The Fallen Princess: Unbound

Chapter Six

Sunlight lay across the table in clean, bright bands, warming the wood as if the room had been built for peace. The folio of reports sat open between them anyway—ink-dark, damning, impossible to ignore—and Zaria could feel the shift inside herself.

“The book,” Zaria said. Christian smiled like she’d spoken the correct answer. “The book.” Callen’s expression hardened. “No.” The single word hit the room like a door slammed shut. Callen didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t need to.

The refusal lived in his posture, in the way his hand remained close enough to Zaria’s chair to be called protective by anyone who didn’t understand what it cost her to be protected.

Zaria kept her voice even. “We haven’t even discussed—” “We don’t need to,” Callen cut in. His hand remained on her knee, but his grip tightened. “I am not letting you leave this kingdom to chase a book while you’re still healing.”

Christian’s brows lifted. “Letting?” Callen ignored him. “And I am certainly not having you travel with him.” His gaze flicked to Koen like a blade.

Zakai’s eyes moved between them, watchful, neutral, loyal to the family before he was loyal to any argument. He didn’t speak. He didn’t choose a side. He simply waited for the room to decide whether it would remain a room or become a battlefield.

Zaria felt heat rise in her chest, not just anger, but the old familiar friction between love and autonomy. “This isn’t about permission,” she said, quiet but firm. “This is about necessity.”

Callen’s jaw clenched. “Necessity is what people call recklessness when they don’t want to admit they’re afraid.” Zaria’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re not afraid?” Callen’s mouth tightened. He didn’t answer because the answer was written all over him.

Christian’s voice slipped in, smooth as silk, sharp as steel. “Callen, your fear is understandable. But it is not policy.” Callen turned on him. “You think I enjoy this? You think I want to argue with my wife while she’s still recovering? But my daughter...” His voice caught hard on the word, and for a moment the mask cracked. “My daughter is tied to him.”

Koen’s gaze finally turned inward, landing on the table, not on Zaria, not on Callen, but somewhere between them like he was refusing to be baited into emotion.

Christian’s eyes sharpened. “Yes. We should discuss that tether.” Koen’s jaw tightened once. “There’s nothing to discuss.” Callen let out a humorless sound. “Of course you’d say that.”

Zaria’s voice steadied, cutting through. “Koen. Where is the book.” Koen’s gaze shifted to her. The sunlight didn’t touch his eyes; they remained their own dark red, unreadable and almost ancient. “In my homeland,” he said simply.

Christian leaned in, eager now. “And your homeland has it because...” Koen hesitated as if he disliked explanations but disliked ignorance more. “Because my people kept records,” he said at last. “Not stories. Not songs. Records.”

Zaria felt her focus lock. “Records of oath-bound.” “Records of power,” Koen corrected. “Of binding. Of breaking. Of what it costs.” Callen’s fingers flexed on the table edge. “Your people sound charming.”

Koen didn’t rise to it. “They lived in harsh lands,” he said, voice level. “They were granted gifts to survive, the way yours were.” Zaria’s breath caught slightly at the parallel, the way yours were, like he’d placed her in the same ancient category as himself.

Christian’s eyes gleamed. “Granted gifts,” he repeated. “Just like Zaria’s origin story.” Zaria’s spine went straighter. “And the book is there.” Koen nodded once. “In the old forest archives.” Callen’s gaze sharpened. “Forest.”

Koen’s mouth tightened. “It’s not a forest the way you imagine it.” Christian’s tone turned lightly amused. “Oh? Is it worse.”

Koen looked out the window again as if he could see that place through miles of sky. “It’s primeval,” he said. “Locked in perpetual dusk. Trees so massive they blot out the sky. Soil rich enough to grow anything… and toxic enough to twist it.”

Zaria’s pulse quickened, not from fear but from the pull of it. The way dangerous knowledge always called to her like a door cracked open.

