. You don’t have to do this. He looked up at her, rain streaking his face. I’ve done little else worth remembering. Let me end that. The baby whimpered. Ellena pressed her lips to his head and whispered, “Sleep my heart.
Sleep for the dawn.” Then she looked back at Nathaniel. “If we live through this, promise me one thing, anything. Don’t let your life end in darkness. Find your way back to light.” His expression softened into something almost tender. You’ve already given me more of that than I deserve.
The driver cracked the rains and the carriage jolted forward. Elellanena leaned out, her eyes fixed on Nathaniel until the mist swallowed him. The forest blurred past. The baby slept, his small face serene despite the thunder of wheels. Each turn of the road felt endless. At last the driver called back, “We’re near the marsh.
” But before she could answer, a shout rose from behind them. Men’s voices closer than she’d feared. Lanterns flickered through the trees. The driver cursed under his breath. “They found us!” Elellanena clutched Thomas to her chest. “Keep going!” Arrows of light from the torches darted nearer. The horses strained, hooves slipping on wet ground.
The driver turned the carriage sharply down a narrow trail. Branches lashed the sides, tearing at the canopy. “Hold tight!” he shouted. The path opened suddenly onto a clearing where the ruins loomed again. A circle of crumbling stone and wild ivy. The driver pulled hard on the rain, stopping the horses.
The marsher heads flooded. He said, “We can’t cross.” Eleanor looked around wildly. “Then where?” The man pointed toward the bell tower. “There’s an old crypt below it. You can hide there till dawn.” He jumped down and opened the door. “Go. I’ll draw them away.
” Before she could thank him, he was gone, his lantern swinging as he vanished into the trees. Elellanena hurried to the tower, clutching Thomas. Rain dripped from the stones like tears. She found the narrow stair leading below and descended into the cool darkness. The air was damp, filled with the scent of earth and time. She wrapped the baby in her cloak and held him close, listening.
Above the wind howled through the broken tower, then voices again. Closer. She pressed herself against the wall, barely breathing. The sound of boots on stone echoed overhead. Then a hand touched her shoulder. She gasped and turned. Nathaniel stood there soaked and pale, his eyes blazing. You shouldn’t be here, she whispered. I lost them in the woods, he said. I couldn’t leave you. Tears filled her eyes.
They burned the house. I know. His voice was quiet. I saw the smoke. I’m sorry. She reached for him and he caught her hand, holding it tightly. We’ll wait here till dawn, he said. Then we’ll move on together.
She wanted to speak, but before she could, the echo of footsteps sounded above again, heavier this time, deliberate. Nathaniel’s grip tightened. “Stay behind me,” he whispered. The baby stirred, a soft cry breaking the silence. The footsteps stopped. A voice called down the stair, low and cold. “Lord Harrow, the council sends its thanks. Now hand over the woman and the child. Nathaniel’s face hardened. They found us. The lantern light from above spilled across the crypt floor.
Elellanena clutched the baby, her heart hammering as the first shadow appeared on the stair. The shadow on the stair paused, the glint of a sword catching the faint lantern light. Elellanena backed away, clutching Thomas to her chest, her breath quick and shallow. Nathaniel stepped forward, his arm outstretched protectively. Stay behind me. he murmured. The man above spoke again, his tone almost polite.
Lord Harrow, there’s no need for this heroism. The council merely seeks to reclaim what belongs to the crown. Nathaniel’s voice was steady. The crown belongs to him. You’re not here on royal orders. You’re here to erase the truth. A soft laugh echoed down the stair. Truth is a luxury, my lord. Power is what remains.
Two more figures appeared behind the first. Nathaniel’s jaw clenched. He scanned the walls, searching for a way out, but the crypt had none. Elellanor whispered, “There’s nowhere to run.” “Then we don’t run,” he said quietly. “We stall them,” he stepped forward, his voice raised. “Tell me, whose command do you follow now? The queen still breathes. Or do you serve those who poisoned her?” The leader’s smile was thin.
“We serve England as we always have. Step aside. I will not. Then you’ll die a traitor. Nathaniel moved suddenly, knocking the lantern from the man’s hand. It fell, flames scattering across the damp stone. The small blaze threw wild shadows as the men cursed and stumbled. He seized Elellanena’s arm. Go up the other stair there. Elellanena ran, clutching the baby tight.
The narrow steps twisted upward through the tower. Behind her, shouts filled the crypt. Boots striking stone. Nathaniel followed close, his breath harsh in the echoing dark. They burst into the ruined chapel above. Rain poured through the broken roof, lightning flashing across the sky. Elellanena turned, trembling. They’ll be on us in moments. Nathaniel caught her hand. The horses are gone.
We’ll have to reach the river. She stared at him. The marsh will drown us before we get there. Better the river than their mercy. Another crash below told them the soldiers had reached the stair. Without another word, they ran into the night. The rain stung like needles, the wind tearing at Elellanena’s cloak.
The ground grew soft beneath their feet, the air heavy with the scent of wet reads. Behind them came the faint glow of torches weaving through the trees like restless ghosts. Nathaniel led the way, his voice barely audible above the storm. Keep to the left bank. There’s an old foot bridge ahead. The baby whimpered, frightened by the thunder.
Elellanena whispered soothingly, but her heart pounded with every step. “He’s crying,” she said. “They’ll hear him.” Nathaniel slowed, his expression grim. “Then we pray the storm is louder.” The path narrowed between two great oaks. Lightning illuminated the bridge, a narrow, sagging stretch of wood across the swollen stream.
