The door to our bedroom closes with a soft click, and for the first time since the knights arrived, I feel the tension in my shoulders begin to ease. Melinda stands at the window, bathed in the silver light of the moon. Her silhouette is a vision that steals my breath—the gentle curve of her hip, the fall of her hair against her shoulders, the way her fingers trace absently along the glass pane.
"Come to bed, sweet girl," I murmur.
She turns, and the moonlight catches in her honey-brown eyes, turning them to molten gold. A smile curves her lips, but I notice the worry behind it.
She crosses the room, each step graceful and deliberate. "Do you think Fen will be alright? He seemed..."
I shed my jacket, tossing it over the back of a nearby chair. "Fen is strong. They all are. They're going to find their mates. Now, tell me what’s actually bothering you."
She comes to sit on the edge of our bed, her fingers twisting nervously in the sheets.
I join her, taking her hands in mine. "Tell me."
Her eyes meet mine, fear making them shine too brightly. "I don't want to lose you when this baby arrives." Her hand drifts to the slight swell of her belly. "My magick is cursed, Hawke. I'm a ticking time bomb."
Her words strike a chord of fear deep within me, but I fight to keep my expression calm. Since she first told me about the curse that haunts magickal births on Earth, I've tried to convince myself it couldn't possibly touch us here in Avalon.
"My mother warned me my whole life never to have a child with someone I loved," she continues, voice breaking. "She made me promise. And now I've broken that promise."
The anguish in her voice tears at my heart. I cup her face, forcing her to look at me.
"Melinda, listen to me. Earth's magick is tainted, corrupted. We've seen proof of that. But Avalon's magick flows pure from Yggdrasil itself." I press my palm against the slight swell of her belly, feeling the life we've created together. "This child was conceived here, in Avalon, not on Earth. The curse may have no power here."
"You can't know that," she whispers, fear making her voice tremble. "My magick still causes pain here."
"You're right. I can't know for certain." I take her hands in mine, my grip firm, grounding. "But I know this, I have never backed down from a fight in my life, and I'm not about to start now. Especially not when what's at stake is our family."
A tear slides down her cheek, and I brush it away with my thumb. "I've spent centuries as a Knight of the Round Table. I've faced darkness that would make most men crumble."
"What if it's not enough?"
I pull her against my chest, wrapping my arms around her as if I could shield her from fate itself. "We consult every ancient text and seek wisdom from every wise person across all eight worlds. We leave no stone unturned."
My voice drops to a fierce whisper. "And if all else fails, I will journey to the core of Yggdrasil itself and ask fate to intervene."
I tilt her chin up, making sure she sees the absolute conviction in my eyes. "I refuse to live in fear of what might be. I refuse to let some Earth curse dictate our future. Our child will know both its parents. I swear it on my life, on my crown, on everything I am. I will not leave you."
For a moment, I see a flicker of hope in her eyes—fragile, tentative, but real.
"I was thinking about what Aena said to me," she admits softly. "This baby... if someone took it from me, I can't even imagine what I might do."
My muscles tense involuntarily. "The wrath of a mother is like nothing else."
She meets my gaze directly. "Do you think the sirens did it?"
"Yes. I do. And they likely killed him as well. Or we would've seen or heard something after all this time."
Her eyes widen, horror flickering across her face. "You really think they killed a child."
"I don't know," I answer truthfully. "But whatever happened, Nimue knows. And that is even more reason to be careful with what information we trust her with. She has her own agenda in this war."
She nods slowly, absorbing this. The air between us feels heavy with too many worries, too many threats.
"I don't know what a time bomb is," I say, lightening my tone slightly, "but we are taking this one day at a time, sweet girl. You are not going to lose me. We will find a way."
"Promise me you won't take unnecessary risks," she says, her eyes searching mine.
The request twists something in my chest. It's a promise I cannot make, for there is nothing—no price, no sacrifice—I would not pay to keep her safe. But I won't burden her with that truth now.
