The first light of dawn found the birthing chamber in quiet stillness. The air was cool and calm. A few candles flickered low in their holders. Their warm glow touched the walls in soft circles. Second Consort Lune Chan sat by the cradle, her back straight but her eyes gentle. She watched Ares Long sleep.
She held a spotless cloth to her lips. She had not dared to eat or drink all night. Her limbs felt heavy from the stress and lack of rest. Yet she sat tall so as not to disturb the peace. The baby's breaths were even and slow. He lay swaddled in linen, his dark hair soft in the pale light.
Lune Chan let out a slow breath. She loosened her dark braid and wound it around her hand. The act was small, yet it offered calm. She thought of the vow that her son's brother had spoken. She thought of the name that the king and queen had given. Somehow, in that silent moment, all fear seemed smaller.
A soft knock sounded at the door. Lune Chan's heart leaped. She rose and lifted Ares into her arms. He stirred and blinked once. His eyes were half open, full of new wonder.
"Good morning, my sun," she whispered. She brushed his cheek with her finger. He made a small sound in his throat. It was the first soft murmur he had ever made.
Lune Chan smiled so softly it felt like a secret. She whispered again, "You are safe."
A maid-of-honor entered. She carried a small tray with warm water, fresh cloths, and a cup of light broth.
Lune Chan let the maid set the tray on a low table. She handed Ares to the woman so she could wash her own hands and face. The maid spoke in a quiet voice. "Your Highness, the queen will see you soon."
Lune Chan nodded and dipped her fingers into the bowl. The water was warm on her skin. She washed gently and splashed her face free of night's dust.
She wore a plain gown of soft gray silk. Its sleeves were long and its skirt fell in neat folds. She had no jewels. She had no fanfare. She only had her son and the promise to keep him safe.
When she was ready, Lune Chan lifted Ares and wrapped him in the fresh, clean cloth. He yawned once, small and delicate. She hummed a lullaby so old that its words had no real meaning. But the sound soothed them both.
Outside the nursery, Queen Rostova walked down the long corridor lined with pillars. Her steps were quiet. Her red robes draped behind her like a banner. She paused at a small window and leaned her palm on the cool stone sill. The dawn light painted her face in soft gold.
She breathed in slowly. She thought of her young son, Prince Serric. She thought of the vow he had made to his brother. She thought of the man she had married. She thought of the night that had changed their family forever.
A memory came to her from many years past. She remembered a cold morning under a gray sky. She was new to the court then, wide-eyed and filled with hope. She had felt both pride and fear in equal measure. She had stood by her husband and watched him claim the throne. And now she faced a new dawn, with a child who had not cried but had captured every heart.
Rostova pressed her forehead to the stone. She closed her eyes and let herself feel it all. She let herself smile.
She stepped back from the window. The palace was waking. Voices floated down the hall. Servants and guards spoke of the day's tasks. Birds sang outside in the garden. A new day had begun.
Rostova found the nursery door. She pushed it open and entered. Lune Chan stood holding Ares, framed by morning light. The baby's dark eyes stared up at the queen.
Rostova came forward. She rested a calm hand on the cradle rail. Ares turned his head in his mother's arms. He blinked again and let out a tiny sigh. Rostova knelt beside them and whispered, "Good morning, Ares Long."
The baby's small grasp tightened on Lune Chan's finger. Lune Chan felt tears flood her eyes. The queen's voice was soft but firm, as if she spoke to a warrior on the field. "I will watch over you," she said. "I will guard the secret of your life."
Rostova straightened. She looked at Lune Chan with respect and warmth. She brushed back her own dark hair and offered a rare smile. Lune Chan took it as a gift that cost more than any crown.
In the courtyard beyond the palace walls, Prince Serric drew his wooden sword from a rack. The air was cold and damp, but his hands were steady. He did not fight for glory. He fought for a promise.
His instructor stood a short distance away. The man's face was lined and kind. He held a metal practice sword in one hand. "Show me your resolve," the instructor said quietly.
Serric raised his wooden blade. He took a deep breath. He felt the weight of his vow pooled in his chest. He stepped forward, his boots silent on the smooth stones. He struck and parried. Each move was exact. Each breath was measured.
The instructor nodded. "You fight like a prince," he said. "But remember, true strength is in heart as well as skill."
Serric paused. He looked at his blade. He thought of Ares. He thought of his mother and father, standing guard over the cradle. He felt a swell of fierce pride.
He sheathed his sword. He bowed to the instructor. Then he walked back through the courtyard. Guards saluted him as he passed. He returned the nod, but his mind stayed with his brother.
In the great hall, nobles had gathered for breakfast. The room was long and high, lined with tapestries. Tables stood in rows, covered with silver trays and fresh fruit. A buzz of talk filled the air.
Some nobles spoke in low voices. One leaned to say, "The new heir will draw unwanted eyes." Another replied, "His mother holds no sway. What hope does he have?" A third whispered, "I heard the king will name him his son. That will cost us all more in taxes."
In a corner, a young lady of good family sat alone. She lifted a spoonful of porridge and watched the others. She wondered if she could do anything to help Lune Chan. She felt pity for the mother whose life had just begun in the palace.