Nathaniel crossed first, testing each step. “Quickly, Elellanena,” she followed, gripping the rope rail with one hand, the baby with the other. Halfway across, one of the planks cracked under her foot. She froze. “Don’t move,” Nathaniel called. “Hold to the side. The plank gave way.” She slipped, crying out as her foot plunged into the rushing water below. Nathaniel lunged forward, catching her arm. “I’ve got you.
” The baby began to cry again, his voice lost in the storm. Nathaniel pulled her up, dragging her across the last few boards until they reached the far bank. She collapsed against him, trembling. He brushed the wet hair from her face. “You’re safe. For how long?” she whispered. Before he could answer, shouts rose behind them.
The soldiers had reached the bridge. One voice cut through the rain. “There, they’re crossing,” Nathaniel cursed under his breath. “They’re faster than I thought.” He looked around, scanning the darkness. The marsh stretched ahead, the ground uneven but open. “We’ll lose them in the mist. Follow me.” They ran again, water splashing up from the ground.
The fog thickened, curling around them like smoke. Behind the voices grew fainter, swallowed by distance and the roar of the rain. At last, Nathaniel slowed, breathing hard. “I think we’ve lost them,” Elellanena sank to her knees, holding Thomas close. “He’s cold,” she said softly. “So cold!” Nathaniel shrugged off his cloak and wrapped it around the child. “The abbey’s near,” he said. “I remember this ground.
There should be a path of stones ahead. They moved carefully now, each step sinking into the wet earth. The rain eased, replaced by a low mist glowing faintly in the moonlight. The world seemed eerily still after the chase. Eleanor looked up. What if the abbey won’t take us? They will, he said firmly. The mother superior owes her life to the queen. She’ll protect him. Elellanena glanced at him.
And you? Who will protect you? He smiled faintly. I’ll manage. She shook her head. You’ve risked everything for us. Why? He hesitated, his voice low. Because when I saw you that first night, “Standing in your doorway with that child in your arms, I remembered what honor should mean.” Elellanena met his gaze, her breath catching. And what does it mean now? That some lives are worth more than titles or crowns.
For a moment they stood still in the quiet rain, the weight of his words hanging between them. Then a sound broke through the silence. hooves, faint but unmistakable, coming from the north. Nathaniel turned sharply. They’ve split their forces. We must move. The mist parted to reveal a faint light ahead. A lantern swinging gently near a wall of stone. The abbey.
Relief flooded Elellanena’s heart. We’re here, she whispered. They reached the gate just as the lantern’s bearer appeared. A tall woman in a dark cloak. Her voice was calm, certain. Who seeks refuge? Nathaniel stepped forward. Friends of the queen, we bear her legacy. The woman’s gaze fell on the child. And she nodded. Come, you’re safe within these walls. Elellanena nearly wept with relief.
The gates creaked open, and the three slipped inside. The abbey courtyard was silent, save for the rain dripping from the eaves. A few sisters hurried forward, taking the horses re and guiding them to shelter. The mother superior herself came to meet them. Her face kind but grave. Lord Harrow. I feared the worst. You still might, he said quietly.
The council knows. They’ll come for him soon. The mother looked down at the baby who had begun to stir. Then they will meet the hand of God before they touch a hair on his head. Elellanena bowed her head. Bless you, Reverend Mother. We’ve nowhere else to turn. You have done what few would dare, the woman said. You’ve kept hope alive.
If rest now you’re safe here. Two sisters led Elellanena to a small chamber lit by a single candle. She laid Thomas in a cradle beside the narrow bed and sank down exhausted. Nathaniel remained by the door watching her silently. Elellanena looked up at him. Will you stay? For tonight, he said, “Tomorrow I must ride back to London.” Her eyes widened.
“No, they’ll hang you perhaps,” he said. “But if I don’t return, they’ll send more men here. I can’t let them reach you. She rose and crossed the small room to him. You’ll die for us. He shook his head. Not if I can help it. Elellanena reached for his hand. Nathaniel, there must be another way.
There isn’t, he said softly. But if I live, I’ll come back. Her voice trembled. How will I know if you do? He smiled faintly. You’ll hear the sound of hooves outside your door as you did the night this began. He turned to leave, but she caught his arm. Wait. When he faced her, she rose on her toes and kissed his cheek, her voice a whisper. Then I’ll pray for the sound of hooves every night.
Nathaniel’s throat tightened. He touched her hand once more, then stepped into the corridor and was gone. Elellanena stood there long after the door closed, listening to the fading echo of his footsteps. The mother superior appeared in the doorway. “He’s gone?” “Yes,” Eleanor said softly. Then we must pray he returns.
Outside the rain finally stopped. The abbey bells told softly in the distance, their sound calm against the quiet night. Elellanar looked down at her sleeping child. His tiny hand rested over the silver cross Margaret had left her. She whispered, “You’re safe now, my heart. Safe at last.
” But far beyond the abbey walls, in the darkness of the forest, another sound began to rise. The rhythmic thunder of hooves returning. The hooves drew closer through the night mist, steady and sure. Inside the abbey walls, the sisters extinguished their lanterns. Elellanena rose from the bed, heart racing.
She moved to the window, parting the curtain just enough to see the courtyard below. A single rider approached through the gate, his cloak streamed with rain, his horse trembling with exhaustion. She held her breath. For one terrible moment, she thought it might be the soldiers, but then the rider looked up toward her window, and the faint light caught his face.