Koen continued, still restrained, still offering only the minimum. “Everything grows wrong. Not evil. Not malicious. Just… unmoved by what outsiders want. The forest resists. Paths change. Sound bends. People get turned around and never find the way back.”

Christian’s expression stayed bright, but his eyes sharpened into something more serious. “And you haven’t been home since...” Koen’s jaw tightened. “Not since I was a boy.” Zaria frowned. “Why.”

Koen’s gaze flicked to hers—brief, cool. “Because my father took me and we never returned.” The words were simple. The weight behind them wasn’t. Christian let the silence sit for a beat, long enough to acknowledge it without probing. Then he said, “So you know where it is, but you don’t know what it looks like now.”

Koen’s answer was clipped. “Correct.” Callen leaned back, incredulous. “So we’re going to send my wife into a corrupted ancient forest that actively resists outsiders, guided by a man who hasn’t been there since childhood and whose life is tethered to my newborn daughter.”

Zaria met his eyes. “You’re making it sound unreasonable on purpose.” “It is unreasonable,” Callen snapped, the control in his voice cracking. “Our daughter nearly died. And now you want to leave her, leave them, to go chase a book that might not even exist anymore.”

“It exists,” Christian said calmly. Callen swung his gaze to him. “And you know that how Brother.” Christian tapped the folio again. “Because Koen and his father can create the bound, and that means there is method. And if there is method, there is a source.”

His mouth curved faintly. “Also because Koen has been insufferably certain about it since the night we almost lost your daughter.” Koen’s expression didn’t change, but his shoulders tightened like the mention scraped something.

Zaria’s fingers curled against the table. “Callen… we can’t break them one at a time. You know we can’t.” Callen stared at her. “You’re three weeks postpartum.” “And you are pretending time cares,” Zaria shot back, the sharpness surprising even her.

She drew a breath, forcing herself to soften. “I’m not saying we leave tomorrow. I’m saying we prepare. We plan. We go before this spreads.” Zakai finally spoke, voice steady. “If we don’t move, we’ll be reacting. Not leading.” Christian nodded once. “Exactly.”

Callen’s gaze flicked to Zakai, then back to Zaria, frustration tightening his face. “So you’re all just… decided.” Zaria held his stare. “I’m decided.” Callen’s eyes flashed. “And what about Zephira.” The name landed like an iron weight.

Zaria’s chest tightened. She pictured her daughter in Fay’s arms, that tiny mouth puckering, that breath that could still become fragile if fate decided to be cruel. “We will not put her in danger,” Zaria said, voice lower now.

Callen’s laugh was bitter. “Her anchor is leaving the kingdom.” Koen spoke quietly. “The tether holds across distance.” Callen’s head snapped toward him. “And you know that because...” “Because I can feel it now,” Koen said, tone flat. “Even here. Even in daylight. Even when she sleeps.”

Zaria’s throat tightened at the quiet certainty of it. Not pride. Not possessiveness. Just fact. Like gravity.

Christian lifted a hand, interrupting the spiral before it became a fight that broke something. “We are not doing this here,” he said, still calm. “Callen, your anger is valid. Your fear is justified. But we don’t have the luxury of letting either of those things make the decision for us.”

Callen’s voice went rough. “You’re asking me to let my wife walk into a place designed to swallow outsiders.” Christian’s gaze held, unflinching. “I’m asking you to help me save the innocents who will die if we don’t.”

Zaria leaned forward, palms flat on the table. “I’m asking you to trust me,” she said, softer but no less firm. “Not blindly. Not recklessly. Trust me with conditions. With guards. With plans. But don’t ask me to sit in a nursery while people are being turned into weapons.”

Callen’s mouth tightened hard. He looked at her like he wanted to argue, wanted to win, wanted to drag her back into safety by sheer force of love. Then he looked away, because love didn’t give him authority over her, and he knew it.

Christian’s voice turned practical. “Here is what will happen.” He straightened slightly, the lazy sprawl sharpening into something princely. “We authorize an expedition. Quietly.” Callen’s head lifted. “Quietly.”

