Extra Chapter 24 – Sleepless Night (POV Rhydian)
The night stretched endlessly, the shadows shifting against the stone walls of our chambers as the soft glow of moonlight streamed in through the balcony doors. It should have been a peaceful night.
It was anything but.
A piercing wail shattered the silence again. My daughter's cry—raw, insistent, relentless.
I had been pacing for what felt like hours, my arms cradling her small, trembling body as I tried everything to soothe her. My heartbeat was an echo of hers, every cry carving into me like a blade.
"Shh, little one," I murmured, my voice rough with exhaustion. "I'm here."
Her tiny fists clenched against my chest, her face red with frustration. No fever, no injury, no visible cause for distress. And yet, she cried as if the world was falling apart.
I had faced wars, had taken down enemies with my own hands. I had ruled over a kingdom, made decisions that shaped the fate of thousands.
But this—a child's inconsolable tears—rendered me utterly powerless.
I glanced toward the bed.
Luna had finally fallen asleep, curled on her side, her face pale with exhaustion. She had been up for days, nursing, caring, worrying. I had promised her that I would take care of our daughter tonight, no matter what.
I was not about to break that promise.
Still, doubt clawed at my mind. Was I holding her wrong? Was I not warm enough? Too warm? Did she need something I couldn't give her?
I adjusted my hold, tucking her closer. Her cries did not lessen.
Desperate, I tried everything—rocking her gently, whispering soft reassurances, humming a tune I barely remembered from my childhood. Nothing worked.
I moved toward the balcony, stepping into the night air. The cool breeze brushed against both of us, and for a brief second, she hiccupped, her cries momentarily stuttering.
Hope flared in my chest.
I began walking—slow, deliberate steps. Up and down the length of the balcony, the stone cool beneath my bare feet. The city stretched beyond the palace walls, silver rooftops glowing under the moon's light.
I held my daughter close, pressing my lips against her soft curls.
"You have your mother's fire," I whispered, my voice barely audible above her sniffles. "And my stubbornness, I think."
Another hiccup. Her little fingers twitched against my chest.
"I know the world must seem terrifying right now," I continued. "But I promise you, I will never let it touch you. Whatever you need, whatever you fear, I will be here."
Her cries began to slow, her breath evening out.
Relief crashed into me, sharp and sudden.
I stood there for a long moment, simply holding her, feeling the weight of her tiny body settle against mine.
She was so small, so fragile. And yet, she was my entire world.
I never thought I could love like this. Not with this depth, this ache.
But as I stood beneath the moon, cradling the most precious thing I had ever held, I knew—I would spend the rest of my life proving that love to her.