Hide that child. He is the future king. The mysterious man said as he handed the baby to the peasant woman. Night fell over the fields of Wesex with a silence so thick that not even the crickets dared to sing.

Amalia was finishing covering the fire, making sure the embers would last until dawn. Her children were asleep in the corner under an old blanket. Outside, the wind carried the scent of rain, and the distant sound of the river mingled with the beating of her own heart. Then she heard a knock, a single, sharp knock on the door. Amalia froze.

At that hour, no one visited such a poor cabin. He took the candle from the shelf and approached slowly. The knocking was repeated, softer this time, like a plea. “Who’s there?” he asked, his voice trembling. There was no answer, only the wind. He took another step and opened the door a crack. The mist drifted in like a sigh, and in the midst of it, a man covered in a black cloak bent over, holding something in his arms.

“For God’s sake,” he said hoarsely. “Hide him.” Amalia stepped back. The candle flickered between her fingers. “Who? Who are you?” The man looked up. His beard was damp, his eyes burning with weariness and fear. In his arms, a baby wrapped in cloth embroidered with gold thread. “There’s no time. Hide him well.”

That child is the future king. The air seemed to stand still. Amalia opened the door wider without knowing why. He entered, letting a few raindrops fall onto the earthen floor. The baby whimpered, barely a whimper. Wait. What are you saying? she stammered. I can’t, can’t, the man interrupted, looking around. They’ve already searched the village. They’ll be here soon.

If anyone asks, you haven’t seen anyone, understand? Amalia nodded, not understanding anything. The man placed the child on the table, covering him with the blanket. The embroidery was fine, real, impossible in the hands of a peasant. “Who’s looking for him?” she asked. “Those who want the throne.” The man turned toward the door. “If they find him, England will burn from dawn.”

The baby cried again. Amalia picked him up without thinking, as if her arms knew what her mind couldn’t yet grasp. She felt the warmth of his small body, his heart beating quickly. “What’s his name?” The man hesitated. “Edward. But don’t tell anyone.” Amalia tried to look him in the eyes. But he was already moving away. “Wait.”

Who are you? The gentleman only managed to say, “A man who has already failed once. I cannot fail again.” And he disappeared into the mist. Silence returned. Heavy, real. Amalia stared at the open door, unsure if it had all been a dream. Then she looked at the baby. He was asleep.

The blanket, though soiled from the journey, retained a golden sheen that left no room for doubt. She took a deep breath, closed the door, locked it, and leaned against the wall. She understood nothing, but something inside her told her that this child was destined for more than to die of cold in the fog. “My God,” she whispered, “What have I gotten myself into?” She lay awake all night. Outside, the village dogs barked as if they were sniffing out a secret.

At dawn, the sun barely filtered through the crack in the roof. Amalia tried to act normal, feeding her children, boiling water, and hiding the baby in a basket under rags and firewood. When his crying threatened to give him away, she peed on him with her trembling hand and hummed an old lullaby. “Hush, little one, they won’t hear you.” The sound of hooves made her shudder.

She looked out the window. Four soldiers were riding toward the village huts. Their armor gleamed in the weak sunlight. Behind them, a man in a red cape was checking the houses one by one. They knocked on her neighbor’s door, then the next. Amalia felt a cold sweat trickle down her back.

Children, she whispered, don’t say a word. Footsteps drew nearer. Three knocks echoed on her door. By order of the kingdom, a deep voice said. Open up. Amalia swallowed, took a deep breath, and opened it. Good morning, ma’am, said the man in the red cloak. We are looking for a traveler, a knight in a dark cloak.

“You saw it, sir,” she replied in the calmest voice she could muster. “No one comes here, day or night.” The man watched her intently. His eyes scanned the house, the corners, the floor. “One of the soldiers came in without permission and lifted the blanket where her children were sleeping. They hugged each other, frightened. “They’re just my children, sir,” Amalia said. “The older one is named Thomas, the little one Helen.”

The man nodded without saying anything, walked to the table, and took a piece of stale bread. He smelled it, broke it in two—peasant bread, he murmured—no one could hide anything valuable in a place like this. Suddenly, a cry came from the corner of the oven. Amalia felt her heart leap in her chest. The soldier took a step in that direction.

“What was that?” “My nephew,” she said quickly. “My sister’s son asked me to look after him because she’s sick. May I see him?” “He’s asleep, sir. He has a fever. If you wake him, he’ll cry all afternoon.” The soldier hesitated. The man in the red cloak raised an eyebrow as if to test her. Then he gestured, and they all left.

“If you see anyone wearing a black cloak, let us know,” he said before mounting his horse. “The kingdom will reward you.” Amalia nodded without looking up. When the sound of hooves faded among the trees, her legs gave way. She knelt, covering her face with her hands. The baby was still crying, oblivious to everything. “Shh, it’s over now, little one, it’s over now.”

But nothing had happened. Rumors began to circulate in the village. Some said the king was on the verge of death, others that a royal child had vanished during the night. The men spoke in hushed tones in the tavern. The women murmured as they drew water from the well. Everyone knew something big was about to erupt.

Amalia tried to carry on with her life, tending her garden, baking bread, changing the chickens’ water, but every noise startled her, every shadow on the path seemed like a threat. The baby was growing fast. His eyes, blue as the winter sky, gazed at her with an eerie calm. She fed him goat’s milk, wrapped him in an old blanket, and hid him under the bed when she heard footsteps.

One afternoon, while she was gathering firewood, Doña Hester, the village elder, approached, leaning on her cane. “Amalia, my child!” she said hoarsely, “you’re not sleeping well. Your face is pale. What are you hiding in there?” “Nothing, ma’am,” she replied, forcing a smile. “Only my worries. I’ve seen men lurking around your house at night. They’re not from the village.” The old woman stared at her.

Be careful what you hide. There’s no secret the forest won’t repeat. Amalia felt a chill. Thank you for your warning, Doña Hester. Don’t thank me. If war comes, no one will be safe. Not those with crowns, nor those who are simply hungry. The old woman walked away, dragging her cane through the dry leaves.

Amalia stood motionless, staring at the edge of the forest. The wind blew differently that afternoon, as if carrying a message she couldn’t understand. As night fell, she put her children to bed and lit the fire. The baby slept peacefully in his makeshift crib. Exhausted, she sat beside him, thinking about the knight of the mist, who he really was, why he had chosen her.

The sound of crickets lulled her to sleep when she heard a soft knock, not on the door, but beneath it, as if someone had thrown something against the wood. She rose slowly, took the candle, and opened it. There was no one there, only the mist of the forest and the silence of the countryside. She looked down. A folded sheet of paper lay on the ground.

It had no seal or signature. When she opened it, she read a single line written in firm handwriting. We know what you’re hiding. The paper trembled in her fingers. Outside, the wind blew harder, and the baby’s cry broke the silence just as the horses’ hooves returned to her door. Amalia blew out the candle quickly and ran to the crib.

The baby was crying loudly, the sound echoing off the wooden walls. Outside, hooves stopped. He heard voices, then the creak of the farmyard gate. His heart was beating so fast he was afraid the soldiers could hear him. “Tomas,” he whispered, shaking the older son. “Wake up and look after your sister. If they knock on the door, don’t say anything.”

The child nodded, still half asleep. Amalia took the baby, wrapped him in a flour sack, and hid him under the bench where she kept the firewood. She placed a cloth over him and took a deep breath. Please don’t cry now, please. Three loud knocks sounded on the door. This time there was no doubt. They had come for her. Open up, peasant woman, a dry voice ordered.

We have orders to search all the houses. Amalia opened the door, feigning surprise. Again, sir. You were here this morning. New instructions. There are reports of an injured gentleman who may have passed through here. The man speaking was different, tall, with a scar on his cheek and a look that brooked no questions.

Behind him, three soldiers waited with torches. “You can look,” Amalia said, feigning calm. “But my children are asleep.” The man entered without asking permission. He pushed over a chair, checked the oven, lifted the blankets. One of the soldiers kicked a sack. The baby made a muffled sound, barely a whimper.

Amalia stepped forward and pretended to stumble, spilling water from the bucket onto the ground. “Sorry, sorry!” she called. “I didn’t mean to get your boots wet, sir.” The man stepped back, annoyed. “Be careful,” he said to his men. “I don’t want to waste any more time.” As they left, Amalia held her breath until the hooves disappeared down the path again.

She closed the door and fell to her knees. The baby cried loudly, and she took him, pressing him to her chest. “It’s alright, Edward, they’re gone.” That night she didn’t sleep. She lay by the fire thinking about the note, the soldiers, the knight who had vanished without a trace. Outside, the moon hid behind the clouds, and the forest seemed to watch it.

At dawn, she decided to act as if nothing had happened. She went to the well to fetch water with the baby wrapped up like firewood. There she ran into Margaret, her neighbor, a talkative woman who always knew more than she should. “Did you hear?” she whispered. “They found a body in the river. They say it was a gentleman.” Amalia tightened the rope on the bucket. A gentleman. Yes, with a dark cloak.

He had neither sword nor seal. The duke’s men are looking for him. Perhaps he was a thief, Amalia said, trying to sound indifferent. Or perhaps not. Margaret leaned forward slightly. They say a widow helped him escape. Amalia feigned a smile. There are always stories in this town. Well, be careful, Amalia.

If the soldiers think it was you, you’ll have nowhere to hide. She returned home with a heavy heart. The baby was asleep in the basket. Peaceful. She looked at him and wondered what such a small creature could possibly have done to deserve so many people wanting to find him. Days passed, and the rumors grew. In the marketplace, people were talking about an approaching war. The king was very ill, and his brother, the Duke of Northwell, was demanding the throne.

The neighboring villages were burning. No one knew who to trust. Amalia stuck to her routine. She made bread, cared for her children, and fed the baby. Sometimes she thought about giving him up, but just seeing him sleep was enough to make her lose her courage. One rainy afternoon, while she was arranging firewood by the fire, someone knocked on the door. Three sharp knocks. It wasn’t the soldiers.

