I looked up at him, momentarily confused until I caught the implication in his words. Our children, the future heirs of the combined Blackthorne-Maxwell bloodlines. Would sleep in the same crib that had once held me. The thought sent a flutter of emotion through my chest, too complex to name.
"Yes," I agreed, holding the journal close to my heart. "A piece of the past to carry into our future."
We spent the rest of the day exploring the house, discovering other rooms that had been protected from the Northern Alliance's influence. My father's study, where maps and books still lay open on his desk as if he'd just stepped out for a moment. My mother's private sitting room, where her scent lingered faintly in the fabric of the curtains. Each discovery was another thread connecting me to the