Nathaniel. Elellanena rushed to the door, pulling her shawl tight around her shoulders. By the time she reached the courtyard, the gates were closing behind him. He swung down from the saddle, his boots striking the cobblestones. His face was pale, his eyes shadowed with fatigue. “You came back,” she whispered.
I had no choice, he said softly. They killed the messenger I sent ahead. The council knows the queen is dead. Elellanena’s breath caught. Dead? He nodded. She died two nights passed. Her last letter was meant for me, but it never reached my hands. Someone stole it. Now the kingdom is divided, and every faction claims the throne. If we don’t act, the boy will be lost in the struggle.
Elellanar glanced toward the abbey door where the faint sound of Thomas’s crying echoed within. “He’s just a child. How can anyone place so much weight upon him?” “Because his name carries power,” Nathaniel said. “Power men will kill for the mother superior appeared in the doorway, her voice calm but commanding. My lord, come inside.
The rain will not wait, and neither will those who hunt you.” Nathaniel followed her into the Aby’s small council room, Elellanena close behind. The stone walls flickered with candle light. Maps and letters lay scattered across the table. “The mother gestured for Nathaniel to speak.” “Sir Alaric is dead,” he began.
“They found his body by the river, but before he died, he sent word to an ally in London, a confession signed by the queen herself. “It declares the boy as her rightful heir. I have that document now.” Ellena’s eyes widened. then he has proof.
Yes, Nathaniel said, “But if I present it without allies, they’ll call it forgery and silence me as they silenced all Alaric.” The mother folded her hands. “Then you must gather support. The House of Lords will listen if they believe the Queen’s hand guided your cause. I cannot do it alone,” Nathaniel said. His eyes met Elellanena’s. “I need you both. The sight of the child will do what words cannot.” Elellanena felt the world tilt.
You mean to bring him to London? It’s the only way, he said. We go at dawn. The council meets in 3 days to name a new ruler. If we arrive before then, we can stop it. The mother’s brow furrowed. It’s madness. The roads are dangerous. The capital is crawling with spies. Nathaniel’s tone was firm.
If we stay, they’ll come here next. There’s no hiding forever. Elellanena looked down, torn between fear and duty. If we fail, he dies. If we succeed, he’ll lose me anyway. Nathaniel stepped closer. Hell never lose you. You’ll always be the woman who saved him. The mother rose. Then so be it. At dawn, you ride for London. I’ll prepare provisions and blessings. Elellanena nodded weakly, her heart heavy.
That night she could not sleep. She sat by Thomas’s cradle, watching the soft rise and fall of his breath. Nathaniel came quietly to the doorway. “You should rest,” he said. “I can’t.” He stepped into the room, his voice low. “You’re thinking of what comes after.” “Yes,” she said. “He’ll be a king and I’ll be no one again.” Nathaniel knelt beside her. “Don’t believe that. He’ll be the man your courage made.
” She looked at him, her voice breaking. “And what will you be?” He smiled faintly. “Whatever you wish me to be.” She turned away, unable to answer. The candles burned low, their light soft and trembling. Outside, the first pale glow of dawn crept through the window. When morning came, the abbey gate opened quietly.
Nathaniel mounted his horse. Thomas cradled in Elellanena’s arms as she climbed into the carriage. The mother superior blessed them with a cross drawn in the misted air. Go with God, and may the truth ride faster than lies. They set out along the old north road. For hours they rode through gray fields and sleeping villages.
No soldiers followed, at least none they could see. Nathaniel rode ahead, scouting every turn, every hill. At midday they stopped in a small cops of trees. Elellanena fed Thomas while Nathaniel checked the horses. How far to London? She asked. 2 days if the weather holds. And if it doesn’t, he smiled grimly. Then three.
The road was quiet until dusk. Then, as they neared the old milestone at Brier Hill, Nathaniel rained in sharply. A cart lay overturned across the path, its wheels broken. He motioned for silence. Eleanor leaned out of the carriage. “An accident?” “No,” he said. “An ambush!” As if summoned by the word, four men stepped from the woods, rough riders with the look of mercenaries.
One held a torch, the others carried clubs. Their leader smirked. Evening, my lord. Traveling light, are we? Nathaniel’s hand went to the hilt of his sword, though his voice stayed calm. Stand aside. There’s nothing here worth your trouble. The man’s grin widened. That carriage says otherwise. Orders from London say any noble traveling north is fair game.
Elellanena tightened her hold on the child. Nathaniel edged his horse forward, blocking the men’s view of the carriage. You’ll find no coin here, he said. The leader shrugged. Coin child. It’s all the same. We’ll have a look inside. He raised his hand.
Before the men could move, Nathaniel spurred his horse forward, striking the leader with the flat of his blade. The man stumbled back, shouting. The others lunged, but Nathaniel’s horse reared, scattering them. “Go!” he shouted to the driver. The carriage lurched forward, wheels skidding in the mud. Eleanor clutched Thomas as the road twisted beneath them. behind. She heard Nathaniel’s horse pounding the ground, shouts echoing through the trees.
The carriage rattled wildly, but the driver kept his grip. Hold on, Mom. Branches whipped past the air thick with rain and dirt. Then a new sound, a single shot, rang out behind them. Elellanena screamed, turning, but through the storm she saw Nathaniel still upright, chasing the men off the road. Moments later, he galloped beside the carriage again.
His face was pale, but he managed to smile. “Still breathing.” Elellanena’s voice shook. “You’re mad?” “Possibly,” he said. “But we’re alive.” By nightfall, they reached a small inn by the crossroads. The inkeeper, an old woman with sharp eyes, said nothing when Nathaniel showed her his seal. She led them to a room above the stables.
