In a land where power and deception reign supreme, two unlikely heroes find their fates intertwined in a battle against a malevolent force.
Kelvin, a daring thief, gets caught in a perilous mission to steal a prized horse, only to discover that his...
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Richard rode into his estate with a sense of purpose, the clatter of his horse's hooves muffled by the heavy weight of his thoughts. Inside these walls was Baby Nicolas—the child that had changed everything. As he dismounted, a servant rushed to greet him, bowing low but speaking with hesitation.
"The boy... he cries almost every night and day, my lord," the servant said, his voice edged with concern. "But he is strong. Healthy. He should grow into a fine young man."
Richard barely heard him. His eyes darkened with worry that had nothing to do with the baby's cries.
Aurora. The name stirred a knot of tension in his chest. She would come for Nicolas, he was sure of it. He had taken her child, and for now, it gave him the upper hand. If she wanted her son back, there was only one way—marriage. He would bind her to him by force if he had to. Yet, even with that certainty, there was a whisper of fear he couldn't silence: What if she found a way to steal him back?
Turning sharply to the servant, Richard's voice was low and firm. "If Aurora comes, you tell me immediately. The boy is to be guarded at all times. No one, and I mean no one, gets near him without my knowing."
The servant bowed, understanding the weight of the command. With a sharp nod, Richard headed toward the nursery. His boots struck the stone floor with an urgency that mirrored the storm brewing inside him.
When he reached the nursery, a maid stood at attention by the crib, her eyes wide with nervousness. She curtsied deeply, stepping aside as he moved past her to see the baby. Nicolas lay in the crib, his tiny fists clenched and his face twisted with frustration. He was fussing, squirming, and grumbling in the way babies do when they are hungry or need to be changed or want their mother...
Richard stood there for a moment, just watching.
This is my son, he thought, though the words still felt strange. A part of him—a large part—still wasn't sure how to feel about it. And yet here he was, staring down at this tiny person who was somehow his responsibility. He leaned over the crib, trying to soothe the boy with words he barely meant.
"You're the key to the future, you know that?" he muttered, his voice low and strangely gentle. "Calm down, little prince. There's no need to fuss. Everything's going to be just fine."
Nicolas didn't seem convinced. He wriggled under the blankets, his tiny fists balled up, ready to protest again.
With a soft sigh, Richard reached down and lifted Nicolas from the crib. The baby's body felt small, fragile even, as he held him against his chest. Nicolas squirmed, still fussing, and Richard awkwardly began to rock him, whispering words that felt clumsy in his mouth.
"You're okay; there is no need for dramatics."
The baby, to his surprise, started to settle. The tension in his tiny body seemed to ease, and the cries softened into quiet whimpers. Richard stared down at him, marveling at how quickly Nicolas relaxed as if some unseen bond had flickered to life between them. Slowly, the baby's eyelids drooped, and soon, he was asleep.