A servant poured bright tea into a china cup. The steam curled in thin clouds. The lady sipped and let the warmth spread in her chest. She decided to send word to Lune Chan. She would offer gentle aid. She would be a quiet friend.
Meanwhile, King Avalin walked into the council chamber. Thick wooden doors shut behind him with a soft boom. He moved to the head of the long table. Advisors sat on both sides. Parchment scrolls and ink pots lay before them.
The head advisor spoke first. He was an older man with silver hair and clear eyes. "Your Grace," he said, "some lords question the place of Ares Long. They fear unrest or rival claims."
The king waited. He did not shift in his chair. He folded his hands on the table and spoke in a calm voice. "He is my son by my chosen wife. He will hold his place here as long as I have breath. Let no one doubt his right."
A murmur ran through the room. One advisor tapped his fingers on the table. "But, sire, tradition calls for a display of strength. A display of power may ease their minds."
King Avalin stood. He gathered the folds of his cloak. "Strength need not be shown in force. The love of a brother stands as proof. The loyalty of a queen stands as proof. You will take this answer to the lords and remember it well."
He swept from the chamber. The doors closed behind him. His advisors exchanged looks of respect and unease. They understood that their king wielded a power more lasting than any army.
In her rooms, Lune Chan rocked Ares gently. Outside her window rose the sun in full light. The city beyond the palace walls gleamed in white stone. Markets would soon open. Children would run in the streets. Life would go on.
But inside Lune Chan's heart, a new life began. She hummed her soft song once more. Ares slept soundly against her chest. She wrapped her arm around him and rested her cheek on his head. She let herself smile through her tears.
A knock came at the door. The young lady from the great hall entered with a small basket. She curtsied and offered it to Lune Chan. Inside were simple gifts: fresh bread, dried fruit, and a soft blanket.
Lune Chan's eyes filled with gratitude. She took the basket and cradled it in one arm. "Thank you," she said. "Your kindness means more than you know."
The lady smiled. "I wanted to help. If you need me, send for me." She curtsied again and left. Lune Chan watched her go and felt a new strength.
By late morning, the courtyard gates opened to allow messengers in and out. Letters flew on winged paper between lords and lady patrons. Each sealed word carried news of the new heir.
In the hall outside, a pair of pages waited silently. They held a scroll stamped with the king's signet. One read it aloud in a clear voice: "By royal decree, Ares Long shall be protected by all sworn to this court. His safety, his name, and his place are guaranteed by the crown."
The pages delivered the scroll to Lune Chan's rooms. A guard stood at her door. He offered his respects and waited for further instruction. Inside, Lune Chan read the decree and let the paper fall from her hand.
She folded Ares into her arms and held him close. She whispered, "Your place is safe." She closed her eyes and let herself believe it.
Afternoon light filled the nursery as the maid-of-honor returned. She brought a small basin to wash linen. Lune Chan helped, and they worked in silence. The room smelled of fresh cloth and baby powder. The quiet was healing.
The door opened once more. Queen Rostova returned. She carried a small box of fine soil from the royal gardens. Inside lay seeds of a rare white rose, said to bloom only in hidden places. She gave the box to Lune Chan.
"To plant in his name," she said. "So one day you may show him that life grows from love alone."
Lune Chan's hands trembled. She accepted the gift. "Thank you," she said. "I will tend it well."
Rostova watched her with a soft gaze. She thought of her own beginnings. She thought of the hard mornings that shaped her. She placed a hand on Lune Chan's shoulder. "You are not alone," she said.
Lune Chan looked up and met the queen's eyes. She felt a warmth there that carried her through any storm. She nodded, and Rostova gently brushed back the hair from her face. Then the queen left as quietly as she had come.
Late afternoon found Serric pacing along the palace wall. He stood where he could see both the training yard and the gardens. He thought of his brother and his promise. He thought of the king's decree and the queen's smile.
He heard the distant sound of sandalwood wheels on marble. He turned to see his father and mother walking toward him. They were not on their thrones now. They were just two people who shared a child and a vow.
King Avalin spoke first. "Serric," he said, "you have done well today. You carry our blood with honor."
Serric bowed his head. "I will do more," he said. "I will not fail him."
Queen Rostova laid a hand on his shoulder. "You are his shield, and his guide. But remember, you too must learn to grow in strength, not only in skill."
Serric met her gaze. He saw both the warrior and the mother in her eyes. He felt the weight of his path but knew he would not bear it alone.
They walked back together to Lune Chan's rooms. When they arrived, they found her seated by the window, holding Ares. The late sun warmed the baby's face. He slept peacefully as if he dreamed of soft fields.
King Avalin stepped forward. He knelt and bowed his head over the cradle. He whispered a blessing that was both simple and true: "May your life be long and your heart be bold."
Queen Rostova stood behind him. She reached out to touch Ares's hand. The baby's tiny fingers curled around her finger. She let a clear tear fall.
Lune Chan rose and joined them beside the cradle, her heart full. Serric stood guard a step back, his eyes bright and firm.
In that quiet room, four hearts beat as one for the boy who had not cried. The kingdom outside buzzed with talk. But inside that small circle, only love and hope could be heard.
End of Chapter 4