The World Cannot Know

Chapter 60

Matthew Wild

The old mill was coming alive in the way only a place on the brink of war could. Smoke curled from the forge Clive had rigged in the back, and the smell of oiled steel hung in the air. Alice directed two of the scouts to reinforce the shutters while Elizabeth laid out blankets in the cellar—just in case Louie needed to be hidden, or moved quickly. Arney was hauling barrels, muttering curses about royalty and toddlers and how they always managed to cause a mess wherever they went.

I was outside, running my hands along the stonework of the north wall, checking for cracks or weak points, when I heard it—fast footsteps. A figure darting through the trees, stumbling slightly.

One of Clive's men—Reed—young and breathless, barely out of training.

He didn't stop running until he reached me. "He's here," he panted. "Marcus. Just up the path. And he's got the child."

I didn't wait. I turned and ran, heart hammering like a war drum, boots kicking up dust as I tore through the underbrush, the trees parting ahead of me like they knew how badly I needed to see him.

And then I saw him.

Marcus, bruised and bloodied, silhouetted in the dying light—tall, steady, holding something swaddled in thick wool. My steps faltered. I didn't breathe.

He stepped forward and said only one thing. "He's safe."

I reached out as Marcus passed Louie into my arms.

The weight of him.

Gods.

Warm, soft, real.

Louie stirred softly, a tiny, broken noise in his throat—half a breath, half a memory. His head lolled gently against my shoulder, and I held him tighter, barely able to feel the ground beneath me as I sank to my knees.

My arms cradled him instinctively, protectively, like he'd been mine all along and I'd only just remembered.

His warmth. The slow rise and fall of his chest. The impossibly small fingers curled into my coat.

I blinked hard.

Not because I was afraid.

But because this—this was something else entirely. Something sacred.

My throat tightened. I'd imagined this moment a hundred ways—had rehearsed what I might say, what I might feel. But nothing had prepared me for the way he just... fit.

He looked up for a moment, not really seeing, but still—still. There was something in the way his brows furrowed, just a flicker of instinct, that hit me like a blow to the chest.

I knew that look.

It was mine.

Footsteps crunched behind me, fast and urgent. Alice skidded to a stop beside us, breathless and wide-eyed, eyes darting to the baby.

"Oh..." she breathed, dropping to a crouch beside me. "Oh, Matthew..."

She reached out gently, brushing a lock of dark hair from Louie's forehead.

"He looks just like you."

I laughed—choked and uneven—wiping at my eyes before the tears could fall. "Yeah," I said. "He really does."

Alice leaned in, studying Louie with a smile that was soft, but laced with something fiercer underneath. "Little does this baby know all the hassle everyone's going through over him."

"He's not even old enough to sit up, and he's already got half the kingdom at war," I murmured, brushing my thumb gently across his cheek. "Poor kid didn't ask for any of this."