“Who is it?” she asked. “A friend,” a husky voice said from the other end. “I need to talk to you.” Amalia hesitated. The voice sounded strangely familiar. “I don’t open the door to strangers.” “Then tell the crying child to be quiet,” the voice said in a low tone. “I heard you from the road.” Amalia’s heart stopped.

She opened the door a crack, and the wind carried the scent of mud and blood. Standing before her was a man covered in a soaked cloak, his beard overgrown, his gaze vacant. “I’ve finally found her,” he said. “I’m the one who left the child with her.” Amalia took a step back. It can’t be. I thought he was dead. I almost was. She leaned against the doorframe.

I was wounded in the forest, but I managed to escape. What do you want now? To protect him. She glanced toward the basket where the baby slept. He’s not safe here. Amalia watched him suspiciously. There was something different about him. His voice, the way he moved, even his gaze. He didn’t tell me his name. S. Rowan answered. I swore to protect Prince Edward with my life. And I will. She let him in, though she didn’t let her guard down. Ran sat by the fire, shivering with cold.

Amalia offered him a piece of bread and a clean cloth. The soldiers came twice, she told him. They left a note. Someone knows I’m hiding him. Rowan nodded. The duke’s spies are everywhere. He’ll pay more for the boy’s head than for a golden sword. And why are you risking yours? she asked.

“I could run away because I swore to protect your father,” he said softly. “And because I failed once, I won’t do it again.” The firelight illuminated his tired face. Amalia watched him. There was something in his gaze, an old weight, a guilt she didn’t understand. “So what will we do now?” she asked.

“We must wait,” Ranasta replied, “until we know whether the king lives or dies. If he dies, there will be war. If he lives, the child must be taken to the castle. And in the meantime, no one must know he is here. Not his neighbor, not his children, no one.” Amalia stared at him. “My children won’t speak, and neither will I, but I need to know something.”

Why me? Why leave me with a child that isn’t mine? Rowan took a deep breath. Because you were the only open door that night. Amalia lowered her gaze. Sometimes fate was decided with a knock on the door. During the following days, Rowan stayed at the cabin, repaired the roof, chopped wood, and helped the children. He didn’t talk much, but his presence made Amalia sleep a little more peacefully.

One night, as the wind rattled the walls, he approached the fire with a serious expression. “Someone has been watching the house,” he said. “I saw fresh footprints in the mud, perhaps spies or someone from the village who wants a reward.” Amalia hugged her arms.

What will happen if we’re discovered? Then we’ll run away. But not tonight. The baby started to cry. Amalia picked him up. Rowan stared at her silently. “She has a good heart,” he said. “A heart doesn’t feed children,” she replied, “or stop them from being killed.” He smiled sadly. “Maybe not, but it keeps them human.”

Amalia wanted to answer, but the sound of the wind changed. It was a whistling sound, like footsteps creeping outside. Rowan got up quickly, grabbed a stick from the fire, and went to the window. “Don’t come out,” he ordered. She stayed still, holding the baby to her chest. Rowan left and disappeared into the darkness. Time passed slowly. Outside there were murmurs, a creaking sound, then silence.

When he finally returned, his boots were covered in mud. “Who was he?” she asked. “No one, just a servant.” But his eyes told a different story. The next morning, Amalia saw him walking away toward the woods. He said he was going to the river for water, but he was gone for hours. When he came back, he looked distant. “Where was he?” she asked. “Walking. He needed to think.” That night Amalia woke to the sound of murmurs.

She got up slowly and saw Ran’s silhouette in front of the door, talking to someone in a low voice. She couldn’t see who, but the tone was tense. “No,” Rogan was saying now. “She doesn’t suspect anything.” Amalia covered her mouth, waited for the other man to leave, and went back to her bed pretending to be asleep.

When Rowan entered, the smell of smoke and iron gave him away. At dawn, he acted as if he knew nothing. He baked bread, fed the chickens, cared for the baby, but inside his heart was in knots. “I’m going to the river,” she said. Rowan nodded without looking up. Amalia wandered aimlessly among the trees. The air smelled damp and fear.

She saw fresh boot prints, the same ones he’d mentioned. She bent down and touched them. There was no doubt, there were two pairs, one large and one smaller. She ran back. When she arrived, she saw smoke rising from her chimney. Everything seemed the same, but something had changed. The birds weren’t singing. Rowan was waiting for her at the door. “You shouldn’t go out alone,” she said firmly.

There are people lurking around. I know, she replied. I saw the footprints. Two men. One was here last night. Rowan frowned. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course you know. I heard him. He was talking to someone. He said I didn’t suspect anything. Silence fell between them. Rowan clenched his fists. It’s not what you think. Then what is it? A deal, a price for the child. He looked at her, hurt.

I would never betray the prince. “And how can I believe him?” Amalia said. “I don’t know him. I don’t know who he really is.” Rowan took a step toward her, but Amalia stepped back. “If he lies to me, I’ll know,” she said, “and if he tries to hurt us, he’ll regret it.” Rowan lowered his head. “I wouldn’t do that, Amalia. I couldn’t.” That night it rained heavily. Thunder crashed against the thatched roof.

Amalia couldn’t sleep. She picked up the baby and kept him close. At midnight, she heard the door creak. Rowan was there with a lamp in his hand. “Where are you going?” she asked. “To keep watch,” he replied. “I don’t want us to be caught.” Amalia got up and followed him to the door. “If you cross that door, everyone will die.” Amalia froze in front of the open door.

Outside, the rain fell like a curtain. Mud mingled with the shadows, and the wind extinguished almost all the lamps. Rowan stood there soaked, his gaze fixed on her, as if speaking not with a threat, but with fear. “What did you say?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“If you cross that door, everyone will die.” His tone was firm, but his eyes trembled. “I’m not threatening you, I’m warning you.” Amalia squeezed the baby’s arms. “Who told you that?” “Your friends. The man you were talking to last night.” Rowan sighed, wet from head to toe. “That man betrayed me. He was trying to convince me to hand the child over.”

She said there was enough gold to start a new life far from here, but I didn’t. And I’m supposed to believe you. Amalia lifted her chin after lying to me ever since you arrived. I didn’t lie to you. Rowan took a step closer. I didn’t tell you everything, but that’s not the same thing. She backed away, holding the lamp like a weapon. Don’t come any closer, Amalia. Her voice broke.

If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it already. But I don’t. For a moment, only the rain hitting the roof could be heard. The baby stirred, cried a little, and the sound broke the air like a plea. “Then tell me the truth,” Amalia said, lowering the lamp slightly. “Who are you, really?” Rowan took a deep breath. “I was a knight of King Richard. I swore to protect his line.”

When the duke rebelled, the castle burned. It was my duty to get the child out, but I didn’t arrive in time. I took him from the arms of a dying servant and fled. Since then, I’ve been hunted as a traitor. Amalia stared at him for a long time, searching for a lie in his voice, but all she saw was guilt. And you came to me only because I was near, because you were the only open door.

Rowan’s voice was barely a whisper. “Because you reminded me of someone.” She wanted to ask who, but didn’t. The rain continued to fall furiously. “I can’t go on like this,” she finally said. “I can’t live in fear every night.” “Then let me help you.” Rowan took another step. “If you stay, I’ll teach you how to defend yourself.”

If you decide to run away, I’ll escort you to safety. But don’t do it tonight. There are eyes in the woods. Amalia lowered her gaze. Her instinct told her to trust him, though her mind still hesitated. “All right,” she said. “One more night.” Rowan nodded and closed the door. Outside, the wind continued to howl. The following days passed slowly, but differently.

Rowan never mentioned their secret conversation again. He spent his mornings repairing the fence and his afternoons teaching Tomas how to chop wood. Sometimes, when he thought no one was watching, he would gaze at the sleeping baby with a tenderness that belied his gruffness. Amalia remained vigilant. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down.

However, every time she saw him working in the sun, every time she heard him laughing with the children, something inside her began to change. One afternoon, while she was drawing water from the well, Doña Gester appeared again. Her walking stick tapped the ground with a slow rhythm. “So you have company now,” she said without greeting. “A wounded traveler. That’s all. There’s no ‘only’ in times of war.”

The old woman observed her with wise eyes. “There are men who bring peace and others who bring misfortune. Take good care of which one you have in your house.” Amalia swallowed. Not all men are the same. No, but they all hide something. The old woman walked away without looking back.

Amalia watched her until she disappeared among the trees. That night, as the fire crackled, Rowan sat across from her. “What did the old woman tell you?” he asked. “Nothing I don’t already know. She probably warned you about me.” Amalia looked at him with a half-smile. “And if she did, then I’d tell you she’s right.” “I’m no saint, Amalia. I’ve done things I can’t erase, but you’re protecting a child.”

That says something. Rowan lowered his gaze. I don’t do it for honor, I do it for redemption. She didn’t know what to say. The fire cast orange flashes across their faces, and for a moment the silence became more intimate than any words. The next day, Rowan left early. He said he was going hunting. Amalia watched him disappear among the trees, his dark cloak billowing behind him.

The hours passed. The afternoon turned gray. She began to feel uneasy. When she finally heard footsteps approaching, she ran to the window. But it wasn’t Rowan; it was two men on horseback, dressed in noble attire. “Please, not now,” she murmured. They knocked on the door. “Good afternoon, madam,” one said in a kind voice.

We are envoys of the Duke of Northwell. We are looking for a man named Rowan. He has been through here. Amalia shook her head. I don’t know anyone by that name. Are you sure? The other man took out a bag and shook it. The clinking of coins sounded. Reward for any information. I have nothing to say to you. The first man stared at her.

“What’s with the crying?” Amalia felt a lump in her throat. “My nephew, orphaned a few months ago. I can see him; he’s asleep.” The man smiled falsely. “It won’t take long.” He pushed open the door and went in. The other followed. Amalia stood in his way. “You can’t come in.” “Calm down, peasant woman.” The man approached the crib.

