Page 68

Well, until the war and the treaty had taken them from him.

Rymedur watched as Lukas slammed his mouth shut, choosing to snatch a pastry from the stack in the middle of the table, tearing into it instead. The aggression in his eyes was so intense that Rymedur was surprised Edmund’s hair hadn’t gone up in flames. The boy was learning control; something Rymedur should be displaying as well, but his shadows still whipped and curled around the room.

Silence followed. This time, it was one of mournful grey, not the tense one that had fallen around the room before. It settled along his skin, and he took the moment to concentrate on easing his warring emotions.

‘Aurora was really tired, Da.’ Changing the subject, James ceased all arguments in an instant. ‘And she’s grown so much over the last year alone.’

Rymedur could only nod in reply as he focused on ridding his plagued memories of Resmundur’s broken little body, mercilessly torn apart by sirens. The thought had his breath stuttering, and a sob threatened to block his airways.

‘I’m worried about her,’ Jessika adds from beside her brother, her worried gaze falling on Rymedur. ‘She’s growing so fast for an elf—far faster than any of us.’ Her free hand waved over herself and her siblings.

The youngest—Lilith, Edmund and Sivan—remained silent, avoiding eye contact. Edmund’s book lay closed by his side, the words long forgotten. Sivan picked at his food, legs swinging back and forth, barely scraping the ground.

And Lilith—his sweet baby girl—had curved her shoulders inward, eyes glistening with unshed tears that she furiously blinked away with her head bowed and hands still trembling.

What had he done? He hadn’t meant to scare his children.

Taking a steadying breath, Rymedur forced his shadows to obey his whims and eased them back. They had grown far too much—more than he usually allowed them to.

He had lost control.

Pulling on that dark thread in his chest, Rymedur called through the bond until, slowly, candlelight flickered on in the room that had darkened so quickly. His shadows settled onto his skin.

‘Well—’ Rymedur swallowed the grief that threatened to topple him ‘—it’s different for all of you; remember?’ Flexing his fingers, Rymedur placed his cutlery down and stretched his stiff hands before reaching for the glass of wine by his plate.

Shuffling back, Rymedur tried to return to the image of ease and warmth the children were so used to and reassured them. ‘Luckily, you all took after your mother with how you grew.’ His hand nonchalantly waved around the dining table. ‘But I think Aurora is more like me.’

An easy smile spread across his face, but Rymedur knew it didn’t quite reach his eyes, as it usually did. He hoped Lilith could see the apology there regardless.

Reaching across the table, he offered his daughter his hand. Palm facing up, he waited patiently for her to take it. Actions hesitant, Lilith eventually placed her small hand in his. Lilith was his gentle little soul—the kind, considerate, and empathetic one among her siblings.

Rymedur worried for her. Unlike his more outgoing children, Lilith had always chosen to keep her own company. He would often find her alone—which made raising her easier than her wild twin brother—but her introverted personality came with its own hardships.

Lilith was known to shut down in tense situations or when her emotions ran too high. Just like now. The shadows had terrified her. Rymedur had terrified her!

And that single thought—that he had scared her—crippled him with guilt.

Easing her worries was his main intention, so, rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand in calm, soothing motions, Rymedur retold the story of his childhood. ‘When I was younger, my ina—your grandmother—was worried about how I grew, too. I aged like any other mortal child.’

Slowly uncurling herself, Rymedur’s guilt slowly chipped away as Lilith placed her mug on the table and leaned toward him, intrigued.

‘Until I reached early adolescence,’ he continued. ‘The ageing process started to slow after that. I think Aurora is the same; so, you don’t have to worry, she’ll be fine. She’s just growing at a more accelerated pace than the rest of you, and I’m not surprised with the amount of energy she has.’ Rymedur’s words turned into chuckles as he remembered the mayhem she had caused earlier. ‘I’m still dumbfounded at how her tiny stature managed to tip an entire sack of flour onto the floor!’

The mention of Aurora had suddenly lifted the mood, lightening it, even if only for the moment, and the entire table laughed along with him. Even Lukas had cracked a reluctant smile, all arguments forgotten for a brief reprieve.

‘Gods! I don’t know what she’s going to be like when her mental barrier drops and her powers start manifesting,’ Jessika added, laughing.

New warmth surrounded them as they silently took a moment to imagine what that might look like. Collectively, as though they had all imagined the same chaotic image, a chorus of laughter erupted, and Rymedur’s shoulders shook, a weight lifting as he took in the small peace he had carved out for himself. His children meant the world to him. They were his world. But something was missing… or someone.

Where was Areanel? The thought nagged and tugged at the end of his mind. He had a sense that something was wrong, but couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

‘I think…’ Rymedur began almost hesitantly, his grief suddenly thick and heavy. ‘I think Resmundur—’ His voice cracked. ‘Would have been able to keep her in check. Better than any of us, anyway.’

Rymedur was already looking at Lukas when his gaze suddenly shot up from where he glared at the small detailing along the edges of his plate. Rymedur’s features softened apologetically.

How had he not seen that his own children were still hurting?

He hadn’t even thought about how they would feel. He’d thought the best way to protect them was to be strong for them. He had never thought that they needed to see how much he was hurting so that they could also heal. This palace—his childhood—had shown him how to hide how he truly felt. He’d forgotten that was not what his children needed.