Edmond's hands trembled, not violently, but enough. His mind moved fast, trying to catch up, trying to make sense of something that refused to be simple. "I…" He shook his head slightly. "I suspected, but this." His gaze dropped to the child again. "The timing doesn't match."
He looked back up. "Maria was only eight months gone. I heard she died with the pregnancy."
Evelyn nodded. "She did." The answer didn't help. It made things worse.
Edmond took a step forward. "If that is the case," he said slowly, carefully, "where did you get this child?"
Evelyn smiled. Not out of joy, but out of something closer to relief. Like someone who had been carrying a burden too long and was finally setting it down.
"It was a miracle."
Edmond didn't react, he didn't blink.
"I delivered him," she continued, her voice softer now, "from Maria's body, two days after her death."
Silence followed. It was deep, and unmoving.
Edmond looked down at the child again. Then back at Evelyn. "That is impossible."
Evelyn held his gaze. "The gods preserved his life." No hesitation, no doubt. "He is a special child." The wind moved through the trees.
Soft, and whispering. But neither of them seemed to hear it. They stood there, facing each other, bound by something neither of them had chosen.
Then the child shifted slightly in Edmond's arms. A small sound, barely more than a breath. And just like that, the silence broke.
Evelyn's expression hardened slightly, not cold, but resolved. "You must keep him safe."
Edmond's eyes lifted to hers. "You are the only blood he has left.".The words landed, and stayed.
Edmond exhaled slowly. "Raising a Dragarian," he shook his head faintly. "That is rebellion against the crown."
Evelyn's eyes sharpened. "Would you prefer he dies?" The question cut clean.
No decoration, no softness, just the truth. It hung between them, demanding.
Edmond looked down at the child again. At the red hair. At the quiet, fragile life in his arms. His jaw tightened.
Then he shook his head. "No." The word came firmly, and clearly. "I won't let harm come to him."
Something in Evelyn's shoulders eased. She knew Edmond won't let the child down. "Good." She nodded once. "You must keep his identity hidden." Her voice lowered. "Until he is of age."
Edmond didn't respond immediately. He didn't argue either. He just stood there.
Holding the child.
Feeling the weight of something far bigger than himself settled into place.
Evelyn took a step back, then another.
Edmond's gaze snapped up. "Where are you going?"
She stopped, and turned back, then bowed again. "To wherever fate leads me."
No explanation, no promise. Just that. Then she straightened, and walked away.
No hesitation, no looking back. The trees swallowed her slowly, shadow by shadow, until she was gone completely.
Edmond remained where he stood. The forest felt different now: quieter, and heavier.
He looked down at the child in his arms.
Drexo.
The name echoed faintly in his mind. The boy shifted again, settling deeper against him.
Alive, against all logic, against all reason.
Edmond tightened his hold, just slightly. As if the world might try to take him too. The wind moved again. And somewhere, far behind him, the sea kept crashing against the shore. Unbothered, and unchanged. But Edmond was not the same man who had walked into that forest.
Edmond stood there for a while after Evelyn disappeared, not moving, not calling after her. Just standing, with the child in his arms and the forest pressing in from all sides like it was listening.
Then he exhaled: slow, and measured. He looked down. The red hair caught what little light filtered through the trees. It didn't look like ordinary hair. It almost glowed. Subtle, but enough. Anyone who sees him will realize his identity immediately.
Edmond's jaw tightened. "No," he murmured, more to himself than to the child. His hand moved to his belt. He drew a small blade, not the sword this time. Something simpler, and cleaner.
The child shifted slightly, a soft, restless movement.
Edmond hesitated just for a breath. Then he adjusted his grip, holding the child more securely, one arm cradling him close while the other brought the blade up. "It has to be done," he said quietly.
The first lock fell. Light, and soft. It made the act feel worse, but he continued. Careful. Controlled. Every motion was deliberate. The blade moved through the red strands, stripping them away piece by piece. The child whimpered once, a small, confused sound, but didn't cry.
That almost made it harder.
Edmond worked in silence until there was nothing left. No trace of hair. Only a bare headed child could be seen.
He crouched, gathered the fallen hair into his hand. For a moment, he just stared at it.
Proof, danger, and truth. Then he struck flint against steel. A spark caught. The dry strands ignited quickly, curling into black ash within seconds. The faint smell of burning hair rose into the air, sharp and unpleasant.
Edmond watched until the last ember died. Until there was nothing left to betray the child. Only then did he stand.
He adjusted the cloth around the boy, pulling it up slightly, hiding what little could still give him away. "I will protect you," he said. The words felt heavier than they should. "I will protect your identity."
He shifted the child closer against his chest. "I won't tell anyone who you are." The wind stirred the trees again, as if acknowledging the promise, or warning him.
Edmond turned, and began the walk back. Each step felt different now. More calculated. More aware. The forest thinned gradually, giving way to the open stretch of shore again. The sound of the sea returned, louder this time, like it had been waiting.
He barely noticed it. His mind had already moved ahead.
Bianca.
His grip tightened slightly around the child. He pictured her face. The way she looked at him. The trust in her eyes. The quiet pride she carried when people spoke of him.
Honorable, loyal, unbreakable. He almost let out a bitter laugh. "What will I tell her?" The question lingered. He tried different answers in his mind. But found each one lacking.
A foundling? No. She would question it. A child of war? Too vague. A lie too small would collapse. A lie too big would destroy everything.
He exhaled sharply. "There is no easy way," he muttered.
The castle gates came into view: tall, and unyielding.