Elellanena laid Thomas in the small bed, exhausted. Nathaniel poured water into a basin, washing blood from a shallow cut on his arm. She saw it and frowned. You’re hurt. It’s nothing. She took the cloth from him and cleaned the wound gently. You call this nothing. He watched her, his voice low. You have a gentler hand than most queens. She shook her head. Don’t speak of queens.
I’ve had enough of them to last a lifetime. He smiled faintly. Then speak of something else. Speak of what you’ll do when this is over. Eleanor looked down at the sleeping child. If he lives to wear a crown, I’ll disappear. That’s what protectors do. They vanish once the danger is gone. Nathaniel’s voice was soft. And if I won’t let you vanish. She met his gaze, startled.
Then you’d be a fool. Then I’ll be a fool, he said. The silence that followed was heavy but not painful. Outside rain began again, steady and soft. Elellanena turned toward the window. You think we’ll make it? We will, Nathaniel said, because we must. They left before dawn, the inkeeper watching them go with knowing eyes.
The road ahead grew wider, the air filled with the noise of wagons and travelers heading toward the city. By evening the towers of London rose in the distance, veiled in mist. Nathaniel rained in his horse beside the riverbank. “Well stay at my estate on the outskirts tonight,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll go before the council.
” Elellanena nodded, though her hands trembled. And after after we pray the truth is enough. The city’s gates loomed ahead. Guards in crimson cloak stopped them demanding names. Nathaniel produced his seal, his tone commanding, “Lord Harrow, returning under royal summons.” The guard hesitated, then stepped aside. The carriage rolled through the gates, the sound of hooves echoing against the cobblestones.
Elellanena looked out at the dark streets, the faint light of lanterns flickering in narrow alleys. “So this is where kings are made,” she murmured. “And where they fall,” Nathaniel said. They reached his townhouse near the river. Inside servants hurried to light fires and bring food.
The warmth was a blessing after days of rain, but Elellanena could not rest. She laid Thomas in the nursery and turned to Nathaniel. “What will happen tomorrow?” “Well go to Westminster. I’ll show them the queen’s letter and present the child. And if they refuse to believe, then I’ll make them. Eleanor touched his arm. Nathaniel promised me. If anything happens, you’ll save him first.
He looked at her for a long moment. And you? I’ll manage, she said with a small, brave smile. He drew closer. You always do. A knock came at the door below. Nathaniel stiffened. Stay here. She froze. Who is it? I don’t know. He descended the stairs quietly, hand near the dagger at his belt.
Voices murmured in the hall, one calm, another sharp and urgent. Then a servant called up, his tone uneasy. My lord, there’s a man here. He says his name is Allaric. Eleanor’s breath caught. Allaric. Nathaniel turned toward the stairs, disbelief in his face. He’s dead. The servant looked pale. Then, my lord, it’s his ghost or someone who claims to be him. He says he’s come for the boy. Nathaniel’s hand froze on the banister.
The name hung in the air like a ghost. All Alaric. It was impossible. He had seen the man’s seal on the letter, seen the reports of his death. He glanced up the stairs where Elellanena stood, pale and still. “Stay there,” he said quietly. She shook her head. Nathaniel, if it’s him, if it’s him, he’ll not harm you.
But if it’s not, I’ll find out first. He drew a slow breath and descended the last few steps. The servant had already stepped aside, clearly uneasy. In the doorway stood a man cloaked in gray, rain dripping from his shoulders, his face shadowed beneath the hood. The man raised his head, and Nathaniel felt the world tilt. It was all Alaric, or a version of him.
Older, thinner, his face drawn and hollow, but those eyes, dark and sharp, were unmistakable. “You’re alive,” Nathaniel said at last. “So it would seem,” the man replied. His voice was rough, weary. “Though I’ve not felt alive in months. May I come in? The streets are watching.” Nathaniel motioned him inside, closing the door. “You were reported dead by the river.” Not dead, Alaric said, pulling back his hood.
Left for dead. The council has long arms, but not long enough. I’ve been in hiding, waiting for the right moment to return. His gaze shifted upward toward the stairs. I see you’ve kept the queen’s air safe. Elellanena stepped into view, clutching the railing. “You,” she whispered. “You came to my door that night.” Alaric bowed his head slightly, and you saved him.
For that, England owes you more than it can repay. Nathaniel moved between them, wary. If you’re truly all Alaric, you’ll have proof.” All Alaric reached inside his cloak and withdrew a folded paper sealed in crimson wax. He handed it to Nathaniel. The Queen’s final order, written the night before she died, Nathaniel broke the seal. The handwriting was unmistakable, graceful, but trembling.
The signature of a woman too weak to stand, but still strong enough to command. Elellanena descended slowly, unable to tear her eyes from the man. What does it say? Nathaniel read aloud. To whomever finds this. My son lives. His name is Thomas. He was taken for his safety and raised among those who know no wealth, only honor. When I am gone, bring him forth.
Let the truth restore what falsehood stole. He looked up. It’s real. Alaric nodded. Then you know why I’ve come. The council will move against you tomorrow. They plan to name Lord Pembroke King. If that happens, this boy’s claim will be buried forever. We must act tonight. Elellanena’s voice shook. Tonight? How? There’s a gathering at the palace hall. All Alaric said. A private council of peers and ministers.
If we arrive with the letter and the child, the truth will spread before they can silence it. Nathaniel frowned. And what of the guards? The city’s crawling with Pembrook’s men. All Alaric smiled faintly. Then we’ll go where soldiers fear to tread, through the catacombs beneath Westminster. I know the passage.
