Five days.
Five excruciating days since Kaelen walked out our bedroom door, his broad shoulders squared with determination as he set off on his dangerous mission to secure alliances against Valerius.
I stood at the tall windows of my temporary office in the Silverholm palace, watching refugees file into the communal dining hall for the evening meal. My hand absently stroked my swollen belly as Rhys shifted inside me.
"He misses his father too," I whispered to my unborn son. "We both do."
In the five days since Kaelen's departure, I'd thrown myself into work, desperate to keep my mind occupied. When I wasn't busy, the worry would consume me. The distance in our bond felt like a physical ache—present but muted, like a radio station just out of clear range.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
"Come in," I called, turning from the window.
Lyra poked her head in, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun. "Working late again? You know what the doctor said about overexertion."
