Chapter Text
A child’s bright laughter sounded through the open window, as Princess Evalin Ashryver Galathynius set the letter down with trembling hands. Not even her daughter’s happiness could stave off the sadness weighing on her heart.
When the messenger had delivered the letter that morning, she had nearly torn it from his hands, eager for news from home. And now…
The chill that ran down her spine had little to do with the first cold winds of autumn. Still, she was glad for the observant maid who noticed and immediately set about lighting a fire in her small, cozy study.
For two and a half years she now lived in Terrasen, and while Evalin loved her new home - the lush, green forests, the snow capped peaks of the Staghorns - she still longed for the warmer temperatures of Wendlyn.
She reached for her warm wrap and walked to the windows facing the palace gardens. Without truly seeing them, she watched her daughter playing ball with Lady Marion. Her best friend and lady’s maid was in the final weeks of her pregnancy and had made herself comfortable on a blanket, cushions propped behind her back as she tossed the ball for Aelin to catch.
With a heavy sigh, Evalin closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the cold glass.
„Ev, have you seen my…“ Her husband stopped mid-sentence as he walked through the door and saw her standing there, sadness clearly etched into her features.
„What is it, love?“ He murmured, stepping closer, and placing his hand on her shoulder. She reached for it, squeezed tightly. „Did the letter bring bad news?“
Evalin nodded and swallowed hard. „It’s from Alenia,“ she breathed. „She is sick again, and…“ Her voice broke. „The healers don’t know what to do anymore.“ Bitting back a sob, she added, „Alenia still refuses to receive any fae healers, even though they might be the only ones to help. To safe her.“
“And little Aedion…”
At the mention of the boy, Evalin was unable to stop the sob that clawed its way up her throat. “No child should ever have to watch their mother suffer like that. But Alenia is terrified - out of her mind. She’ll never risk Maeve learning of the boy.”
She turned and wrapped her arms around Rhoe, pulling him close. “She hates Maeve as much as I do,” she breathed. “I understand it- truly. I would do anything within my power to keep Aelin far away from her.”
Tears slid down her face, soaking into Rhoe’s soft woolen tunic. “But if she truly dies…” Another sob broke free. “The boy will be all alone. Too many family members shun him because Alenia refuses to name his father. Alenia herself has suffered enough. And Aedion’s father-”
Rhoe’s voice was little more than a growl. “Gavriel. That reckless, irresponsible bastard knocked her up and left her. Never even bothered to look back. Blood-sworn to someone like Maeve… a glorified slave - that’s what he is.”
He pressed a kiss to his wife’s soft blond hair and gently wiped away her tears. “I promise you Ev, Aedion won’t be alone. If—” he emphasized the word, “—if Alenia dies, he will still have a home. Here. He can live with us. He’ll be far from Maeve, won’t be ostracized as demi-Fae, and he and Aelin can grow up together.” A half-smile curved his lips. “She’d do well with an older brother, don’t you think?”
Evalin let out a small sound - half laugh, half sob - and managed a shaky smile. Rhoe cupped her face, his thumbs stroking along her wet cheekbones. “I promise you, Evalin,” he murmured. “We will take Aedion and raise him as one of our own. He won’t be alone - he’ll have family. Whatever happens in Wendlyn, he will be safe here. Tell Alenia that. She needn’t worry about him.”
“Thank you,” Evalin whispered, sagging against him, savoring the strength of his arms as he held her, stroking her hair and back with patient, gentle hands. At last, she exhaled deeply and stepped back.
“I’ll write to her tonight,” she said. “But now it’s time for Aelin’s dinner. Could you come with me to help Marion up?”
“No need,” Rhoe replied with a soft laugh, turning her toward the windows. Cal Lochan had finished his afternoon duties and joined Aelin and Marion only minutes ago, helping his wife to her feet with gentle but steady hands. Aelin, ever eager to help, balanced her ball atop a small pillow and attempted to carry both back to the castle. The ball promptly rolled off.
Evalin and Rhoe watched with bemusement as their daughter tried again and again to manage the task on her own—until, just before it could end in one of Aelin’s infamous toddler tantrums, Cal tucked the pillow under his arm and hoisted Aelin onto his shoulders. Marion carried the folded blanket, while a helpful maid gathered the rest.
With a kiss for her husband, Evalin left to feed, and bathe, and tuck her daughter into bed.
After that, she would return to answer her cousin’s letter.
Three years later:
Rhoe let out a relieved sigh when Terrasen‘s familiar coastline became visible on the horizon. Home, at last. He rested a hand on the shoulder of the little blonde boy next to him.
Only a few weeks shy of his ninth birthday Aedion Ashryver already stood as tall as many twelve-years-olds. His posture was stiff, his shoulders braced. He hadn’t spoken much since his mothers funeral three weeks ago, hadn’t cried when he boarded the ship days later bound for an unknown distance and an unfamiliar future.
On the second day of their journey, Rhoe had woken Aedion at dawn, and coaxed him to join the guards for their morning training. With the boy’s fae heritage, Rhoe knew his urge to protect those he loved ran strong in his veins - and that his strength, once he was fully grown, would one day outmatch any human soldier.
