Chapter 80
The room was warm, but October shivered.
The fire burned low. Wind rattled the shutters. Somewhere down the hall, footsteps echoed—then faded. Baldwin had left the war room twenty minutes ago. The door to their shared chamber creaked open, and he stepped in, face drawn, coat dusted with snow.
He froze when he saw her.
She stood near the hearth, arms folded. Still in her riding clothes from earlier. Still bloodied from the cut on her hand.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going out?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
He closed the door behind him.
“October.”
She looked at him. No smile. No softness.
Just the steady burn of anger in her chest.
“We need to talk.”
\---
He unlaced his coat. “Then talk.”
She didn’t move.
“I think I know how to handle this. But before anything else—” She hesitated. “You stood in front of the court and announced our child. Without me. Without warning. That isn’t something we can just gloss over.”
Baldwin exhaled, slow and heavy. “You shouldn’t be carrying this alone.”
“You did it to get ahead of the rumors,” she said sharply. “To play politics before the wolves started howling. But you didn’t stop to think what it would cost me.”
His jaw clenched. “I thought about it.”
“Then why does it feel like you threw me into the fire, too?”
He stepped toward her, cautiously. “Because you’re overwhelmed. I get that.”
“No. You really don’t.”
He stopped.
October’s voice trembled now. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to feel your body changing without your control? To feel life growing inside you while death watches from the shadows?”
Silence.
“I wake up choking on fear. And every whisper in the hallway, every sideways glance—I hear your name in them. I see what you made me into. A symbol. A statement. And all I ever wanted was to stay alive.”
He studied her quietly.
Then, low, he said, “Hurting you was never the plan.”
“I believe you,” she whispered. “But that doesn’t change what happened.”
\---
He stepped closer. “You think I didn’t consider every consequence? I thought it through, night after night. The blowback. The enemies it would stir.”
“And you still chose it.”
“I did,” he said. “Because the silence around you was getting dangerous. I needed to make it clear you weren’t alone.”
“I don’t want to be your shield or your strategy, Baldwin. I want to be asked. I want my voice to matter.”
“You do matter,” he said, his voice rough. “You matter more than anything. That’s why I did it.”
She shook her head. “No. You did it because you’ve forgotten how to be afraid. You charge forward. You fight. That’s all you know.”
He looked like she’d slapped him.
“Maybe,” he said, jaw tight. “But I win.”
“And what if we lose?”
Silence.
Her voice cracked.
“What if they get to the baby before you can raise a sword?”
He had no answer.
She turned from him, walking slowly to the window. Frost clung to the glass. Snow drifted softly past.
“Since that day, I feel hunted. Even in sleep. Like something’s creeping closer, and I can’t see it.”
Baldwin followed her, placing a hand gently on her shoulder.
“I’ll stop it. Whatever it is.”
“You can’t guarantee that.”
“I don’t care. I’ll say it anyway. I’ll fight anyone who threatens you.”
She turned toward him. “You always say that like it’s a promise. But what if the enemy isn’t flesh? What if it’s a whisper, or a name in the wrong mouth? A spell in the wrong hands?”
He stiffened. “Then I’ll find another weapon.”
She searched his face.
It was carved from stone. But beneath the anger—something deeper.
“Your rage is eating you,” she murmured.
“I need it. I’m holding this whole thing together with it.”
“And I’m scared it’ll break you.”
He blinked.
“I see the cracks. Your hands tremble. Your eyes don’t rest. You don’t sleep. You don’t eat. You’re bracing for a war that hasn’t started. And I—” Her voice caught.
“I don’t want to lose you to the fear. I’ve already lost too much.”
\---
Baldwin exhaled.
Then sank to his knees.
Right there, in front of her.
He took her hand—bandaged and bruised.
“I won’t ask you to forget,” he said. “I was wrong. I made a choice that wasn’t mine to make. But I’m asking you now—stand with me.”
She didn’t respond.
He looked up at her, vulnerable and fierce.
“I’ve been tracking them. I know who’s circling. I know who sent the cloak. The message. And I know who needs to bleed.”
October’s throat tightened. “And if I say no?”
“Then I bleed alone,” he said. “But I’ll still protect you.”
She gazed down at him. “And the baby?”
He reached out. Gently laid his hand against her belly.
“I dream about them now,” he whispered. “I think about the name we’ll choose. The way your voice will sound when you hold them. The way they’ll look at you.”
She swallowed hard.
“And I think,” Baldwin murmured, “how unbearable it would be if they never got to know you. If I failed to keep you safe.”
She hadn’t realized she was crying until he brushed her cheek with his thumb.
\---
A long silence.
Then she stepped back.
“I need space,” she said.
“I’ll give it to you.”
“But not silence. Not shadows. If we’re going to face this, I need to see the whole picture.”
He nodded.
“No more secrets,” she said.
He met her eyes.
“No more.”
\---
That night, October lay beside him, staring at the ceiling.
Baldwin’s hand rested on hers. Their fingers intertwined.
But her thoughts raced too fast for sleep.
Can I survive this?
The question hovered like fog in her chest.
So much had already happened. Too much. She hadn’t planned for love. She hadn’t planned for war. And she certainly hadn’t planned to carry the most hunted child in the empire.
Her eyes drifted to Baldwin’s face—calm in sleep, for once.
She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.
But she knew one thing:
She wasn’t ready to be afraid anymore.