I built it for the queen herself when she feared betrayal. Elellanena’s hands trembled. It sounds like madness. Perhaps, Alaric said, but it’s the only way to reach them unseen. Nathaniel folded the letter carefully and slipped it inside his coat. Then we move before word spreads that you’re alive. All Alaric glanced toward Elellanena.
“Can you ride?” “I’ve ridden through storms and worse,” she said. “But I won’t leave this child to chance again.” “Then we go together,” Nathaniel said. Within the hour, the horses were ready. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and shining under the faint moonlight. All Alaric led the way through narrow alleys, his movement swift and certain.
Nathaniel rode behind him, Elellanena clutching Thomas close beneath her cloak. The city slept uneasily. Bells told faintly in the distance, and from somewhere near the river came the echo of voices, guards changing watch. All Alaric turned sharply down a side street, stopping before a crumbling stone wall half hidden by Ivy.
He dismounted and pushed against one of the stones. A hidden door creaked open, revealing a tunnel descending into darkness. “This way,” he said. Elellanena hesitated, looking into the black void. “It feels like stepping into a grave. Then step softly, all Alaric murmured. Well come out the other side reborn. The passage was narrow, the air cold and damp.
Their footsteps echoed softly as they descended. Nathaniel carried a lantern, its light casting uneasy shadows along the walls. Eleanor followed close behind, the baby silent in her arms, as though he too understood the gravity of their journey. “How far does it go?” Nathaniel asked. “Half a mile,” Alaric replied. It leads beneath the council chamber.
They walked in silence for what felt like hours until Allaric raised his hand. “Stop!” From ahead came the faint murmur of voices and the clink of armor. All Alaric extinguished the lantern. Darkness swallowed them. “There’s a guard post beyond that bend,” he whispered. “Two men, perhaps three. Wait here.” Nathaniel caught his arm.
“You can’t go alone.” All Alaric smiled. Old habits die hard. He vanished into the dark before Nathaniel could stop him. The minutes stretched endlessly. Elellanena could hear her own heart. Each beat a small thunder. Then footsteps returned. Only one pair. All Alaric reappeared, his voice low. They’ll not trouble us again. Come.
The tunnel opened into a stone chamber lined with old relics, banners, broken statues, and the faint glimmer of light from a grated window above. The distant sound of voices grew clearer. They’re meeting now, Alaric said. When the bells strike midnight, the proclamation will begin. That’s when we reveal the child. Eleanor felt her breath quicken. They’ll never believe me.
They’ll believe the queen’s seal, Nathaniel said, “And they’ll believe me when I speak her words.” Alaric climbed a narrow stair leading to a trap door. He pressed his ear against it, then nodded. “Now.” He pushed it open, revealing the underside of a tapestry. They emerged into the great council hall, a vast room filled with candlelight nobles and whispers.
At the head of the chamber stood Lord Pembrook, tall and severe, reading from a parchment. And in light of her majesty’s passing, Pembrook declared, it falls to us to ensure stability. “The Queen left no air.” “Lies,” Nathaniel said, his voice cutting through the room. Every head turned. The crowd gasped as he stepped forward. Eleanor behind him, the child in her arms and Allaric at their side.
Pembuk’s face blanched. “Lord Harrow, you dare interrupt the council.” “I dare speak truth,” Nathaniel said. He drew the queen’s letter from his coat and held it high. Her majesty left her word and her heir. This child is the son of the queen and rightful king of England. The room erupted in chaos. Some shouted in disbelief, others in anger.
Pembroke’s hand went to his sword, but Allaric stepped forward, his voice ringing out. Before you reach for steel, remember your oaths. I am Sir Alaric, former commander of the royal guard. I was there the night the queen gave birth. I smuggled this child from the palace as her enemies closed in. I bear witness before God and crown.
The uproar grew louder. Pembroke’s eyes narrowed. Impossible. You died. Alaric smiled grimly. Death has no claim on truth. He turned to Elellanena. Show them, madam. Elellanena stepped into the light, trembling, but resolute. She unwrapped the cloth from around the baby, revealing the embroidered crest upon it, the lion crowned with stars.
A murmur rippled through the hall. Nathaniel spoke again, his voice strong and clear. You may call me traitor, but I’ve seen this child’s eyes, the eyes of his mother, your queen. She trusted me with her last wish, that her son should live free of deceit. Will you deny her dying word? For a long moment no one moved.
Then an old noble near the front rose from his seat, tears glimmering in his eyes. I served the queen since my youth, he said. I knew her hand. That seal is hers. And if that child is hers, then I, for one, will kneel. He bent the knee before the baby. Another followed, and another.
The sound of knees striking the floor spread through the hall like a tide. Only Pemroke remained standing, his face dark with fury. So you fools, he spat. A peasant’s trick and you fall for it. He drew his sword, but Allaric stepped between him and the child. You’ll not touch him. The two men faced each other for a heartbeat that felt endless.
Then Pembrook’s expression shifted, fear flickering beneath his rage. He backed away slowly, his sword lowering. “This isn’t over,” he hissed. No, Nathaniel said quietly. It’s only beginning. Guards moved in, seizing Pemroke as the nobles shouted for order. Alaric exhaled deeply, turning to Elellanena. “It’s done,” he said. She looked down at the baby who blinked in the bright light, calm and unafraid. “It’s only just begun,” she whispered.