At that moment, a noise outside distracted them. Hooves. A horse trotting. The baby cried. Amalia seized the opportunity, grabbed the pot from the fire, and knocked it over. The boiling water spilled onto the floor, releasing steam. “Watch out!” one of them shouted, backing away. Amalia picked up the baby and ran to the corner. The men left cursing.

From outside, Rowan’s voice boomed. “Leave her alone.” The clang of metal filled the air. The men fled at his shout, and the horse whinnied. Rowan came in, dripping wet and panting, his hair plastered to his forehead. “Are you all right?” Amalia nodded, trembling. “They came for you.” “I know. I saw them on the road. I told you there were eyes on us.”

Amalia clutched the baby to her chest. “We have to go, Rowan.” He looked at her, breathing heavily. “Yes, but not now, not when night falls.” They waited. When the sky turned black, Rowan saddled the horse. Amalia packed a bag with bread and blankets. Thomas and his wife slept, oblivious to the urgency. “And my children?” she asked. “They’ll come with you.”

I won’t leave them behind. Amalia picked them up, half asleep, and put them in the cart. The baby was wrapped in his blanket. The wind was icy, and the moon was barely visible. “Where are we going?” she asked as they moved forward. “North. There’s a monastery hidden in the mountains. The child will be safe there.” The cart moved along the muddy road.

The cabin, her life, her fears were all behind her. But as she gazed into the dark forest, Amalia knew danger hadn’t left them. Suddenly, a whinny. Rogan stopped his horse and dismounted, looking up at the trees. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Someone’s following us.” Before she could answer, a shadow crossed the path.

An arrow lodged in the tree trunk beside them. “Duck!” Ran shouted. The children ducked for cover. The horse bucked. Rowan grabbed the reins and whipped the rope. The cart lurched forward. “They’re catching up to us!” Amalia cried. “Hold on tight.” The cart bounced through the mud. The baby was crying.

The sound of hooves behind them grew louder. Rowan turned onto a narrow path. Branches rattled the wheels. Suddenly, a flash of lightning illuminated everything. There was an old wooden bridge ahead. “It won’t hold the weight,” Amalia said. “There’s no other option.” They crossed the planks; they creaked behind them, and their pursuers stopped. Rowan turned and saw their silhouettes disappear into the darkness.

When they finally stopped, Amalia was trembling. “We can’t go on like this,” she said. “I know, but there’s no going back now.” The baby was still crying. Rowan picked him up gently, rocked him a little, and the child calmed down. Amalia looked at him in surprise. “I never imagined you knew how to do this. Years ago, I took care of a nephew,” he said, almost smiling.

I wasn’t good at it, but I learned. Amalia relaxed for the first time in days. They slept for a few hours in an old shack by the roadside. When the sun rose, distant smoke drifted up from the village. Amalia watched it, her eyes filled with tears. “It’s my home.” Rowan took her shoulder. “You can’t go back. There’s nothing there anymore.” She nodded, pressing her lips together.

What will we do now? Rowan gazed at the horizon. Keep going until we find a place where no one knows who we are. Amalia picked up the baby and covered him with the blanket. On the edge of the fabric, she saw a small emblem she hadn’t noticed before, a tiny crown embroidered with red thread. What does this mean? Rowan tensed. The seal of the royal lineage.

Only the queen wore it. Amalia looked at him silently. So it’s true, this child is of royal blood. Rowan nodded. And that’s why he’ll never be safe. The wind blew hard through the trees. Amalia clutched the baby to her chest, as if she wanted to protect him from the whole world. Suddenly, a noise made them turn around.

In the distance, through the smoke, a mounted figure watched them motionless. His cloak billowed, and the royal sun emblem shone on his chest. Rowan went pale. It can’t be. Amalia stared at him, unsure who he was. Rowan swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on him. The same knight who handed the child over to me that night.

The horse whinnied restlessly, and the figure on the other side of the smoke approached slowly. Rowan looked down for a moment, as if his entire past had crashed down on him. “It can’t be,” he repeated softly. Amalia held the baby tighter. “Do you know him?” “Yes.” Rowan took a deep breath. “That’s Siraldrick. He was my superior. The man who should have died that night. Not me.” The figure dismounted.

He walked confidently, unhurriedly, his helmet tucked under his arm, his eyes fixed on them. His voice was deep, almost gentle. “Rowan, I thought the crows had finished you off.” “I’m not easily buried,” he replied tensely. Aldrick looked at Amalia and then at the baby. “So here he is. The rumor was true. The heir is still alive.”

Amalia took a step back. “Don’t come any closer.” Aldrick smiled with a chilling calm. “Relax, good woman. I didn’t come here to hurt you.” “I don’t believe you,” Rowan said. “You wanted to hand him over to the duke yourself, and I still could. But I didn’t come for gold, I came for justice.” Rowan faced him. “Justice.”

“You let the king die. The king ordered me to save his blood, not his throne,” Aldrick retorted. “If I had wanted to, I would have already sent troops here.” Amalia watched them, not quite understanding, only sensing the tension. The air between them was thick. “What do you want from us?” she finally asked. “The child can’t stay here.” Aldrick pointed toward the woods.

The duke’s men are a day’s journey away. The villagers have told them about a woman with a strange baby. If they stay, they’ll find them. “And why should we believe him?” Rowan said. Aldrick looked at him with a mixture of pity and contempt. “Because you still owe me your life.” Rowan clenched his jaw. “I won’t take your orders anymore.” “They aren’t orders.”

It’s a warning. The silence was long. The wind stirred the branches. The horse snorted. Finally, Aldrick sighed. “I’ll give you some advice. Tonight, before dawn, flee east. There’s a river that marks the boundary of the duke’s lands. If you cross it, you’ll be safe.” “And you?” Amalia asked suspiciously. “I’ll distract the men who are coming.”

Aldrick looked at her with a kind of respect. “I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing it for him.” He pointed at the baby. “That child is all that’s left of England.” Amalia wanted to thank him, but Rowan took her arm. “Don’t trust him. It’s not the first time he’s promised to save someone.” Aldrick mounted again.

Believe me or not, but move before the sun rises. Not everyone who seeks you will do so with words. And he vanished into the mist, just like the first knight that night. Amalia looked at Rowan. What shall we do? I don’t know, but if what he said is true, we must move soon. And if it’s a trap, then we’ll die on the way. But if we stay, we’ll die here.

That night they packed what little they had left: stale bread, a blanket, water. Thomas and Helen woke up startled. “Are we going to run again?” Thomas asked. “Just a little longer, son,” Amalia said. “Then we’ll rest.” The boy nodded, trusting her completely. The forest was a labyrinth of shadows.

The wind rustled through the branches, and each rustle made Amalia glance back. Rowan walked ahead, a torch in hand. “Are you sure it’s this way?” she asked. “Far enough to get us away from the village.” He paused. I don’t like to trust Aldrick, but his warning makes sense. They walked until the sky began to clear.

A stream ran between the stones, and beyond it, the murmur of a larger river could be heard. “It must be the one he mentioned,” Rowan said. Amalia looked at the water. “And if we cross and find nothing on the other side, then we’ll improvise something.” Rowan gave her a small smile. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve improvised.” The baby cried. Amalia cradled him silently. Suddenly, a whistling sound cut through the air. An arrow lodged in the tree trunk beside them. Rowan screamed to the ground.

Amalia fell, shielding the children. Rowan ran toward a bush, trying to pinpoint the direction of the shot. Two men appeared from the trees, dressed in the duke’s clothes. “Hand him over!” one of them shouted. Rowan lunged at him. The blow was swift, body to body, a sharp crack. The other tried to attack, but Rowan pushed him into the water.

In seconds, the river swallowed the scream. Amalia closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, Rowan was breathing heavily, his face spattered with mud. “We have to go now,” he said. “Will there be more?” They crossed the river, the water up to their knees. The cold was so intense that the children were crying. Amalia comforted them as she held the baby to her chest.

Upon reaching the other side, they collapsed, exhausted. Dawn was just breaking. Rowan sat gazing into the woods. “Aldrick did what he said,” he said softly. “He kept us occupied just long enough.” “And now?” Amalia asked, trembling. “Now we’ll keep going until we find shelter. But first, rest.” She looked at him doubtfully.

Why are you doing all this, Rowan? He didn’t answer right away. He took off his cloak and placed it over her and the children. Because no one saved me when I needed it. Silence returned, broken only by the murmur of the water. Hours later, when the sun was high, they resumed their journey. They passed through abandoned fields and empty villages.

Hunger was starting to take its toll. “We don’t have any more bread,” Amalia said. “I’ll find something,” Rowan replied. He left her with the children and went deep into the woods. He was gone for a while. When he returned, he had a rabbit and some roots. Amalia built a small fire. “How did you know where to look?” she asked.

“I learned to survive on my own,” he said, barely smiling. “Hunger teaches you fast. They ate very little.” The baby slept peacefully, and for a moment everything seemed calm, but that calm was fragile. That night, when everyone was asleep, Amalia woke to a rustling sound. She got up and saw that Rowan wasn’t outside. The forest was dark, but she could see flashes of fire in the distance.

She walked silently to a clearing and saw him. Rowan was talking to someone. The other man was wearing a hood. She couldn’t hear everything, but she made out a few words. Gold, hand it over. Tomorrow. Her heart leapt. She hid behind a tree, hoping to understand more, but suddenly the stranger turned around. Amalia caught a glimpse of his face in the firelight.

It was the same soldier who had knocked on her door weeks before. She covered her mouth to stifle a scream and slowly backed away to the hut. When Rogan returned, she pretended to be asleep, but her mind was racing. Betrayal, deceit, fear. At dawn, she prepared breakfast without saying a word. Rogan tried to speak, but she avoided his gaze. “We must move,” he said.

