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“He didn’t seem weak to me,” Mano said, with a crooked smile, “when he choked that information out of me and fucking locked me in a supply closet.”

Placidie shot a murderous look at him, but I could not resist a small smile at the expressions on their faces.

“Let me show you our son’s nursery,” Étienne said, ignoring them and leading me down the hallway.

“Here—the crib is finished. And I—laid out some clothes and diapers for him.”

My husband’s eyes widened as I undid the baby carrier and he saw that Ciel was awake.

“My son!” Étienne cried hoarsely, and his arms were gripping the doorway so hard I could see bone through his fingers.

“Oh, so now he’s your son? When you disavowed him in front of the ancestors and everyone?”

Étienne seemed to stumble against the bars of the crib, gripping them fiercely, like they were the only thing holding him up.

“Forgive me! Forgive me,” he rasped, his eyes blazing at me out of his skull-like face. “I was an arrogant fool. An arrogant, selfish bastard. I never meant it to go this far. I always meant for it to end before our baby was born. Always. I swear to you.”

“And our baby has a name. It’s Ciel.”

There were jagged splinters of pain in Étienne’s eyes, the dark color pooled and grim.

“It’s a beautiful name, Léonie. I love it so much, and I love you both so much.”

His fingers were reaching out to stroke Ciel’s head, his hand trembling. “Give me another chance. Give me another chance to be a better father. And husband.”

His chest was heaving, the rain and blood had soaked him to the skin, pooling in rivulets on his cheekbones.

“You aren’t on the birth certificate.”

“I don’t care. I’d know my child anywhere. Just like I knew you were mine the first moment I saw you.”

His voice was low, throbbing with intensity, and I couldn’t believe I'd heard him properly.

“What?”

I couldn’t repress the shock that rippled through me.

“You think the day the boar charged at you was the first time I noticed you? Oh no. . . I was watching you long before that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, although I felt a strange tingling heat ripple over me.

It couldn’t be true. It had always been true that I loved him so much more.

“I love you,” Étienne growled. “Those lands are yours. No strings attached. They’re bloody and barren and free of enemies for you.”

“Well, I don’t love you.”

My husband’s fingers convulsed on the top of the crib and he was unable to control his face, the way his muscles flinched like it was a hit.

“I will always love you. And I won’t stop saying it. I’m going to say it until you forgive me.”

Were the Pinoteaux lands really mine? Had he really killed or captured anyone who might want to harm me?

What would I find when we went to inspect the lands?

If only I had my Gran here to help! She would know what to do with the Pinoteaux lands. She had always known how to manage the family businesses, boldly telling my Da exactly where he had gone wrong and where he was being lazy. . .

That was probably why she had disappeared. Had my father killed her? Was she still alive, but imprisoned somewhere?