Chapter 181

Kaelen’s POV

“Actually, Riley?” I said into the transmission stone. “I’ll be bringing someone.”

A beat of silence. Then Riley’s voice, bright and surprised. “Oh! That’s—that’s great, Kaelen. Really. Talia will be thrilled to have a full house. We’ll set an extra place.”

“Appreciated.”

“Saturday afternoon. Don’t be late.”

“We won’t.”

The stone dimmed. The connection severed.

Lyra shifted on my hip. Her small fingers curled into the collar of my shirt. She was quiet now. Too quiet for a child who’d been shrieking with joy moments ago.

“Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“Who are you bringing?”

I didn’t answer immediately. I carried her through the dim hallway toward the staircase. The house was cold. It was always cold now. I kept meaning to have the hearths restoked, but the staff had learned not to linger past sundown. My moods had made sure of that.

“Someone from work,” I said. Vague. Careful.

Lyra pulled back to look at me. Those gold eyes—my eyes—searching my face with an intensity no child her age should possess.

“Is it Mommy?”

My foot stopped on the stairs.

“What?”

“Are you bringing Mommy to the party?” Her voice climbed. Thin and fragile and desperate. “The lady I saw today—the one with the ocean-and-forest eyes—she said she had a boy and a girl far away. That’s me and Val, Daddy. That’s us. She’s my mommy. I know it.”

I exhaled slowly through my nose. Kept walking. One step. Another.

“Baby, we talked about this. The woman you saw today wasn’t—”

“She IS!” Lyra’s body went rigid in my arms. Her fists clenched against my chest. “She looked at me, Daddy! She looked at me like—like she knew me. Like she wanted to pick me up but couldn’t. Nobody looks at me like that. Nobody except—”

“Lyra.”

“—except a MOMMY!”

Her voice cracked on the word. And then the tears came. Not the quiet, resigned kind from earlier tonight. These were violent. Furious. The kind that shook her entire body and made her gasp between sobs like she was drowning.

“I want my mommy,” she wailed. “I want her. Talia has a mommy. Everybody at the school has a mommy. Even the mean boy Roderick has TWO mommies. Why can’t I have ONE?”

I held her tighter. Pressed my cheek against the top of her head and kept climbing the stairs. My jaw was locked so hard my teeth ached.

“Sweetheart—”

“It’s not FAIR.” She was hitting my chest now. Small fists. Barely any force behind them, but each one landed like a hammer. “Where did she go? Why did she leave? Was I bad? Did I do something wrong? Val says she left because she didn’t want us anymore, but I was GOOD, Daddy. I was good. I ate my vegetables and I didn’t cry when she wasn’t there in the morning and I—”

Her voice dissolved into wet, choking sobs.

I pushed open her bedroom door with my shoulder. The room was small and cluttered. Stuffed animals everywhere. Drawings pinned to every wall—many of them, all the same subject. A stick figure with silver hair holding hands with a smaller stick figure with silver hair. Me and Mommy, written in wobbly letters across the top of each one.

I sat on the edge of her bed. Held her against my chest and rocked. Back and forth. The way I’d done when she was an infant and wouldn’t stop screaming in the middle of the night. Back then, I’d been terrified. Now I was just hollow.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. My voice was steady. I made sure of it. “Do you hear me? None of this is your fault.”

She hiccupped. Burrowed deeper into my shirt.

“Then why?”

I had no answer. I had a thousand answers. None of them fit in a sentence a child could hold.

I reached for the stuffed lion on her pillow. Threadbare. Missing a button eye. She’d had it since she was born. Someone had given it to her—I couldn’t remember who. She called it Leo.

I tucked Leo between us. Lyra grabbed it without looking, pressed its matted mane against her cheek.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, baby.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. Barely a breath. “Do you think Mommy has a new boy and a girl? In the far-away place?”

My stomach turned.

“What?”

“The lady today. She said she has a boy and a girl. Far away.” Lyra’s chin trembled. “What if… what if Mommy went away and got a new boy and a girl? Better ones. What if she loves them more than me and Val?”

The room tilted. I closed my eyes. Pressed my lips against my daughter’s hair and held them there until the nausea passed.

“No,” I said. Low. Absolute. “No one could ever replace you. No one. Not you, not your brother. Do you understand me?”

She didn’t nod. Didn’t answer. Just clutched Leo tighter and let her breathing slow, the way exhausted children do when their bodies surrender before their minds.

I stayed until her grip loosened. Until her eyelids fluttered shut and her small chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of sleep. Then I eased her onto the pillow. Pulled the blanket to her chin. Tucked Leo under her arm.

Stood there. Looking at her tearstained face.

The anger was building again. A slow, dark tide rising from somewhere beneath my ribs. Not hot. Cold. The kind that made my wolf pace restlessly, claws scraping against the edges of my control.

I stepped into the hallway. Valerius’s door was shut. No light underneath. Either asleep or pretending to be. I didn’t knock. He’d made it clear a while ago that he didn’t want to talk. Not to me. Not to anyone.

Two children. One drowning in grief. The other drowning in rage.

And me. Standing between them with nothing to offer but a title and empty rooms.

I went downstairs. Poured myself something dark and bitter from the cabinet I kept locked. The glass was cold in my hand. I drank. Let the burn cut through the numbness.

Then I stood at the counter, staring at the transmission stone.

She needs something I can’t give her.

The thought was sharp. Unwelcome. True.

Lyra needed a woman at that party. Not a mother—I couldn’t manufacture that. But someone. A presence. Someone to stand beside me so my daughter wouldn’t sit at a table surrounded by families and feel the empty chair where her mother should have been.

My wolf snarled. Not her. Anyone but—

I picked up the stone.

After the first, then the second ring, Sylvia answered. Her voice was alert. Carefully composed, despite the late hour.

“Emperor Kaelen. This is unexpected.”

“Sylvia.”

A pause. The sound of silk shifting, like she’d sat up in bed. “Is everything alright? Has something happened with the northern border?”

“No. This isn’t about the border.”

Another pause. Longer this time. I could practically hear her recalculating.

“I’m listening,” she said.

I took another drink. Set the glass down harder than I meant to.

“Sir Cassian’s daughter is having a birthday celebration this Saturday. A family gathering. I’m attending with the children.” I paused. The words felt like gravel in my mouth. “I need a companion.”

The silence on her end was deafening.

“You’re asking me,” Sylvia said slowly, “to accompany you to a social event.”

“Yes.”

“As your companion?”

I corrected her. “Not formally. Just someone to help with the children. Make things less awkward.”