“Which way?” she asked dryly. “North. The duke doesn’t go there. What if someone is waiting for us?” She looked at him directly. “What if someone already knows we have the child?” Rowan tensed. “Why do you say it like that?” “Because maybe you told him yourself.” He looked at her, surprised, almost hurt.

“What are you saying?” “I saw you last night,” she said. “You were talking to a soldier. I heard the word ‘gold.’” Rowan put his hands to his head. “It wasn’t what you think. That man sought me out. He wanted me to hand over the prince. He offered me money, but I refused. And how do I know that? Because if I had accepted, you wouldn’t be alive now.”

The answer left her speechless. “Amalia, look at me,” he said softly. “I don’t want your distrust, but I understand why you feel it. I only ask one thing: don’t leave me tonight, not until we’re out of the woods.” She nodded, but the doubt lingered. They traveled all day. The sun set, and exhaustion weighed more heavily than fear. The baby barely cried, already so weary.

“It won’t be long,” Rowan said. “There’s an abandoned mill further on. We can stay there.” They arrived at dusk. The mill was in ruins, but it served as shelter. Inside, the smell of dampness enveloped them. Amalia put the children to bed. Rowan stoked the fire. “I can’t sleep,” she said. “Neither can I. Do you think Aldrick is still alive? If he is, he’ll find us. And if not, others will.”

Silence enveloped them for a moment. Then Amalia stood up. “I’m going to fetch some water from the stream.” Rowan got up. “Don’t go alone, it’ll only be a few steps.” She took the jug and went outside. The night was cold and the water sparkled in the moonlight. She bent down, but something behind her creaked. Rowan called out. No one answered. She looked back at the mill. A light was moving inside.

She ran, her heart pounding in her throat. From the doorway, she saw two figures. One was Rowan; the other, the same hooded man from the night before. Before she could scream, the man raised something shiny. Rowan turned, pushed him, and the figure fell. Amalia stood motionless, trembling. Rowan was breathing heavily, staring at the body on the floor. It was him, the spy said.

The body wasn’t moving. Amalia took a step back, horrified. “What did you do?” “I saved us. If I hadn’t stopped him, I would have gone for backup today.” Amalia covered the baby with the blanket, unsure whether to cry or scream. Rowan approached her, drenched in sweat, his voice trembling. “Believe me, Amalia, I had no choice.” She looked at him, her expression a mixture of fear and rage.

There’s always a choice. He lowered his head. Maybe you’re right, but there’s no going back now. The wind blew hard and extinguished almost all the flames. Outside, amid the murmur of the river, the sound of hooves slowly approaching could be heard. The sound of the hooves grew clearer and clearer.

Rogan extinguished the remaining fire with his foot and signaled to Amalia to stay back. She hugged the baby and pushed her children into a corner of the mill. The air smelled of dampness, wet earth, and a fear neither dared to voice aloud. “Stay here, don’t make a sound,” Rogan whispered.

He grabbed a stick from the ground and hid by the entrance. Outside, the horses were snorting. Voices—two, maybe three men. One got down and pushed open the door. “Search the mill,” a voice ordered. Rogan lunged at him before he could fully enter. There was a brief struggle, the sharp thud of a blow, a body falling. The horse whinnied, the other men moved.

Amalia held her breath. “Rowan,” she whispered. He looked at her and raised his hand, signaling for silence. They waited; seconds passed, long as hours, until their voices faded away. The sound of hooves echoed again, disappearing among the trees. Rowan dragged himself outside and returned, panting. He was an explorer.

If you don’t return to your group, they’ll know something happened. We have to get out of here before dawn. Amalia looked at him, her face pale. “How long are we going to keep running? Until there’s no one following us anymore? And what if that never happens?” she asked, her voice barely audible. Rowan watched her silently. His eyes held weariness, but also a determination that left no room for fear.

Then we’ll run away for the rest of our lives, but together. The sentence hung in the air, heavy, strange. She looked down. Don’t say that, you don’t know what you’re saying. Yes, I know. Rogan took a step closer. I know that if you weren’t here I would have given up already. Amalia wanted to reply, but the baby started to cry.

She cradled him, avoiding the gentleman’s gaze. “We have to go,” she said curtly. Before dawn, they packed what little remained. The path led them along a steep trail covered in leaves. Mist rose from the ground, and the children, half asleep, clung to their mother’s hands. As they reached a hill, the sun peeked over the horizon.

Rowan pointed into the distance, to an old, abandoned farmhouse. “We’ll spend the day there and continue on at night.” They went inside. The place was in ruins, but it offered shelter. While the children slept, Amalia sat by the weak fire. Rowan watched through a crack in the wall. “What are you looking for?” she asked. “Smoke, movement, any sign.”

I don’t like the calm. Amalia looked at him wearily. We can’t live like this. My children need to rest, eat, feel safe. I know. Rowan turned to her. I promise I’ll get them to safety. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. He frowned, hurt. Why do you still think I’m your enemy? Because ever since you showed up, my life has become a living hell.

“And without me, that child would be dead,” Rowan retorted, his voice harsher than he intended. Silence fell abruptly. Amalia stood up, her eyes blazing with barely contained fury. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that. You don’t know what I’ve lost.” Rogan took a step back, remorseful. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to. I don’t want your apologies. I want answers.” She pointed at him.

You say you do it for the oath, for the king, for redemption. But what truth is there in that? What do you gain? He stood still, unable to look at her. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps I’m just looking for a reason not to hate myself. His words floated in the air, so sincere that they disarmed Amalia. She lowered her voice. What did you do, Rowan? What haunts you so much? A mistake.

His voice was harsh, almost a whisper. I was supposed to protect the prince and his mother, but when the castle burned, I chose to save my own life. I came back for them too late. The queen was already dead. Amalia felt a lump in her throat, and the king died believing his son was safe. Rowan clenched his fists. Since then, all I do is try to atone for that sin.

Amalia looked at him for a long time. In his eyes, she saw not pride, but guilt. And for the first time, she let her guard down. “So you’re not lying to me,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I never have.” They remained silent. Only the crackling of the fire accompanied them. In the middle of the afternoon, a clap of thunder shook the air. Rowan stood up immediately. “It’s not a storm,” he said. “It’s fire.”

Amalia went outside and saw plumes of smoke to the west. The village. Rowan nodded. They’re burning everything. They want to erase any trace. And if they come this way, they will. Her voice sounded determined. We have to move now. But the sky was darkening and the rain was beginning to fall. The children won’t make it, Amalia said. They’re exhausted.

Rowan looked at the sleeping children, hesitated. Then he made a decision. “Then I’ll distract them. You take the boy and your children along the northern path. When you reach the river, cross and follow the current. I’ll catch up with you at dawn.” Amalia took his arm. “No, if you go they’ll kill you.” “Perhaps, but if I don’t go, they’ll come for you.”

I can’t lose another person. Rowan stared at her. Don’t say that. Why not? she asked. Because you care, right? The question hung in the air. He didn’t answer, only held her gaze. Amalia took a step back. Do what you have to do, but if you don’t come back, I will, he said, cutting her off. He walked out into the rain. Amalia watched him until he disappeared among the trees.

Then she woke the children and began walking as he had instructed. The forest was dark and the ground slippery. The rain lashed down relentlessly. Thomas stumbled several times, and Elena cried from exhaustion. “Just a little longer,” she told them. “We’re almost there, my loves.” When they finally spotted the river, she collapsed to her knees, worn out. The water was flowing swiftly.

Crossing would be dangerous. “Mom, I’m scared,” Helen said. “Me too, honey, but we have to do it.” She tied the children together with a rope around her waist and began to cross. The water reached their chests, the cold cut their skin. “One more step,” she whispered. “One more step.” When they reached the other side, she collapsed. She wept, not knowing if from relief or fear.

She waited for hours. Dawn arrived and Rowan didn’t appear. “Perhaps he won’t come,” Thomas said fearfully. “He will,” Amalia replied, though she wasn’t so sure anymore. When the sun was high, she heard footsteps. She jumped up, hopeful. But it wasn’t Rowan; it was three men. One of them carried a banner with the duke’s emblem. “There she is,” one of them said. “The woman with the child.”

Amalia stepped back, clutching the baby. “Don’t come any closer. We don’t want to hurt him,” lied the one who seemed to be the leader. “We’re only here for the child.” Thomas stood in front of his mother, his fists clenched. “Don’t touch him.” The man laughed. Brave, but useless. Amalia looked around for somewhere to run. The forest was dense, the river too fast. They were trapped.

Suddenly, an arrow whistled from the trees and lodged in the ground in front of the men. Then another, and another. “Back off!” Rowan shouted from the hill, dripping wet, bow in hand. The men turned, confused. Rowan shot again, and one fell. The other two ran. Amalia couldn’t believe it. Rowan.

He ran down the slope and dropped to his knees in front of them. “Are you okay?” “Yes,” she said, trembling. “I thought you weren’t coming back. I promised.” She hugged him without thinking, the baby between them. Rowan stood motionless for a moment, then gently stroked her head. “You did it,” he whispered.

“Did you save him?” No, we did it together. The sun peeked through the clouds for the first time in days. The children approached, smiling. For a moment, peace seemed possible, but the calm was short-lived. The smoke from the west grew thicker. Rogan looked up, and his face changed. They found us again. Amalia followed his gaze.

In the distance, a line of torches advanced through the forest. The fire was reflected in the river’s water like an omen. The wind carried the sound of voices and shouts. Rowan drew his rusty, old sword, the only one he had left. “Amalia, run, take them upriver.” “No, I won’t leave you. You have to. Protect them.” “And what will you do?” Rowan took a deep breath.

Stop them long enough. Amalia looked at him, tears welling in her eyes. Please don’t. It’s too late. The roar of the fire was getting closer. Rowan turned toward the woods, gripping his weapon tightly. Amalia hugged the children and started running along the riverbank. The sound of hooves echoed again.

