Kaelen’s POV

The border patrol reports blurred together.

I’d been staring at the same page for what felt like an eternity. The words kept rearranging themselves—troop movements along the eastern ridge, supply chain delays at the Ashford outpost, a skirmish with rogue scouts near the river crossing. Each report demanded decisions. Each decision demanded focus I no longer possessed.

I pressed my knuckles against my eyes. Hard. Until the darkness behind my lids sparked white.

The communication stone on my desk hummed. I reached for it before the second pulse.

"Your Majesty." Physician Morgan’s voice, steady as always. Measured. "The morning assessment is complete. The child remains healthy. Strong heartbeat, excellent development. No concerns there."

"And Elara?"

The pause told me everything.

"Her wounds continue to close. The physical recovery is progressing, albeit slowly. However—" Another pause. "Her energy levels remain significantly depleted. The loss of her wolf has fundamentally altered her constitution. I would recommend continued bed rest for the foreseeable future."

I closed my eyes. "How long?"

"I cannot give you a precise answer, Your Majesty. Weeks, at minimum. Possibly longer. Her body is learning to function under entirely new conditions. We must be patient."

Patient. The word tasted like ash.

"Keep me informed. Any change—anything at all."

"Of course, sire."

The stone went dark. I set it down and stared at the stack of patrol reports again. The ink swam.

Behind me, the study door crashed open.

"DADDY!"

Valerius burst through the doorway like a small, curly-haired cannonball. His boots were muddy—tracking prints across the carpet I’d have to answer for later—and his cheeks were flushed red from running. Those dark gold eyes, identical to mine, blazed with excitement.

"Daddy, guess what! Sir Cassian said we can go see Mommy today! He said the healers said it’s okay and we can bring her something and I picked flowers but they got a bit squished because I was running—"

He skidded to a stop in front of my desk, breathless. One small fist clutched a mangled bouquet of what might have once been wildflowers.

Despite everything, something loosened in my chest.

"Slow down." I pushed back from the desk. "Breathe."

"I am breathing." He thrust the crushed flowers toward me. "These are for Mommy. Can we go now? Please? I’ve been waiting forever."

"After lunch. I need to finish—"

"But you always need to finish something."

His lower lip pushed out. The expression was pure Elara. That same stubborn defiance wrapped in something soft enough to disarm you completely.

I opened my mouth to respond, but a knock on the doorframe cut me off.

"Am I interrupting a critical negotiation?"

Claire stood in the doorway. Her pale blue eyes swept the scene with practiced efficiency—muddy boot prints, crushed flowers, a young boy vibrating with impatience, and an emperor who hadn’t slept properly in weeks. Her lined face settled into an expression I recognized. Disapproval disguised as concern.

She’d worn that expression a lot lately.

"Claire." I straightened in my chair. "I was about to review the—"

"You look terrible," she said flatly.

"Thank you."

"I’m serious, Kaelen." She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Claire was the only person in the empire who used my first name without flinching. She’d earned that right. When my parents were murdered, she was the one who pulled a terrified boy out of his hiding place and told him he was going to survive. She’d been managing my life ever since. "When did you last eat? And don’t say you had black tea, because tea is not food."

"I had—"

"Black tea. I knew it." She turned to Valerius. "Young prince, would you give me a moment alone with your father? Sir Cassian has something for you in the corridor."

Valerius looked between us. Then, with the strategic instincts of a born negotiator, he set the crushed flowers on my desk. "These are for Mommy. Don’t forget them."

"I won’t."

He fixed me with a stare that was unsettlingly paternal for someone who barely reached my hip. Then he marched out.

Claire waited until his footsteps faded. Then she sat in the chair across from me without invitation—another privilege only she possessed—and folded her hands.

"I need to tell you something, and you’re not going to like it."

My jaw tightened. "Go ahead."

"My son’s wife has developed complications with her pregnancy. Serious ones. She needs full-time care, and there’s no one else in the family who can provide it."

I stared at her.

"I’m leaving next week," she continued. "I’ll be gone at least two months. Possibly longer, depending on how the birth goes."

The words landed one at a time. Each one a small, precise detonation.

"Two months."

"At minimum."

I leaned back. The chair creaked under the shift of weight. Around me, the study felt suddenly enormous—the maps on the walls, the stacked correspondence, the patrol reports, the trade agreements, the judicial appeals, the military briefings. All of it. Every thread of this empire that Claire had been quietly holding together while I ran between my mate’s hospital bed and the war room.