By the time he passed through them, his face had already changed again. Composed. Controlled. Nothing of the forest clung to him now, at least not on the surface.
Servants bowed as he entered. Guards stepped aside. No one questioned the child in his arms, not yet.
Inside, the air was warmer. Still. Almost suffocating compared to the open shore. Edmond didn't slow. He moved through the halls with purpose, boots striking against stone in steady rhythm until he reached the inner quarters.
A maid stood near the corridor, arranging linens. She looked up at the sound of his approach. Her eyes dropped immediately in respect. "My lord."
Edmond stepped forward and held out the child. "Take him."
The maid blinked, surprised, but instinct moved her faster than thought. She reached out and received the child carefully.
"Make sure he is properly taken care of," Edmond said. His tone left little room for error.
The maid nodded quickly, adjusting the child in her arms. "Yes, my lord." But then, her brows furrowed just slightly. She looked down at the child again, then back up at Edmond.
It wasn't defiance, It was pure confusion. "Whose child is this?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. And the moment it did.
Silence fell. Thick, and suffocating.
Edmond stared at her. For a brief second, something unreadable passed through his eyes. He searched for an answer.
Something simple, something clean, but nothing came.
The silence stretched.
The maid shifted uneasily under his gaze.
Then, Edmond spoke. "He is mine." The words landed heavy, and final.
The maid recoiled slightly, as if the answer had physically struck her. "What?" she breathed. Her grip on the child tightened instinctively. "You broke your vows to my lady?" There was no accusation in her tone, only shock. Pure, unfiltered shock.
Edmond's expression hardened instantly. "Go," he snapped. The word cut through the air like a blade. "Do what I have commanded you."
The maid flinched.
Reality returned just as quickly as it had left. She bowed her head deeply. "Yes, my lord."
No more questions, no more hesitation. She turned and walked away, the child held close, her steps quick but careful.
Edmond watched her go for a moment..Then turned in the opposite direction..His chambers felt farther than usual. Or maybe he just didn't want to reach them.
When he finally stepped inside, the door closed behind him with a dull thud. And the strength he had been holding onto, it slipped. He crossed the room slowly, then sank onto the edge of his bed.
For a moment, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.
Still, and quiet.
Bianca.
Her name alone felt like a weight. He knew, he didn't need anyone to tell him.
"When she finds out.." He shut his eyes briefly. "She will curse me." The words barely made it out.
Time passed, he didn't track it. He didn't care. But it didn't take long. The door burst open. The sound alone shattered whatever silence had settled. "What is this I am hearing?"
Bianca's voice filled the room: sharp, and unsteady. She didn't wait for permission, she didn't wait for acknowledgement. She moved straight toward him, her steps quick, almost unbalanced.
Her eyes searched his face desperately. "Tell me it is not true." She stopped just a few steps away. Her voice dropped. Quieter now. More dangerous.
"Tell me the child is not yours."
Edmond looked at her. Really looked this time. At the fear behind her anger. At the hope she was trying to hold onto.
For a moment, he said nothing. Because saying it would make it real. Because saying it would break something he couldn't fix.
Then, he nodded. "It is true."
The room shifted. Not physically, but everything inside it felt different.
Bianca staggered back. A small step, then another. As if the ground beneath her had changed without warning.
"No…" The word came out faint, and disbelieving.
She shook her head slowly. "No! No!" Her eyes searched him again, as if she might find a different answer hidden somewhere. But there was nothing else. Only the truth he had given her. Her breath hitched.
A sharp sound escaped her, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. "No!" This time louder, and raw. Her hand moved to her head suddenly, fingers pressing against her temple.
Her face twisted in pain
"Bianca!" Edmond stood, stepping toward her, but she didn't seem to see him.
Her vision blurred. Her breathing turned uneven. "I…" She tried to speak. The words didn't come. Her knees buckled.
"Bianca!" Edmond lunged forward, catching her just before she hit the ground.
Her body felt wrong. Too limp, too heavy. He pulled her closer, trying to steady her.
Then he saw it: blood.
It spread quickly, staining her dress, too dark, too fast.
For a second, he froze. "No…" The word came out hollow.
Then louder. "No!" His voice broke as panic surged through him.
"Call the physicians!" he roared. The sound echoed through the halls outside. "Call the physicians!"
He didn't wait. He lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the bed with urgency that bordered on desperation. He laid her down carefully, his hands hovering for a moment as if unsure where to touch, what to do.
"Stay with me," he muttered. "I'm here."
But she didn't respond. Footsteps thundered outside.
Voices, and movements Within minutes, the room filled. Physicians rushed in, their calm already cracking under the urgency of the scene. They moved around the bed, assessing, speaking in low, quick tones.
Edmond stepped back. Not because he wanted to. Because he had to. The bleeding worsened. He could see it. Even from where he stood.
One of the physicians looked up at him. His expression said everything before his words did. "All is not well."
Edmond's chest tightened. "The baby is coming."
"What?" The word tore out of him. "She is barely eight months gone."
The physician nodded grimly. "Yes." He turned back to Bianca, his hands already working. "The child is not coming on its own."
Edmond didn't like the way he said that. "It is being forced out," the physician added, his tone urgent now. "By stress."
The words hit harder than anything else.
Edmond's jaw clenched hard. He didn't move, he didn't speak.
Bianca's scream cut through the room. Sharp, and piercing.
It didn't sound like her. "We need a midwife!" the head physician barked.
Edmond turned instantly. "Call the midwives!" he shouted. His voice carried down the corridors, pushing everyone into motion once again.