A voice called her name through the smoke. The forest smoke rose like a black curtain behind them. Amalia ran without looking back, the baby clutched to her chest, the children stumbling among the roots. Each step was a blow to her chest. The wind carried the screams, the whistling of arrows, the roar of fire devouring the trees. “Faster, Tomas,” she said breathlessly.

“Don’t stop, what about Rowan?” the boy asked, panting. Amalia didn’t answer. If she spoke, she would burst into tears. She kept running until the noise faded to a distant murmur. Only then did she stop, hiding behind some moss-covered rocks. The baby slept, oblivious to the chaos. Elen trembled. Thomas tried not to cry.

“Relax,” Amalia said, trying to sound firm. “He’ll come. Rogan always comes back.” But something inside her was breaking. The day dragged on. The sun barely managed to pierce the smoke. When the silence returned, she peered out at the path. There were no signs of pursuit or of Rogan, only the wounded, gray forest. “We have to move,” she murmured. She walked, following the course of the river.

The terrain grew steeper, the earth colder. Every now and then the echo of hooves seemed to follow them, though perhaps it was only their fear repeating itself. As evening fell, they spotted an old inn beside an abandoned road. The windows were broken, the walls covered in ivy. “We’ll spend the night here,” Amalia said. They went inside.

Everything smelled of damp wood. She lit a small fire with the remains of a broken table. Thomas sat down next to his sister, exhausted. Amalia took out the last piece of bread she had and shared it. “We’ll find something else tomorrow,” she promised. But as she broke off the last piece, she heard footsteps outside, a lone horse. She grabbed the baby, ready to flee.

The door opened slowly. “Don’t be afraid,” said a tired voice. “It’s me.” Rowan appeared covered in mud and dried blood. His eyes were red from the smoke, but he was still standing. Amalia let out a sigh that broke in midair. “I thought you were dead. Almost.” He smiled weakly. “But it wouldn’t be the first time I’d escaped death.”

Amalia hugged him without thinking. Rowan flinched in surprise, then put his arms around her. “I thought I’d never find you,” he said. “We never stopped waiting for you.” Thomas came running up. The soldiers were gone. Rowan ruffled his hair. “They won’t be back for now.” That night, for the first time in days, everyone slept. Only Rogan stayed awake, watching the fire with his sword in hand.

At dawn, Amalia found him outside, sitting on a rock, gazing at the horizon. “What do you see?” she asked. “Hills. And farther north, if I’m not mistaken, the monks’ path.” “A monastery.” “Yes.” Ran looked at her. “They could protect you and the child there.” “And you—I’ll go on my way.” Amalia frowned. “That means you’re leaving.”

It means that if the prince is safe, my duty ends. What if you don’t want it to end? she asked, barely a whisper. Rowan lowered his gaze. I have no right to want anything. Amalia watched him silently. Then she took the baby and placed him in her arms. Then, fulfill your duty. You take him to the monastery. Rowan held him awkwardly, uncertainly.

It had been so long since she’d held something so fragile. “It’s not fragile,” she said. “It’s strong. Like its protector.” He looked at her, and for a moment time seemed to stand still. The journey north was long. They crossed ravaged fields, abandoned villages, and roads that smelled of ash. The war loomed like a shadow, but the silence between them was different.

Now it wasn’t mistrust, but a new understanding. One night, while the children slept under a tree, Amalia asked him, “What was life like in the castle?” “Harsh,” Rowan replied. “You had to learn to obey before you could breathe. The king was just, but his ambitious brother always wanted the throne. And you—I was his shadow.”

“He paused until the war made me a fugitive.” Amalia smiled wistfully. “It seems war always steals something. It stole my peace and my faith,” he replied. They walked without speaking for a long time. Then she said, “Perhaps faith returns when one finds a reason to have it. And have you found it?” Amalia looked into his eyes.

“Perhaps.” The wind rustled through the trees. Rowan wanted to say more, but held back. The next morning they reached a mountainous region. Stone towers covered in moss rose through the mist. “There it is,” he said. “The monastery of Saint Ethel.” They crossed the threshold.

A monk greeted them with a kind face and calloused hands. “You seek refuge, children. You will have it.” Amalia bowed her head. “We only ask for shelter and protection for this child.” The monk looked at the little boy and then at Rowan. “Not just anyone wears that symbol on his blanket.” Rowan nodded. “Make no mistake, brother. The danger that pursues him is real.” The monks led them to a small stone cell with clean straw.

For the first time in a long time, Amalia felt she could breathe. During the following days, she helped in the kitchen, washed clothes, and taught the children to pray. Rowan repaired fences, carried water, and spoke little. One afternoon, while Amalia was tending to the laundry in the sun, a monk approached her. “Your husband works hard.

She smiled shyly. “He’s not my husband. You seem closer than many married couples.” Amalia didn’t know what to say. That night she met Rowan by the well. “The monks think we’re married,” she said, amused. “Perhaps it’s best to let them believe it.” “What do you think?” He looked at her.

“Seri? I think if I had been born in another time, I would have asked you to be.” Amalia’s heart leapt, but before she could say anything, the tolling of a bell broke the silence. “What’s happening?” a monk ran toward them. “Strangers in the forest are searching for a woman with a baby.”

Amalia felt her blood run cold. Rowan took her hand. “I won’t let them take it from you. We can’t stay.” “No, but there’s a path behind the altar. The monks use it to escape in times of war, and the abbot will allow it. He already has.” Rowan pointed to the temple door. “They’re waiting for us.” They ran. The monks.

They prayed in hushed tones as they opened a hidden passageway behind an old image. Amalia went through first with the children. Rogan was last, carrying the baby. The tunnel smelled of damp stone and incense. Torchlight flickered across the walls. “Where does this lead?” Amalia asked. “To a path that cuts through the mountain. If we’re lucky, no one will know we came out.”

At the end of the tunnel, the fresh air hit them. The landscape was different: green mountains, a narrow river, birdsong. For a moment, everything seemed peaceful. Rowan turned to the monks who had accompanied them. “Thank you. The child is more than just the king’s son,” one of them said. “He is a symbol. Take care of him.” The monks returned to the tunnel.

Amalia took a deep breath. And now, now we’ll find a place where no one knows them. They went down a steep path until they found an abandoned cabin. They spent the night there. Rowan was checking his wounds when Amalia approached. Let me see. It’s nothing. You always say that. She wiped the blood with a rag. I don’t understand how you’re still standing, because I have something to protect. The child and you.

Amalia felt the air slipping from her lips. Rowan. He stood up nervously. Don’t say anything. Not now. Why? Because if you do, I won’t have the strength to leave when the time comes. She looked at him silently. The fire illuminated their faces, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath. Suddenly, a whinny broke the calm.

They both tensed. Rowan stepped out, sword in hand. Amalia followed, carrying the baby. In the distance, a mounted figure approached. They weren’t soldiers. The horse was limping, and the rider looked wounded. “Who goes there?” Rowan shouted. The man raised a bloodied hand. “I’ve come from the monastery. They were attacked.”

Amalia took a step forward. “What?” “The monks.” The man nodded. The soldiers followed. “They say the woman and child fled north. They want to find them before dawn.” Rowan tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. “Then we don’t have time. There’s a pass on the other side of the mountain,” the messenger said.

If they cross it, they’ll reach the Wesmore Valley. The duke isn’t in charge there. Rowan helped him dismount, but the man collapsed, exhausted. He murmured something before he died. Amalia carefully closed her eyes. Rowan turned to look at her. “We have to leave now.” Elen was crying. Thomas was trying to comfort her. Amalia hugged them both.

Just a little more, my loves. We’re almost there. The moon illuminated the path. Rowan walked ahead, sword in hand, alert to any sound. Amalia followed with the sleeping baby in her arms. The wind blew hard, carrying the echo of distant voices. Rogan stopped. They’ve caught up with us. Amalia turned and saw lit torches at the bottom of the valley.

What do we do? Rowan looked at her resolutely. We run. But if I don’t make it to the other side, don’t stop. Promise me. Don’t say that. Promise me, Amalia. She looked at him, her eyes filled with tears. I promise. Rowan nodded and started walking uphill. The sound of their pursuers grew closer and closer. The path was narrow, bordered by a precipice.

Amalia could barely see her own footsteps. Suddenly, the ground shook. A rock rolled down the hill, and hooves clattered loudly. Rowan turned, his face darkening. “Amalia, take cover!” The crash was so loud it seemed the whole mountain was breathing. Rocks rolled down the hill.

Dust filled the air, and the soldiers’ shouts mingled with the wind. Amalia covered her face, clutching the baby tightly. Thomas Yen clung to her skirt in fear. Rowan shouted, unable to see him through the mist. A figure emerged from the smoke. It was him, panting, his face smeared with dirt. “I’m fine,” he said, reaching them. The fall blocked their path.

They won’t be able to follow us for a while. Where will we go now? Amalia asked, trembling. To the northern monastery. The monks of Stel told me about one hidden in the mountains. No one will look for us there. What if they already know about us? Rowan looked at her, tired but resolute. Then we’ll find another way, but don’t stop. The journey continued through the night.

They walked among twisted trees, guided only by the sound of the river. The cold bit at their skin, and every shadow seemed an enemy. When dawn reached them, they saw a stone tower through the mist. The monastery was almost hidden by the forest, silent as if it didn’t exist. Rowan knocked on the door three times. There was a slow response. A monk with a wrinkled face opened it only a crack.

“We don’t accept travelers,” he said hoarsely. “I bring the heir to England,” Rowan replied. “And those who saved him.” The monk’s eyes widened in astonishment. He ushered them in immediately. The monastery was small, with cold walls and the scent of incense. For the first time in a long time, Amalia felt safe.

The monk led them to a room where an older man, the abbot, was waiting. “I heard rumors about a child born on the night of the fire,” the abbot said. “But I didn’t think they were true.” Rowan knelt. “It’s true, Father. This is Edward, son of King Richard.” The abbot looked at the baby and then at Amalia.

