The gentle winds of the late afternoon had stilled, and silence settled over the pavilion like a soft veil. The sun had dipped lower, casting amber tones across Lysandra's face. She looked ethereal—serene and heavy with a sorrow she no longer had the strength to hide.
Kylan watched her carefully. His smile had faded. His golden eyes, once soft with affection, now glinted with a storm he hadn't meant to bring.
> "You're pregnant."
It wasn't a question.
Lysandra froze, her fingers tightening around the edge of her robe. Her throat worked, but no words came. The flicker of fear in her eyes didn't go unnoticed.
> "Lysandra," he said, voice firmer this time, "why didn't you say anything?"
Still, she said nothing.
Kylan's hands clenched at his sides. "Is it—" He stopped himself. "I mean… Is it Caveen's?"
Lysandra flinched at the sound of his name. For a moment, the past threatened to wash over her again. But she swallowed it down and met Kylan's gaze—not with defiance, but a quiet, aching resolve.
> "I've sealed the paternal bond," she whispered. "There's no trace of him left in the child's aura."
Kylan blinked. For all his power, for all his insight, he hadn't expected that. It explained why even his heightened senses couldn't detect anything familiar about the baby forming within her. The bloodline link had been cut. Entirely.
> "You used a severing spell," he said, more to himself. "A powerful one."
Lysandra nodded faintly.
> "No one can know," she continued, voice fragile. "Not Alaric. Not Carlos. And especially not the Council. If they find out this child is… his… they'll tear everything apart. Again."
Kylan stepped back. His expression was unreadable now—calm on the surface, but something deep in his chest smoldered. Rage, maybe. Or heartbreak. Or something worse: resignation.
> "You still love him," he said quietly.
Lysandra didn't respond. She didn't need to.
> "So why ask me to come here?" Kylan added, voice sharper now.
Finally, Lysandra looked up, and in her eyes was something that silenced him.
> "Because you're the only one I trust," she said. "And because I need someone strong enough… kind enough… to carry this with me."
He stared at her. Her shoulders had dropped in quiet surrender. No longer a proud vampire princess or a cunning witch—just a woman terrified of what fate would do to her child.
> "Kylan," she whispered, "would you… would you be the father in everyone's eyes? For the child's sake. For mine."
He didn't answer right away.
He turned away, running a hand through his hair as his mind wrestled with the weight of her request. But even as his thoughts swirled, his heart already knew. He had loved her too long to walk away now.
> "If I say yes," he murmured, "I won't do it halfway. I will protect this child. I will protect you. Not because I'm pretending… but because I choose to."
Lysandra's breath hitched.
Kylan finally turned back toward her.
> "You don't need to be alone in this," he said. "Not anymore."
Lysandra's tears welled, but this time, they weren't born of grief. She stepped forward, and Kylan opened his arms without hesitation. She fell into them, her forehead resting against his chest.
For the first time in a long time, she didn't feel hunted. Or punished. She felt safe.
And for now, that was enough.
In the garden pavilion, where it all began, Lysandra stood beneath the flowering arch, her cloak billowing in the soft wind.
Kylan stood beside her, his eyes serious, sensing the weight of her decision before she spoke.
> "We'll hide it," Lysandra said firmly. Her fingers trembled slightly as they traced her stomach. "No one else must know. Only Seraphine and my brothers. No one else."
Kylan didn't speak at first. He simply nodded, watching her, seeing how far she had come from the girl she once was. A witch, once in love. Now an awakened progenitor bearing the child of a secret past.
> "I trust them," she added, her voice softer now. "But not Ravenshade. Not with Alaric here."
Kylan's brows furrowed slightly. "You don't trust Alaric?"
> "I do," Lysandra admitted. "But Caveen is his closest ally. I can't risk it."
Kylan crossed his arms thoughtfully. "Then we leave."
She turned to him, startled. "Leave?"
> "I know a place," he said, his eyes meeting hers. "My aunt—Nyra Moirel. She lives at the outskirts of the human realm, far from council eyes and elite territories. Her estate is hidden, protected by old magic and the human realm's blindness to our kind."
> "Would she allow it?"
> "For me?" Kylan smiled faintly. "She'd protect you like her own. She never liked the Council or their games. She was exiled for refusing to obey them. She owes no allegiance to anyone anymore."
Lysandra's shoulders finally loosened. Hope began to bloom.
> "Then let's go before they start asking questions."
Kylan reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "We'll leave at first light. I'll make arrangements. Just tell Seraphine and your brothers. No one else. Not even the staff."
Lysandra nodded. Her heart beat rapidly—half fear, half resolve.
> "Thank you," she whispered.
Kylan's expression softened. "You don't have to thank me. I'll carry this with you—every burden. Every lie. Every truth."
Behind them, the sky broke into a drizzle, soft and steady. The kind that promised new beginnings.