The great bell outside began to ring midnight, echoing through the chamber like a promise kept. Then, from the far end of the hall, a cry went up. “Fire! the gates. There’s fire. Smoke curled beneath the doors, thick and black, and the sound of shouting filled the air. The flames spread quickly.
Smoke rose through the great hall, curling above the chandeliers, as shouts of fear replaced the murmurss of politics. The nobles, who had just sworn their loyalty to the child, now scrambled for the doors. The wooden beams above crackled and splintered. Elellanena covered Thomas with her cloak and pressed him against her chest.
Nathaniel,” she called through the growing haze. “We must get out.” Nathaniel pushed through the panic to reach her. The doors are sealed. They’ve set the lower corridors ablaze. All Alaric coughing pointed toward the far corner of the chamber. “There’s another way, the queen’s passage. It leads to the courtyard.” Nathaniel grabbed his arm.
“Can you find it in this smoke?” “I built it,” Allaric said horarssely. “I could find it blind.” They followed him through the chaos. Elellanena stumbled as nobles rushed past, but Nathaniel caught her hand, pulling her forward. The heat grew stronger, the air thick with ash. Thomas whimpered softly, his small fingers clutching her collar.
All Alaric pushed aside a tapestry near the council deis, revealing a narrow stare. Down here, quickly, they descended into darkness again, the roar of fire fading behind them. The passage smelled of stone and damp earth. Elellanena gasped for air. the baby’s soft breathing steady against her shoulder. When they reached the bottom, all Alaric slumped against the wall. Nathaniel steadied him.
“You’re bleeding.” “Her’s nothing,” All Alaric said, though his voice trembled. “I’ll last long enough to see him safe.” They walked through the passage until faint daylight appeared ahead. When they emerged into the courtyard, the cold air felt like a blessing. Smoke billowed from the palace roof, but the fire had not reached the outer walls.
Elellanena turned to Nathaniel. What will happen now? The nobles saw the truth, he said. Pemrook’s power will die with his lies. The child’s name will spread faster than fire. Alaric nodded weakly. Then my task is done. He sank to his knees, the wound at his side darkening his tunic. Elellanena knelt beside him. No, don’t speak like that. He smiled faintly. It’s all right, my lady.
I’ve walked too long with ghosts. Tonight, I’ll rest among them. Nathaniel pressed a hand to his wound. Desperate. We can still let it be, Alaric whispered. His gaze shifted to the child. He’ll be a just king. Praise him in truth, not in fear. Elellanena’s eyes filled with tears. He will know your name.
Allaric’s breath grew shallow. No, let him know only that courage saved him. That’s enough. His eyes closed, and his head fell back gently against the stone. For a moment, no one spoke. The fire crackled in the distance, the night wind cold around them. Nathaniel laid a hand over All Alaric’s still heart. Then rose, “Come, we can’t stay here.
” They carried the child through the outer gate, now unguarded. The streets beyond were in chaos. Citizens shouting as the fire lit the sky, soldiers rushing toward the palace. Nathaniel guided Eleanor down a side road that led toward the river. At the water’s edge, he stopped and turned to her. “We’ve done what we came to do.
Now we must think of what comes next.” Elellanena looked down at Thomas, who had fallen asleep against her. “What comes next?” she repeated softly. “He’ll be taken from me. You know he will. He’ll be raised among those who can protect him,” Nathaniel said. “But you’ll not be cast aside. You’ll have honor, safety, honor,” she interrupted, her voice breaking.
“I never wanted honor. I only wanted him to live.” Nathaniel took her hand gently. “And he will, because of you. The kingdom will remember your courage.” “I don’t care for the kingdom,” she whispered. “I care for the boy,” he hesitated, then said quietly. “The council will meet again when dawn breaks. They’ll crown him before the people.
I’ll stand for him in yourstead as the queen commanded.” Elellanena nodded slowly, tears glimmering. “Then it ends at dawn.” not ends, Nathaniel said, begins. They found shelter in a small chapel by the river, its doors left open for refugees fleeing the fire. The priest, a kindly old man, offered them bread and blankets.
Elellanar laid Thomas on a bench, brushing the soot from his tiny cheek. Nathaniel watched her, his expression soft. “You’ve been stronger than any soldier I’ve known,” she looked up. “And you’ve risked everything for someone who wasn’t yours to save.” He gave a small, weary smile. I’d do it again. The bells of St.
Paul’s began to toll. The sound carried through the smoke-hazed city, long and solemn. Ellen rose, staring toward the light growing beyond the chapel door. It’s morning. Nathaniel nodded. The kingdom waits. They left the chapel together, walking through the quiet streets toward Westminster.
The fires had died, leaving only gray ash drifting in the wind. Soldiers lined the roads, not in hostility, but in uneasy respect. When they reached the palace square, the crowd was already gathering, nobles, merchants, peasants alike. Murmurss rippled as they appeared, the child in Elellanena’s arms and Nathaniel beside her. A herald stepped forward.
The Council of Lords has decreed, he announced, that the Queen’s letter and witnesses have proven the existence of her rightful heir. By the will of God and the laws of this realm, the child known as Thomas shall be crowned. A hush fell. Elellanena stood at the steps, every eye upon her. Nathaniel touched her arm. He should be carried to the deis. She looked at him, her voice trembling. You take him. It’s time.
He hesitated. Elellanena, go, she said softly. Do this for her. For him. He took the child, holding him with the care of a man bearing something sacred. The crowd parted as he ascended the steps. The archbishop stepped forward, his voice ringing clear. Before God in this realm, we crown the son of our late queen. May he rule with mercy and wisdom.