“And who are you, daughter?” “Just a woman who hid him when fate knocked on her door,” she replied. The abbot nodded. “God used you as an instrument, and now you will have to trust him to let him go.” Amalia lowered her gaze. She wasn’t ready to think about that. The monks offered them food and shelter. Rowan took charge of guarding the entrance while Amalia helped in the kitchen.

The children played with other young orphans the monastery had taken in. For the first time, there was laughter, but the peace didn’t last. One afternoon, while Amalia was gathering firewood, a young monk approached hurriedly. “Sister,” he said, “the Abbot wishes to speak with you.” She followed him to the cloister. The Abbot was standing with Rowan, looking worried.

News has arrived from the south, the old man said. The duke has taken the city of York. He’s searching every road for the boy. “Does he know he’s alive?” Rowan asked. “He knows someone is hiding him and he won’t stop until he finds him.” Amalia felt a knot in her stomach. “What will we do, Father?” “We’ll hide the little one, but he must leave the monastery. If the duke gets here, I won’t be able to protect you.”

Rowan bowed. “I’ll take him.” The abbot nodded. “There’s a valley to the east. The monks of Santaldwin provide refuge for the persecuted. Go there.” That night, as they packed, Amalia couldn’t stop looking at the sleeping baby. “Every time we think we’re safe, the world comes looking for us again,” she said softly. Rowan watched her.

“And yet you keep going. Not everyone has that kind of courage.” She smiled sadly. “I have no choice.” “Yes, you do,” he replied. “You could have given him up, but you chose to protect him. You could have surrendered, but you chose to live.” Amalia looked at him, her heart heavy. “And you, Rowan, why are you still here?” He was silent for a few seconds. “Because I don’t know who I would be without you.”

She looked away, confused by what she had just heard. Before leaving, the abbot gave them a small crucifix. “It’s not a talisman,” he said. “But it will remind you that you are not alone.” The journey east was slow. The valley was beautiful, but truly so. They crossed stone bridges and grassy paths. The monks had provided them with bread and water, but their weariness grew with each step.

One afternoon, while they were resting under an oak tree, Amalia noticed something. “Your neck,” she said, pointing to a metal chain peeking out from under his shirt. “What’s that?” Rowan pulled it out. It was a medal with an engraved crown, identical to the emblem embroidered on the baby’s blanket. “It belongs to the royal family,” he explained. “The king gave it to me when I swore to protect his son.”

And you never thought of giving it to yourself. No, I’m not worthy of such a symbol. Amalia looked at him for a long time. You are more worthy than you think. The wind blew hard, lifting dry leaves. Rowan watched her and their eyes met again. There was no need to say anything. That night, while the children slept by the fire, Amalia approached him.

When all this is over, what will you do? Rowan shrugged. I don’t think about what comes next that much. You should. And you? he asked. Amalia sighed. I’d like to go back to a simple life, work the land, watch my children grow up. Nothing more. That’s no small thing, he said, smiling.

There was a brief, comfortable silence, but suddenly a noise in the trees made them stand. Rowan drew his sword. “Stay back.” A hooded figure emerged from the darkness. It advanced slowly, hands raised. “I didn’t come to fight,” said a male voice. Amalia recognized the tone. “Aldrick.” The knight nodded. His face was covered in dust, and his cloak was torn. “I came to warn you.”

The duke’s men crossed the river. They are being relentlessly pursued. Rowan gritted his teeth. “And why should I believe you this time?” “Because I owe my loyalty to no one but the boy,” Aldrick replied. “I’ve seen what the duke does to those who oppose him. England will not survive if he takes the throne.” Amalia eyed him warily.

What do you suggest? There’s a secret pass between these mountains. The monks use it to trade with the north. If they cross before dawn, they’ll be out of reach. Rowan hesitated. It could be a trap, or it could be their only chance. Aldrick said firmly. I have no honor left, but I can still do one thing right before I die. Amalia watched him.

There was no longer deceit in her eyes, only weariness. “We’ll follow him,” she said, making her decision. Rowan nodded, though not entirely convinced. They crossed the path, guided by Aldrick. The path was narrow, bordered by precipices and tall pines. The moon barely illuminated them. “How much longer?” Amalia asked. “Not long,” Aldrick replied. “When you see the stone bridge, you’ll be safe.” Rowan followed behind, watching their every move.

Something didn’t quite add up. Suddenly, a whistle cut through the air. An arrow grazed Aldrick’s head. “Ambush!” Rowan shouted. The duke’s men emerged from the trees. “Run!” Aldrick yelled, drawing his sword. Amalia grabbed the children and the baby and ran down the path. Rogan covered her from behind.

The echo of the screams reverberated through the mountains. Aldrick was fighting fiercely, but there were too many of them. Rowan returned to help him. “Keep going,” he shouted to Amalia. She hesitated for a second, but obeyed. She ran to the bridge, where the wind was blowing so hard it seemed it wanted to sweep her away. When she turned around, she saw Rowan struggling with a soldier.

Aldrick fell to his knees, wounded. Rowan shouted, “Amalia!” He managed to push the enemy into the void, but was struck on the shoulder. He staggered. Amalia ran to him. “Come on, we have to go.” Rowan took her hand and looked into her eyes. “You run. Take them. Not without you.” “Amalia, please.” She shook her head. “I won’t leave you.”

Behind them, the torches drew nearer again. Rowan gritted his teeth. Then we’ll do it together. He grabbed the rope from the bridge and slashed it. The planks plummeted into the void. The sound of water echoed in the abyss. The soldiers were trapped on the other side. Amalia hugged him tightly, breathing heavily. You did it. We did it.

The wind blew between them, cold, but with the scent of freedom. Rowan gazed at the horizon. “If we follow this valley, we’ll reach Saint Aldwin’s Monastery before dawn. We’ll be safe there. Promise?” He nodded. “I swear it on my life.” Amalia looked at the sleeping baby, then back at him. For the first time, she believed that promise.

They walked downhill together until dawn painted the sky orange. In the distance, they could hear the soft tolling of a bell. Amalia looked up, smiling wearily. We’re almost there. But before she could take another step, she saw something on the ground: a folded letter sealed with the king’s emblem. Her name was written on it in bold handwriting.

Amalia bent down, her hands trembling. The letter’s seal was broken, as if someone had left it there on purpose. She looked at Rogan. “Did you see it fall?” “No.” He frowned. “There’s no one around.” Amalia carefully opened it. The paper was damp, but the ink was still legible. She began to read in a low voice.

Amalia, if these words reach you, it means I’m alive. I don’t know how long I can hold out, but I need you to know who I really am. She looked up, confused. It’s his handwriting. It’s Ran’s. Rowan stepped closer, puzzled. What? That’s impossible. She continued reading. My name isn’t Sirrowan of Wesex, as I told you. Before I became a knight, I was a common man, the son of a blacksmith.

My name was Roderick. I was condemned for a mistake that cost a life. King Richard pardoned me in exchange for swearing loyalty to his crown and keeping a secret that only he and I share: that the child wasn’t his biological son, but the son of the brother who now seeks him. Amalia covered her mouth, trembling. “What are you saying?” Rogan took the letter and read the last lines.

If you ever discover this, you’ll know why the prince must live. Not to inherit a crown, but to shatter a lie that has destroyed kingdoms. If I don’t return, tell the child that his destiny isn’t defined by his blood, but by the love with which he was raised. Rowan clutched the paper. His face was white. “I don’t remember writing this.

“So, someone wants me to read it,” Amalia said quietly. Someone who knew the truth. Silence fell over them. Helen and Thomas watched, uncomprehending. The baby slept peacefully, oblivious to the weight of the secret they had just uncovered. Rowan folded the letter and put it away. Whoever it is, they know too much.

We have to get to the monastery. They walked the rest of the day without stopping. The mountain gradually opened up into a valley covered in green grass. In the distance, a white tower rose among the trees. There it is, Rowan said. Santaldwin. Amalia looked at him, exhausted but relieved. Finally, the monks greeted them in silence. The abbot, a man with a serene gaze, led them inside.

“We were expecting you,” he said. “A messenger arrived last night with a letter for you.” Amalia and Rowan exchanged surprised glances. “A messenger?” he asked. “Yes. He said a woman with a child and a man with an old sword would be coming.” The abbot smiled faintly. “He called them the guardians of the heir.” Amalia felt her breath leave her.

Where is that letter? The abbot took it from his robes and handed it to her. Amalia opened it with trembling hands. It had no seal, only a few lines written in fresh ink. The child must live. The king will not know the truth when the time comes. But first, his guardian must be tested. There was no signature. What does that mean? Amalia asked. The abbot looked at them calmly.

It means his journey isn’t over. There are those who still doubt the child’s identity. The northern council will want to see him. Rowan shook his head. It’s too dangerous. He can’t continue traveling. If he doesn’t, the abbot said, the duke will declare him dead. England will fall into war. Amalia looked at the baby, then at Rowan.

“I can’t let that happen. You don’t have to do it alone,” he said. “But we can’t risk my children.” The Abbot intervened. “They can stay here. They’ll be safe.” Thomas protested. “I don’t want you to go, Mom.” Amalia knelt before him. “Son, I must, but I’ll come back. I promise.” The boy hugged her tightly.

That night Amalia didn’t sleep. She watched the fire slowly die down, listening to the wind rattling the stone walls. Rowan was outside sharpening his sword. “Are you really coming with me?” he asked when she came out. “I’ll never leave you alone again.” She watched him silently.

When all this is over, what will you do? That depends on you, he said, looking at her with a sincerity that disarmed her. At dawn they left, leaving the monastery and the children behind. The abbot blessed them with a cross of ashes. The road north was long, but the landscape was different. Green hills, quiet villages, peasants who still didn’t know the war was still raging.