"Kaelen." Her voice softened. Just slightly. "You cannot do this alone. You are already stretched beyond what any man should bear. And with Elara still recovering—"

"I’ll manage."

"You will not manage. You will collapse, and then this empire will have no emperor and no empress, and your son will be left with a pile of unsigned documents and a crushed bouquet."

Silence.

She was right. I hated that she was right.

Claire reached into the leather folio she carried and produced a single sheet of parchment. "I’ve arranged an interview this afternoon. Two o’clock. Sylvia Vance—Sir Cassian’s cousin. She spent three years working for the Dawn Alliance administration in the south. Languages, logistics, diplomatic correspondence. Cassian vouches for her personally."

I took the parchment. Scanned it. The credentials were solid. Impressive, even.

"This afternoon."

"This afternoon. Because if I leave this to you, you’ll postpone it until I’m already gone, and by then you’ll be sleeping in this chair with ink on your face."

I almost smiled. Almost.

"Fine. Two o’clock."

---

The medical wing was quiet at midday.

Valerius held my hand as we walked the corridor—a rare concession for a boy who usually insisted on running ahead. Today, though, something made him stay close. His small fingers gripped mine with surprising strength.

We found Elara propped against her pillows. The sight of her still hit me like a blow every single time. The dark circles beneath her ice-blue eyes. The way her skin seemed almost translucent against the white linen. She’d always been slender, but now she looked fragile in a way that made my chest physically ache. Smaller than I ever remembered her being.

But when Valerius scrambled onto the bed, her entire face transformed.

"My little wolf." She pulled him close, pressing her lips to his curls. "What did you bring me?"

He proudly presented the crushed flowers. "Daddy carried them, but I picked them."

"They’re perfect."

For several minutes, I stood by the window and watched them. Valerius chattering about his morning—something about a frog he’d found near the fountain, and how Sir Cassian had let him hold a practice sword. Elara listening with that quiet, luminous attention that made whoever she focused on feel like the only person in the world.

Then her gaze lifted to me.

Those blue eyes. Winter lakes. They saw through every wall I’d ever built.

"You look exhausted, Kaelen."

"I’m fine."

"You’re lying."

"Ela—"

"When did you last sleep through the night?"

I didn’t answer. She already knew.

Her expression softened into something complicated—love and worry and frustration braided together. She opened her mouth to push further, but Valerius tugged her sleeve and launched into a detailed account of the frog’s escape, and the moment passed.

---

I was back in my study at exactly one fifty-five in the afternoon.

The knock came precisely on time.

"Enter."

The door opened, and a young woman stepped inside. Mid-twenties. Dark hair pulled back into a neat, tight bun. She wore a crisp court uniform—charcoal fabric, clean lines, not a crease out of place. Her posture was straight without being rigid. Composed without being cold.

She stopped at the appropriate distance from my desk and inclined her head.

"Your Majesty Nightfire." Her voice was clear and even. No tremor. No excessive deference. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I understand the position requires immediate availability."

I gestured to the chair. "Sit."

She sat. Spine straight. Hands folded in her lap.

Over the next twenty minutes of conversation, I questioned her. Administrative systems. Supply chain protocols. Diplomatic correspondence formats. Crisis prioritization. She answered each question without hesitation—precise, knowledgeable, occasionally offering context I hadn’t asked for but found useful.

"Claire mentioned you would need someone who could manage both domestic scheduling and external liaison work," she said at one point. "I should note that during my time with the Dawn Alliance, I handled both simultaneously for their senior council."

Competent. Confident. No wasted words.

"The position is temporary," I said. "Two months minimum. You would be managing the administrative functions currently overseen by Claire. The workload is substantial."

"I understand."

"You would need to begin immediately. Tomorrow."

"That works for me."

"The compensation is outlined here." I slid a document across the desk.

She glanced at it. Nodded once. "That’s very fair."

"One final matter. Given the urgency and the hours required, I’m offering quarters in the palace. A guest suite in the east wing. It would be more practical than commuting from the city."

Something flickered in her expression—surprise, perhaps, quickly contained. "That’s generous, Your Majesty. I accept."

I studied her for a moment longer. Cassian’s cousin. Vetted. Qualified. Available. It would have to be enough.

"Then we’re settled. Claire will brief you on current priorities first thing tomorrow morning."

She stood, taking my hand again with that same professional confidence. "Thank you, Your Majesty Nightfire. I won’t let you down."