He placed a small golden cirlet upon the baby’s head. The people erupted in cheers. Bells rang across the city, the sound washing over the square like a tide. Elellanena stood motionless, watching. Her hands, once empty, now felt heavier than ever. Nathaniel turned, his eyes searching for her through the crowd. When he found her, he gave a small nod, half triumph, half sorrow.
After the ceremony, the new king was carried back into the palace for safety. Nathaniel returned to her side, his voice quiet amid the den. It’s done. The kingdom is his. Elellanena swallowed hard. And ours, he looked at her for a long moment. Ours will be whatever peace we can find. She smiled faintly. Peace feels strange after so much fear. Then we’ll learn it together. The councilman approached, bowing deeply.
One, an older noble with kind eyes said to Elellanena, “His majesty’s guardians will see to his care. But you, madam, will not be forgotten. The council wishes to honor you as Lady Whitam of the crown.” Elellanena stared, stunned. “I want no title. Then take it for his sake,” Nathaniel murmured. “It will protect you.” She looked up at him.
“And you? I’ll serve as his regent until he comes of age, Nathaniel said. And when that day comes, I’ll lay down the crown and find you again. Her throat tightened. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. I never have, he said quietly. She reached for his hand, holding it for a moment before letting go. Then go.
He needs you more than I ever will. Nathaniel pressed a kiss to her forehead, his voice barely a whisper. He’ll need both of us one way or another. The crowd began to disperse. The bells still rang, their echo fading over the river. Elellanena turned toward the abbey in the distance where the sisters would welcome her again.
As she walked away, she looked back once more. Nathaniel stood at the palace steps, the golden banners fluttering behind him, his eyes following her through the morning mist. Neither waved, but both knew the others heart. The wind carried the last notes of the bells across the city, slow, solemn, and filled with promise.
And far above them, in the palace window, a small figure stirred in his nurse’s arms, gazing out toward the light that crowned the river’s edge, where his mother, in all but name, disappeared into the dawn. Years passed like the steady turning of a clock. Quiet measured each second carrying the memory of fire and crown, and the night when England had found her heir again.
The storm that had ruled their lives had faded, leaving behind a gentler light. Thomas grew beneath that light, watched over by men who served him and women who loved him. He learned to speak with the grace of kings and the heart of a shepherd. For Eleanor’s voice had shaped his first words. But she did not live at court. She could not.
The palace held too many walls, too much ceremony. She returned instead to the countryside to a small manner granted to her in gratitude by the council, her name now Lady Witkim of the crown, though she rarely used it. To the villagers she was simply Elellanar again, the quiet woman who walked by the river with a thoughtful smile and eyes that carried secrets she would never speak.
And every spring a carriage would arrive from London bearing letters written in a young boy’s hand. Letters filled with misshapen words and crooked lines. Each began the same way to my dearest mother who found me before I was lost. Elellanena kept everyone. The years softened her solitude, but they did not erase it. Some nights she dreamed of the old cottage, the storm, and the man who had stood in her doorway and changed her life with seven words.
Sometimes, when the wind moved through the trees, she thought she heard hoof beatats. Then one day the sound returned, not in dreams, but in truth. It was late afternoon, the air heavy with summer heat. Elellanena sat beneath the elm near the river, mending a shawl, when a rider appeared on the path beyond the gate.
Her heart knew before her eyes confirmed it. The tall figure dismounted slowly, his movements careful, almost hesitant, as if he feared the years might have erased his welcome. Nathaniel, he stood still for a long moment, watching her. Time had touched him gently.
His hair was stre with silver, his shoulders broader, his face lined not with weariness but with peace. He carried no sword, only a small satchel slung across his back. Ellen rose, the shawl slipping from her lap. You kept your promise. I told you I would, he said, his voice softer than she remembered. I told you I’d come when the crown no longer needed me.
She smiled faintly. And does it not? The crown stands firmly now, he said. Thomas rules with wisdom beyond his years. He remembers your lessons. He remembers you. She looked away toward the river, her throat tightening. I never wanted him to forget me. Yet I prayed that he might so he could be free. Nathaniel stepped closer.
He is free because of you. She met his eyes, and for a moment neither spoke. The years that had separated them seemed to vanish, leaving only the silence that had always carried their truest words. He reached into his satchel and drew out a small wooden box. “He sent this,” Nathaniel said. He said, “It belongs to you more than to him.
” Eleanor opened it. Inside lay the silver cross Margaret had once pressed into her hand, polished now, gleaming in the light. Around it was wound a golden ribbon embroidered with the royal crest. The lion crowned with stars. She traced it gently with her finger. He remembered this. Nathaniel smiled. He said it was his first crown. Her eyes glistened.
And you? Did you remember? I remembered everything, he said quietly. Every word, every night, every time. I nearly lost you. She looked at him for a long moment before saying, “Why come back now, Nathaniel?” “Because the kingdom has peace, and I finally have none,” he said. “I’ve served duty all my life.
I’m ready to serve something else.” “Serve,” she repeated, her lips curving faintly. “You speak as though love were an oath. Perhaps it is,” he said. the truest one. Her hands trembled slightly as she closed the box. You always did speak like a soldier, he smiled, and you always listened like a queen. The word caught her breath, though he meant it as no flattery.
For years people had called her Lady Witkim, the guardian of the crown, but no title had ever reached as deep as that single word from his lips. They stood together by the riverbank, the quiet hum of summer all around them. Nathaniel reached out, hesitated, then took her hand. His touch was steady.