One afternoon, as they rested by the river, Amalia took out Rowan’s letter. “Do you think what it says is true? That the child isn’t the king’s son?” “I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully, “But that doesn’t change what we must do. And if the truth destroys the kingdom, then we will rebuild it.” She smiled sadly. “You speak as if that were possible. With you, anything is.” Amalia blushed and looked away.

They continued traveling until they reached a small fortress where the northern council awaited them. There were five men, all in gray robes with stern faces. The eldest spoke first. “Where is the child?” Amalia nervously held him in her arms. “Here.” The old man looked at him for a long moment. Then he said, “They say he is the king’s son.”

“What proof do you have?” Rowan pulled out the medal he wore around his neck. “This symbol was given to me by King Richard himself. I swore to protect his heir with my life.” The men exchanged glances, “And yet, rumors say the child was given to a peasant girl.” Amalia stepped forward. “Yes, to me, and I don’t regret it. I fed him, I cared for him, and I saved him.”

If that makes me guilty, then I am. The old man watched her silently. You have more courage than many nobles show in war. I seek no honors, she said. Only justice. The men withdrew to deliberate. Amalia waited outside, watching the sun set behind the mountains. Rowan approached. You did well.

And if they don’t believe us, then we’ll keep running. She looked at him wearily. I can’t run anymore, Rowan. Then I’ll run for you. Amalia took his hand. Don’t say that. If I lose you, I won’t know how to go on. He looked at her, surprised by the strength in her voice, “You won’t lose me.” The council called them again. The old man spoke.

The child will live under our protection. But first, he must be blessed by the Order of Saint Aldwin, so that his birthright may be recognized before God. Amalia nodded. And then, they will decide whether the kingdom accepts him or not. When they left, the wind was blowing fiercely. Rowan looked at the hills. I don’t trust them either. But if this secures his life, it’s worth it. That night they camped by the river.

Rowan remained on guard. Amalia couldn’t sleep. She got up and walked over to him. “Can I ask you something?” “Anything you want.” “Why did you write me that letter?” Rowan looked at her in surprise. “I don’t know. I don’t remember doing it, but it was your handwriting. Maybe I did it before I found you. Maybe the king asked me to.” “Why me?” Rowan sighed.

Because he knew you would be the one to save him. Amalia looked at him, confused. How could you know? Perhaps he saw it in me. She smiled slightly. You are a difficult man to understand, Rowan. And you, impossible to forget, remained silent with the river flowing beside them and the stars reflected in the water. Suddenly, the sound of hooves made them stand up. Rowan drew his sword.

Amalia hugged the baby. “It can’t be,” he said. “They’ve found us again.” Torches appeared on the opposite bank. Voices shouted orders. “Surrender!” Rowan pushed her behind a rock. “Cross the river. I’ll catch up later.” “No, I won’t leave you.” “Amalia, there’s no time.”

He ran toward the bridge where a group of soldiers was approaching. He faced them alone, blocking their path. The sound of clashing metal filled the air. Amalia wanted to go after him, but the baby cried, and Thomas called to her from the opposite bank. “Mommy, come quick.” She ran with all her might, crossing the cold water to the other side. When she turned, she saw Rowan fighting three men.

One of them shot him in the shoulder. “Rowan!” she cried desperately. He managed to push his attacker away, but another lunged at him. He fell to his knees. Amalia ran toward him with the baby in her arms. No, no, no. Rowan saw her coming. His lips were bleeding, but he smiled. Keep going, don’t stop. I won’t leave you. You have to do it for him. Amalia took his face in her hands, weeping.

“I need you, and I need you,” she whispered. “But my time has not yet come.” She raised her sword and plunged it into the ground, a promise to remain standing. The soldiers fell back at the sound of trumpets in the distance. Reinforcements. Amalia turned toward the valley, confused. Horsemen appeared through the mist, bearing golden banners. The royal emblem.

Rowan breathed heavily and looked at her. They were men from the north, friends, allies. At least for now, the sound of the trumpets grew louder and the enemy soldiers fled into the woods. Rowan collapsed on his back, exhausted. Amalia held him, tears welling in her eyes. “You did it,” she said. “No, you did it.” The boy stirred in Amalia’s arms as if he understood what was happening.

Rowan looked at her and smiled weakly. The future is safe, even if I don’t see it. Don’t say that. You’re going to live. I’ve lived more than I deserved. She hugged him tightly, feeling the warmth of his blood on her hands. Don’t leave me. I never will.

And before Amalia could answer, she heard a man’s voice calling her name from the approaching riders. The shout came from the front, loud, clear, carried by the wind. “Amalia of Wesex, I am the Captain of the North. I bring orders from the new royal council.” Amalia whirled around, holding the baby. Rowan was still on the ground, pale, his shoulder bleeding, but conscious.

The riders approached, raising golden banners bearing the symbol of the former king. They were not enemies; they were loyal men. The captain dismounted, dropped his sword to the ground as a gesture of peace, and bowed before it. “We bring news from the castle,” he said solemnly. “King Richard is dead. The kingdom is divided, but the northern nobles recognize the heir.”

“We’ve come to get him.” Amalia felt the world stop. “Is the king dead?” she asked softly. “Yes, but before he died he left his last written order. The child must live. The captain looked you straight in the eye and wrote your name, ma’am.” Amalia pressed the baby to her chest. Rowan tried to sit up, but the pain doubled him over. Two soldiers rushed to support him. “Leave him,” Amalia said.

He’s not an enemy; he’s the man who saved him. The captain nodded. “We know. The council has heard his story. The whole kingdom is whispering about the knight who betrayed the duke to protect a child.” Rowan smiled weakly. “I didn’t do it for glory; I did it because someone had to.” The captain extended his hand.

Then England owes you a debt, Sir Rogan. Amalia helped him to his feet. The sun filtered through the clouds, illuminating the devastated fields. For the first time, the air smelled of hope. “What will happen now?” she asked. “The council has sworn to protect the heir until he can claim the throne,” the captain explained.

But they need your testimony. My testimony. You’re the only living witness to his birth and the only one who can prove that this child is who they say he is. Amalia nodded without thinking. I’ll go wherever necessary. It will be a long journey, Rowan said, leaning on her. But this time we won’t be running away. The captain ordered a small camp to be set up in the valley.

The wounded were tended to, and for the first time in weeks, Amalia could rest without fear. Rowan slept near the fire, his arm bandaged, his sword within easy reach. As night fell, Amalia watched him silently. His face, hardened by battle, now seemed at peace. The baby slept beside her, wrapped in the blanket bearing the royal emblem.

The sound of the river was calm. For a moment, all the pain, the persecution, the loss vanished. At dawn, they set off northward. The group moved slowly, as Rowan was still recovering. Amalia rode in a cart with the baby in her arms.

Thomas and his companions were waiting for them at the monastery, and the thought of seeing them again kept her going. “When this is over,” she said, gazing at the horizon. “I’ll come back for them, and I’ll go with you,” Rowan replied. “You don’t have to. I have every reason to.” She looked at him with a mixture of tenderness and weariness. “Even if there’s no longer a kingdom to protect.” Rowan smiled. There will always be something to protect, even if it’s just a heart. The journey took three days.

They passed through razed villages, ruined castles, and fields scarred by war, but each step brought them closer to the end of their storm. Finally, they reached Northbridge Castle, where the Northern Council had established its headquarters. The walls were high and cold, but the golden banners flew once more. The captain led them into the great hall.

Several nobles waited alongside monks and scribes. Amalia felt her legs tremble. The chief advisor stood up. “You are Amalia, the peasant girl who protected the child,” he said. “The kingdom owes you more than it can repay.” “I seek no payment,” she replied, “only justice for this little one.”

Rowan stepped forward, leaning on his staff, to address his people. The advisor nodded. The Duke of the North had fled. His men had been defeated, but the kingdom was still without a king. If this child was truly the heir, he must be acknowledged before everyone. Amalia brought the baby closer. The advisor took him gently and held him before those present. Silence filled the room.

“By the blood of the king and the will of God,” the monk said. “We proclaim that this child shall be the rightful heir to the throne of England.” The men bowed their heads. Amalia felt tears sting her eyes. Rowan looked at her and, for the first time, truly smiled. “You did it,” he whispered. “We did it,” she replied.

During the following days, the castle came alive. The council prepared the royal oath while the peasants returned to their lands. The air of war gradually dissipated. Amalia spent her afternoons with the baby and the monks who cared for him. Rowan, though wounded, helped the soldiers rebuild the wall.

Sometimes their eyes met from afar, without speaking, as if words were unnecessary. One afternoon, as the sun set, Amalia walked to the gardens. Rowan was there, sitting under a tree, watching the sky. “I can’t get used to the silence,” he said when he saw her. “Me neither,” she replied. “But it’s better than shouting.” Rowan nodded.

The council wants me to stay. They say the new king will need a guardian, and you’ll only accept if you stay too. Amalia looked at him in surprise. “And if I want to return to the countryside with my children, then I’ll go with you. I’ve had enough crowns on other people’s heads.” She smiled excitedly. “Are you serious?” “More than ever.” The sound of footsteps interrupted them.

It was the captain. Excuse me, but the council summons you. They have decided the child’s fate. Amalia followed him, her heart racing. Rowan accompanied her, still weak, but resolute. In the hall, the chief councilor rose. The child will be sent to the royal monastery for his education. There he will grow up protected until he is old enough to rule.

Amalia felt something inside her break. Sending him away is necessary. The kingdom will not survive if his location becomes public. She clutched the baby’s blanket. Rowan watched her silently. “May I accompany him?” she asked, barely audible. “No,” the advisor replied. “But you will have a place at court, and your children will be brought here.” Amalia lowered her head.

Then, so be it. The monk reached out to take the baby. She held him a moment longer, kissing his forehead. Never forget where you came from, little one. She whispered, you are not a king because of your crown, but because of your heart. Rowan came closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. He will return to you when the world is at peace.

