THE SOUL'S EXCHANGE

Sinking feeling

Alicent’s heart thudded violently in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears like thunder. She could barely breathe as she approached her chambers, the sense of wrongness pressing down on her like a physical weight. She hadn’t wanted to believe it, but something deep inside her had told her that disaster was waiting just beyond that door.

And then she saw it.

Daemon lay sprawled on the cold stone floor, his proud, fierce form lifeless and broken. His face, usually so full of fire and life, was ashen, drained of color, and blood seeped from a wound in his side, staining his tunic a dark, haunting red. The coppery tang of blood lingered in the air, filling her senses, and she felt her legs falter. She clung to the doorframe to keep from collapsing, bile rising in her throat.

It was almost too much to take in, too surreal. He couldn’t be gone. Not him. He was the heart of her world, the strength she leaned on. The realization tore at her, sinking claws into her chest, pulling her down into a pit of fear. Her gaze fixed on his chest, watching the faint, labored rise and fall. He was alive—barely, but alive.

Then her eyes moved to Sirion.

Her son was kneeling beside his father, his small hands pressed hard against the wound, trying in vain to stem the blood that continued to pour out. His face was pale, almost as pale as his father’s, but there was no fear, no panic, no tears. His expression was flat, disturbingly blank, as though he had locked every emotion deep inside himself, hiding it where no one could reach. His eyes, usually so vibrant and full of curiosity, were dull and hollow, staring into some void that only he could see.

“Sirion,” she whispered, her voice trembling, cracking as it left her lips. She wanted to call out to him, to pull him back from that dark, empty place. But he didn’t look up, didn’t react to her presence. He seemed far, far away, lost in the silence of his mind, wrapped in a chilling, numb cocoon.

Severus arrived at her side, his presence abrupt and commanding, a dark shadow beside her. He took in the scene with a sharp, practiced eye, a sneer tugging at his lips even as his gaze remained cold and calculating.

“Get him away from the body,” Severus’s voice was a cold, clipped command, every syllable laced with irritation. He saw Sirion’s frozen stance, the lifelessness that seemed to cling to him, and his scowl deepened. The boy was wasting precious time, clinging to sentiment when the only priority should be keeping Daemon alive. Typical, Severus thought bitterly, his mind racing as he calculated what would need to be done. Always so like his father, holding on with that same, stubborn devotion.

With a firm, almost ruthless grip, Severus grabbed Sirion by the shoulders, yanking him back. The boy’s hands slipped from Daemon’s wound, and for a moment, a flicker of protest flashed across his face before vanishing back into that haunting emptiness. He didn’t fight, didn’t resist, but something inside him seemed to shrink even further, as though he were retreating into himself, locking away the part of him that still cared.

“Move,” Severus said, his tone a mixture of impatience and frustration. He shoved Sirion into Alicent’s arms, not sparing her a glance as he immediately turned his attention to Daemon’s wound, his hands moving with a swift, practiced precision. “If you want to be useful,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her, “don’t stand there gawking.”

Alicent barely registered Severus’s words. Her focus was on Sirion, on the hollow, empty gaze that had replaced the bright, inquisitive eyes of her son. She gathered him close, her arms wrapping around him, feeling the cold stiffness in his small frame. He was barely breathing, barely moving, like he had turned to stone in her arms. She held him tighter, her heart breaking at the sight of his blank stare, his tiny hands still stained with his father’s blood.