“Warm! I should have come sooner,” he said. “You came when you were meant to,” she answered. “We both had our vows to keep.” He looked into her eyes. And now, now the vows have ended. The words hung between them like a promise waiting to be spoken. Then Nathaniel drew her closer, his forehead resting against hers. “Elanor,” he whispered.
I’ve seen battle and fire, kings and traitors. None of it mattered. You were the one thing that stayed. Her eyes closed. And you were the one thing I never dared hope would return. For a long time they stood in silence, the breeze moving gently through the tall grass. The years that had stretched between them seemed to fold away, leaving only the two of them and the soft murmur of the river.
When at last she pulled back, her smile was quiet but certain. Will you stay this time? I’ll never leave again, he said. He glanced toward the cottage in the distance, half hidden among the trees. Is that your home now? It is, she said. Simple and small, like the one where it began. Then I think I shall like it.
That evening the sun sank slowly behind the hills, painting the fields in gold. Nathaniel helped her gather the laundry from the line, his once noble hands clumsy with the pegs. She laughed softly at his attempts, the sound bright and young again. I was never trained for such delicate work, he said. You led armies, she teased. Surely a few shirts are no challenge.
Armies obey linen rebels. She shook her head, smiling. You haven’t changed. Nor have you, he said. You’re exactly as I remembered. She gave a quiet laugh. Older, you mean? Wiser, he said. and more beautiful for it. Her gaze lingered on him, tender and searching.
And what of you, my lord? Are you still the gallant captain who would defy the crown for a promise? He looked at her, his eyes warm. No, I’m only a man who wishes to keep one. They walked together to the cottage. Inside the fire crackled softly, though the night was mild. Elellanar poured him tea, and for a moment they were as they once had been.
Two souls bound by danger and duty, yet sharing the peace that neither had known how to seek. He looked around the small room. You live quietly. I’ve had my fill of noise, she said. The silence keeps me company. He leaned forward, his voice gentle. And will it still keep you company now that I’m here? Her answer came softly. If you’re here, I think the silence we’ll have to share.
He smiled at that, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening. “I brought something else,” he said, reaching into his coat. “He drew out another folded paper, aged, creased, sealed with wax.” “It’s from the council. Thomas signed it himself.” She frowned slightly, unfolding it. “What is this?” “A decree,” Nathaniel said.
“Granting you guardianship of the royal orphanage. He said you saved one lost child. Perhaps now you might save others. Elellanena’s hand trembled as she read. He’s made me a mother to them all. He said, “There’s no better one in England.” Her voice broke softly. “He has his mother’s heart.” “No,” Nathaniel said. “He has yours.” They fell quiet again, the fire light flickering between them.
Elellanena looked up, her expression thoughtful. “Nathaniel, all those years I wondered what became of you. I thought you might have married or left the country or he shook his head, I married no one. I tried to forget, but every woman I met spoke kindly, laughed politely, and none of them said my name the way you do. Ellena’s eyes shone in the firelight.
You waited all these years. He smiled faintly. I was never good at giving up. Nor I, she said. They sat together long after the candles burned low, talking softly of the past, the battles, the night in the crypt, the first cry of the baby who had bound their fates.
Each memory came not as pain but as gratitude, a story they could finally speak without fear. When the clock struck midnight, Nathaniel rose, “May I see the stars with you?” She nodded and they stepped outside. The sky stretched vast and clear, the air cool and fragrant with summer. Elellanena looked up. There was a night once when the same stars watched over us.
When a man rode into my life with a child in his arms, and now, Nathaniel said softly, “He rides back with nothing to carry but his heart.” She smiled through her tears. “Then lay it down. You’ve carried it far enough.” He took her hands, his voice low and unsteady. Elellanar, you gave me back my honor, my faith, my reason to breathe. I have nothing left to give you but myself. Will that be enough? Her reply came without hesitation.
It’s all I ever wanted. For a moment they simply looked at one another, the years dissolving, the past and present meeting in one quiet heartbeat. Then he leaned forward and kissed her. It was not the desperate kiss of youth or the fleeting one of farewell. It was steady, certain, filled with everything they had endured and everything they had finally found.
When he drew back, she rested her head against his chest, listening to the rhythm that had carried them through so many storms. They stood beneath the stars, the river whispering nearby. The air was soft and cool, carrying the faint sound of bells from a distant village, the same bells that had once told for a crown, now ringing gently for love. Nathaniel whispered against her hair. “Do you remember what you said the night we met?” she smiled.
I said I was no one and I told you that might yet save him. It saved us both. She said they stayed like that for a long while until the first light of dawn touched the horizon. Birds stirred in the hedges and the world began again. When the sun rose, its light fell across the river, catching on the water like scattered gold.
Elellanena turned to him, her hand still in his. “It’s a new day,” she said. “And it’s ours,” he replied. She smiled. “Then promise me one thing. Anything that you’ll never speak of duty again.” He laughed softly. “Then I’ll speak only of love.” She leaned into him. “That will do.” The church bells rang again, brighter now, carried by the morning wind.
Somewhere far away, the young king stood at his window, looking out toward the hills, where the woman who had raised him lived in peace. He smiled as if he knew. And by the river, hand in hand, Elellanena and Nathaniel began the life they had both been denied for too long.
A quiet life, a shared one, born not of command or secrecy, but of love, freely chosen. The water moved gently beside them, whispering its endless song. Every secret I ever kept led me here, she thought, and as the morning deepened, the two of them walked toward the cottage, their shadows stretching together through the light.
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