Amalia nodded, though the tears didn’t stop. When the boy left with the monks, the silence grew heavy. Rowan walked her outside. “You shouldn’t have done it alone,” he said. “I didn’t do it alone,” she replied. “You were with me.” The wind blew through the castle walls, carrying the scent of rain.

For the first time, Amalia felt the fear had left. The days passed peacefully. The kingdom was beginning to heal. The council offered them a house near the monastery, and she accepted. Thomas and Helen finally arrived, running to their mother with laughter and tears. Rowan hugged them as if they were her own.

“I told you so,” she said, smiling. “You always come back, and this time I won’t leave.” At night, when all was quiet, Amalia would gaze at the sky and think of the boy. She knew that even though he was far away, his destiny was marked by kindness, not power. One afternoon, as the sun dipped behind the mountains, Rowan approached. “There’s something I need to do before I close this chapter.”

What? He handed her the medal with the royal emblem. It no longer belongs to me. I want you to keep it. I can’t accept it. You can. It’s a symbol of what we were, not what we will be. She took it, moved. And what will we be, Rowan? Whatever life allows us to be. He smiled. But for the first time, I want to choose. Amalia felt her heart tremble. Then choose to stay.

“I already did it,” he said. Golden light bathed their faces. The sound of the river was the same as it had accompanied their escape, but now it was different. It was peace. That night, as the fire crackled, Amalia closed her eyes, her soul at peace. Everything she had lost had been transformed into something new.

Outside, the monks rang the monastery bells, announcing the dawn of a new day. The king had no hope. She had a home. Rowan stood, took his cloak, and looked toward the window. “Tomorrow we’ll go for flowers for the fields,” he said. “I want to see your hands return to the earth.” Amalia smiled without opening her eyes.

Promise me there will be no more running away this time. I promise. The sun appeared through the clouds, illuminating the valley. A new beginning dawned above them, and with it, the certainty that peace was possible. But as day broke, a messenger arrived at the monastery, shouting in the distance, “News from the castle. The council summons the woman who raised the heir. Bring the seal of the new king.”

The messenger arrived covered in dust, his cloak torn by the wind. He stopped in front of the monastery door and could barely speak. “I bring a sealed letter,” he said, handing it to Amalia. “The new king summons you.” Amalia looked at him, surprised.

Her hands were damp from washing clothes, and her heart pounded as if it would burst from her chest. Rowan appeared behind her, his shirt open, his face still smeared with dirt from working in the fields. “What does it say?” he asked. Amalia broke the seal. It was gold, bearing the emblem of the sun. She read aloud: “By order of the Royal Council and His Majesty, King Edward of England.”

Amalia of Wesex, Protector of the Throne, is summoned to the court at Northbridge Castle. The king does not wish to pay her homage. Rowan smiled. The boy is no longer a baby. The king corrected Amalia, a twinkle in his eye. Our little Edward. The messenger glanced at them both. You must depart tomorrow at dawn. The council has arranged an escort. Rowan bowed his head.

We’ll go. When the messenger left, silence fell over the courtyard. Amalia stared at the letter as if she couldn’t believe it was real. “I thought it was over,” she said softly. “That I could put all this behind me.” “And you can,” Rowan replied. “But first you have to come full circle. And if I stay here, then I stay too.”

He looked at her seriously. “But if you go, I’ll go with you.” She took a deep breath, holding the letter to her chest. “Then we’ll go together.” That night Amalia couldn’t sleep. She watched Thomas and him resting by the fire. Rowan was sitting outside sharpening his knife, staring at the moon as if talking to ghosts. She approached him silently.

“Don’t you sleep?” he asked. “I hardly need to anymore.” Do you think about him? Yes, about Edward, the boy we once protected. Amalia sat down beside him. Do you think he’ll remember us? You? Yes. Me? Maybe. No. She touched his arm. “You were his shield, his role model.” Rowan smiled that gentle smile he rarely showed. And you were his heart.

Night enveloped them. There was calm, but also an emotion neither dared name. The next morning they set off with their escort. They rode slowly, following the path they had once traveled in flight. Now they returned free. The landscape seemed different.

The rebuilt villages, the children playing, the flags waving with the emblem of the new king. “I never thought I’d see this,” Amalia said. “Me neither.” Rowan smiled. “Though I’m not sure I deserve it.” “Yes, you do,” she replied. “We both do.” On the third day of their journey, they caught sight of the castle. The walls gleamed in the sun, and the drawbridge was adorned with white flowers.

As they crossed the threshold, the soldiers formed ranks, bowing their heads. “They’re treating us like heroes,” Amalia whispered. “Better late than never,” Rowan said, laughing for the first time without fear. The great hall was bathed in light. On the throne, a young man with fair hair and blue eyes watched them with a mixture of shyness and authority. “Amalia’s heart skipped a beat. Edward,” she murmured.

The boy stood up, descended the steps, and bowed before her. “No,” Amalia said, trying to stop him. “It is I who should bow.” “You saved me,” he said, smiling. “No crown is worth more than that.” He hugged her as he had when he was a child. Amalia held him, tears streaming down her face. “You are everything your father dreamed of,” she whispered. Rowan approached and knelt. The young king helped him to his feet.

“My council speaks for you,” Edward said. “They say you were a knight without a name, but with more honor than many with shields.” Rowan lowered his gaze. “I only fulfilled my oath, and I fulfilled it well.” The king smiled. “My first order will be to restore your title.” “I don’t want titles,” Rowan replied. “Just a life of peace.” Edward glanced at Amalia and then back at him. “Then have that life.”

England owes them that and more. The hall erupted in applause. The nobles bowed, and for a moment Amalia and Rowan were speechless. It was as if all their pain had vanished with those words. Later, during the banquet, Amalia watched the young king speak with his advisors.

He had grown strong, but without losing the sweetness of his childhood. Rowan sat beside her with a glass of wine. “Look at him,” he said. “So confident, so different from the child we hid under an old blanket. He was raised by love,” Amalia said. “That’s something you never forget.” He looked at her tenderly. “And you, Amalia? What will you do now?” “I don’t know,” she admitted. “For the first time, I have no obligations.” Then she begins to live. She smiled.

And you will live with me. If you let me, yes. The warmth of the wine and the music enveloped them. No one was watching them, no one was following them, it was just them, finally without fear. The king approached with a smile. “Tomorrow there will be a ceremony,” he said. “I want you both to be there.” “What ceremony?” Amalia asked. “The ceremony of freedom,” he replied.

England is starting anew, and I want the kingdom to see those who taught me the meaning of loyalty. That night, Amalia looked out of her bedroom window. From there, she could see the illuminated gardens and hear the music of the festivities. Rogan appeared silently behind her.

“Aren’t you sleeping?” he asked. “I can’t.” She turned to him. This all feels like a dream. It isn’t. Rowan moved closer slowly. “It’s what you deserve.” Amalia looked at him. “And what do you deserve?” “What you’ve given me since that night in the cabin. A reason to stay.” She looked down, but Rowan took her hand.

We spent years running, hiding, fighting against shadows. His voice was firm. I don’t want to run anymore, Amalia. I want to stay with you if you’ll let me. Amalia felt tears welling up in her eyes. You don’t have to ask. You already are. Rowan smiled and hugged her. Their breaths mingled, calm and deep. The noise of the castle faded away.

Only they remained, the echo of the past fading into the stillness. At dawn, the sound of bells filled the air. Villagers arrived at the castle carrying flowers and ribbons. People laughed, children ran. The bells rang without ceasing. In the courtyard, the young king raised his sword to the sky. “Today a new era begins,” he proclaimed, fearless, unchained.

The kingdom belongs to its people. Then he turned to Amalia, and this woman, who cared for England’s future with her own hands, will be remembered as its protective mother. The applause was so loud the walls seemed to shake. Amalia could barely speak. Your Majesty.

I only did what any mother would do. You didn’t do what kings forgot to do, he replied. You chose love over power. The king stepped down from the dais and took Rowan’s hand. And you, knight, what will you ask for as your reward? Rowan looked at Amalia and then at the king. Only this. Permission to live in peace with her. The young man smiled. Granted. The people cheered.

The bells continued to ring. Rowan looked at Amalia, who could barely hold back her tears. “It’s over,” he said. It’s finished. She nodded. “No, Rowan, it’s only just begun.” They walked together through the crowd. People threw flowers at them. Children followed, laughing. Thomas and Helen came running from the front, hugging their mother and Rowan.

“Mom, they told us the king spoke about you,” Thomas shouted. “And about me too?” Helen asked. “About all of us?” Amalia replied, laughing through her tears. “We’re part of his story.” Rowan took her hand tightly, like someone making a promise without words.

That afternoon, as the sun began to set, the king saw them off at the castle gates. “England will always be your home,” he said. “But now go. The world is vast and awaits you.” They mounted their horses. The wind blew gently, and the road to the valley was strewn with flowers. Amalia glanced back one last time. The castle shimmered in the fading light. “Where shall we go?” she asked.

“Wherever you want,” Rowan replied, “as long as you’re with me, that will be my home.” She smiled. “Then take me to the place where the sun sets. I want to see the end of the day and the beginning of our life.” Rowan took her hands and kissed them tenderly. “I swear, Amalia, there will be no more shadows.”

They rode side by side as the sky turned gold. The wind played with their hair, and children’s laughter mingled with birdsong. At last, after so much pain, life was fulfilling its promise. Not of power or glory, but of love. And as the last ray of sunlight hid behind the mountains, Rowan dismounted, cupped her face in his hands, and whispered, “You are no longer the woman who hid the future king. You are the queen of my life.” Amalia gazed at him, her eyes shining with light.

And you, the man who taught me that love can also be freedom. Rowan embraced her. There was no fear, no war, no destiny to separate them. Only the certainty that they had reached the end of the road and the beginning of their eternity together. Thank you so much for listening to this story until the end. We hope it moved you as much as it moved us to tell it.

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