Christian nodded. “No public announcement. Not yet. The court is already restless from the succession proclamation. The last thing we need is a dozen ambitious nobles learning Zaria is leaving the castle and deciding to ‘escort’ her with knives.”

Zaria’s stomach tightened—no, her chest, her lungs—at the truth of that. Christian continued, “We delay publicly. We talk about border patrols, about rebuilding, about peace. We let the court believe we are settling. Meanwhile, we plan.”

Callen’s gaze narrowed. “And you intend to send her.” Christian’s eyes didn’t flicker. “Yes.” Callen’s chair scraped as he stood abruptly, fury finally breaking through the controlled shell he’d worn since the birth. “You don’t get to decide...”

Zaria stood too, slower because her body still remembered pain, but she stood all the same. “He isn’t deciding,” she said, voice steady. “I am.” Callen stared at her, gold eyes bright with helpless fire. “Zaria...”

“I know,” she cut in, and her voice softened by a fraction. “I know why you’re afraid. I’m afraid too.” Callen’s jaw worked. “Then don’t go.” Zaria’s hands curled at her sides. “If I don’t go, more people get bound. More families lose their children to a curse. And eventually, it will come here again. Right to our doors.”

Christian watched them with the stillness of a man letting the personal play out because he knew he would need them both intact afterward. Koen remained by the window, silent, refusing to insert himself into the marriage he’d already complicated enough.

Zakai’s gaze moved between Callen and Zaria, loyal to both, face unreadable, but his posture stayed ready, as if he understood this was the kind of argument that could become a wound if handled wrong.

Callen’s voice dropped, raw. “And if something happens to you...” Zaria stepped closer, close enough that the table was no longer a barrier. “Then you will survive it,” she said quietly. “Because you have children who need you. Because you are not allowed to break.” Callen’s throat bobbed. His hands flexed, the warrior in him searching for something to fight that he could actually hit.

Christian cleared his throat, gentle, but final. “We will set terms,” he said. “A small party. Trusted. No banners. No public route. And you, Callen, will have your say in every security measure.”

Callen’s eyes cut to him. “That’s supposed to comfort me.” Christian’s expression turned almost sympathetic. “No. It’s supposed to keep you from doing something stupid.” Callen’s gaze flicked to Koen again—sharp, warning.

Koen didn’t react. He didn’t smile. He didn’t even look pleased to be necessary. His eyes stayed on the horizon beyond the glass as if he’d already begun measuring the distance to a forest that didn’t care whether he returned.

Christian’s voice lowered. “This does not leave this room,” he said. “Not yet. We delay publicly. We prepare privately. And when we move, we move like a knife in the dark.”

Zaria felt the old thrill of purpose stir beneath her ribs, the part of her that remembered her choices that mattered. Then, underneath it, she felt the gentler pull of motherhood... Sophie, Ava, Cillian and Zephira’s unseen presence across the castle, the quiet reminder of what she was protecting, and what she was risking.

She met Callen’s eyes and held them until he stopped looking at her like she was something fragile. “This is happening,” she said, not cruelly. Not defiantly. Simply truth. Callen’s mouth tightened. “You’re asking me to watch you walk toward danger again.”

Zaria’s voice softened. “I’m asking you to walk with me,” she said. “Even if you hate it.” Callen’s gaze flickered—pain, love, fury—before it hardened back into control. He didn’t agree. Not yet. But he didn’t forbid her either.

Christian leaned back in his chair again, the lazy posture returning like a mask he enjoyed. “Wonderful,” he said lightly. “Now that we’re all furious and aligned, let’s begin planning.”

Outside the windows, sunlight poured across the room as if the world had decided to pretend peace was real. Inside, the room earned its purpose.

And somewhere across the stone corridors, children laughed, bright and careless, while the adults chose what kind of fire they would walk into to keep that laughter from being swallowed by someone else’s darkness.