So he and Evalin had decided to train the boy as well as they could: to help him hone his strength, but also teach him control - of his temper, his impulses. And in some instinctive, primal way, it had helped.
Though Aedion still lapsed into silence often, he was visibly more at ease around the guards now. He no longer paced the deck restlessly, and threw himself into his training with quiet eagerness, absorbing every instruction, every correction and every order.
Still, he was grieving his mother. And Rhoe knew that beneath the rigid posture and determined focus lay a child burdened by a single, crushing thought: that he had been unable to protect her. The weight of that failure - imagined though it was - pressed heavily on Aedion’s small heart.
It took another two days for them to reach the coastline and sail up the Florine river, until at last the harbor of Orynth came into view.
Inside the castle, Lady Marion carefully placed the final hairpin into Evalin’s neatly coiffed hair. With a weary sigh, Evalin studied her reflection in the mirror - only to find Marion smiling back at her, encouraging, one warm and steady hand resting on her shoulder.
Despite the turmoil churning inside her, Evalin found herself returning the smile, albeit only half-heartedly. Rising in a fluid motion, she turned toward little Aelin, who sat perched on a chair nearby, unusually quiet and still as she waited for her mother to be ready.
The day had finally come.
News had arrived late the previous evening: the royal ship was sailing up the Florine River. When Evalin had tucked Aelin into bed, she had gently brushed a strand of golden hair from her daughter’s face and shared the news - that by tomorrow, her father would be home again. And with him, her cousin, who would now be living with them.
Only five weeks ago, a letter from Wendlyn had arrived. Close enough to Aelin’s birthday that Evalin had first assumed it carried congratulations—but when the messenger placed the envelope in her hands, the pity in his eyes had told her the truth before she ever broke the seal. Alenia was succumbing to her illness. The end was no longer distant; it was near.
Evalin had broken down then. Not only in grief for her cousin, who had been like a sister to her in their youth - but from the deep-rooted fear that had always accompanied thoughts of her aunt, Queen Maeve of the Fae. Panic had seized her so fiercely she could barely draw breath at the mere notion of coming close to her. She would never allow Maeve anywhere near her little daughter - but the thought of leaving Aelin behind had been just as unbearable.
So Rhoe had gone to Wendlyn.
He had embarked at the earliest possible hour, traveling to bid Alenia farewell and to place one final letter in her hands - a promise made flesh. Evalin and Rhoe would keep their word. They would take Aedion to safety, care for him, and raise him as their own.
Something was wrong.
Rhoe sensed it instinctively, even before he could reach for his wife and kiss her in greeting.
Evalin’s posture was stiff, her movements too controlled. She avoided his eyes as she knelt to welcome Aedion. She had chosen a dress that did her no favors, one that dulled the color of her eyes, and had pinned her hair up tightly—had done everything she could to lessen her resemblance to Alenia.
It hadn’t helped.
Aedion had frozen nonetheless, tears welling in his eyes. Family ties were far too easy for his senses to pick up on.
Rhoe turned to his daughter - and frowned. Even Aelin was different. She hugged him quickly, almost hurriedly, then stepped back again, refusing to let him pull her into his arms as she usually did. What had happened while he was gone?
His attention returned to Aedion, who nodded at something Evalin had said before turning toward Aelin. He placed a hand over his heart and bowed slightly.
“Hello, Princess Aelin,” he said, a little stiffly.
Aelin giggled softly. “You don’t have to call me princess. Not when we’re family.” She studied him with open curiosity, blue-and-gold eyes identical to his own.
Something shifted inside Aedion.
This little girl—she was family. More than the man beside him, who had shown him nothing but kindness. More than the woman before him, whose resemblance to his mother was almost painful. Without conscious thought, Aedion knew it: this princess was his to protect.
Carefully, Aelin asked, “Do you miss your mother very much?”
His throat tightened. He could only nod.
She offered him a shy smile. “If you want, we can share mine. She only has me - she can look after you, too.”
Seeing the boy’s bewilderment, Evalin smiled at him gently. “I’m not trying to replace your mother, Aedion. She will always be remembered, and dearly loved. But if you ever need anything - anything at all - please don’t hesitate to come to me. All right?”
Aedion nodded, his gaze drifting back to his cousin. She watched a butterfly flutter past, then looked up at him again.
“Can you read?” she asked.
Still stunned, he nodded once more. Aelin reached for his hand. “Do you want to see our library? We can read a book together.” Then she faltered, glancing at Evalin with an expression Rhoe couldn’t quite decipher. “Can I, Mother? I’ll be careful, I promise.”
Evalin closed her eyes briefly, exhaled shakily, then turned to Aelin with a strained smile. “Of course you can. But be careful - and don’t stay too long, all right? You can show Aedion the castle. And his new room.”
Visible relief washed over Aelin’s small body. She tugged Aedion along as she dashed up the stairs into the castle.
“Ev,” Rhoe said quietly, his throat tight, “what happened while I was away? Why can’t you look at me? And Aelin - she’s never this quiet. Never shy.”
“What?” Evalin’s voice was breathless, a little too loud, too sharp to sound genuine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s good to have you back, but there are so many things I still need to do before dinner. Excuse me.”
She gathered her skirts and all but fled into the castle, leaving Rhoe behind - alone, bewildered, and deeply confused.