The Fallen Princess: Unbound

Chapter Seven

The nursery was bright, clean, and warm in a way the old castle rarely allowed. Daylight spilled in through wide windows, muted by a sky the color of pale ash. Outside, snow fell in lazy flurries—soft, drifting, more suggestion than storm—turning the gardens into something quiet and new.

Zaria stood near the hearth with Zephira tucked tight against her chest, swaddled and bundled until she was mostly warmth and tiny breath.

Sophie and Ava were already wriggling into winter layers under Fay’s patient supervision, small hands struggling with buttons and ties, cheeks flushed from excitement and heat.

Their dresses had been replaced with thick tunics and wool leggings, little boots lined with fur. Sophie kept glancing at Zephira as if she needed to make sure the baby was still there, still real.

Cillian sat in Callen’s arms like he belonged there, one small hand gripping the edge of Callen’s sleeve with fierce determination. Callen had traded ceremonial black for a heavy coat, dark and practical, lined in warmth and fastened with a simple clasp.

Even like this—domestic, softened by morning—he still moved like a warrior. Protective by instinct. Alert even while smiling. “We’re going outside,” Ava announced, as if the castle had been waiting for her permission.

Fay smoothed Ava’s hair and tightened her scarf. “Only for a little while. And no one is eating snow off the stone planters.” Ava made an offended noise. Sophie tried to look innocent and failed.

Zaria’s mouth curved. Callen’s gaze found hers across the room. A silent question. Are you up for it? Zaria nodded once. She’d learned to measure herself in small truths since the birth, what she could do, how far she could go without her body reminding her that it was still healing.

Fay opened the door for them, and cold air swept in, crisp and clean, carrying the scent of snow and winter stone. The hallway beyond was quieter than usual, as if the castle itself respected the softness of this morning.

They moved like a small procession: Sophie and Ava first, nearly vibrating with anticipation; Callen behind them with Cillian balanced easily on his hip; Zaria last with Zephira pressed close, her cloak drawn tight around them both.

The gardens looked different under snow. Not buried, not transformed into something unrecognizable, just dusted, softened, as if the world had been gently erased at the edges. The hedges wore a thin white outline.

The paths were still visible, dark stone cutting through pale powder. Flurries drifted down in slow spirals, catching in eyelashes and hair, melting almost instantly on skin.

Sophie lifted her face to the sky and held her mouth open. “Ava,” Fay warned automatically, as if she’d already seen Ava preparing to do the same. Ava stuck out her tongue anyway and shrieked when a snowflake landed. “It’s cold!”

“That’s the point,” Sophie said with the authority of someone who had decided she was in charge of winter. Callen made a low sound that might have been a laugh, might have been a sigh.

He set Cillian down only long enough to adjust his tiny hood, then swept him back up into his arms. Cillian’s eyes, those deep gold eyes that people whispered about in halls, watched the girls with serious fascination.

“Do you think,” Sophie said, turning suddenly, “that Zephira can catch snowflakes.” Zaria’s heart did something painful and sweet. “She’s too little,” she murmured. “But she can watch.”

Sophie trotted closer, peering at the bundle. “Little wisp,” she whispered with reverence, as if the nickname was a spell. Zephira made a tiny noise—half sigh, half protest—and burrowed deeper into Zaria’s warmth.

Ava darted away, chasing a swirl of flurries. Sophie followed, her laughter bright against the hush of snow. Callen stepped after them, quick and easy, shifting into play like it was a weapon he’d forgotten he owned until now.

“Careful,” he called, but there was humor under the warning. He jogged forward, Cillian tucked against him, and then, without ceremony, he chased the girls. Not like a prince. Like a father.

Sophie shrieked, delighted. Ava squealed and sprinted toward a row of evergreens, boots slipping slightly on the stone. Callen lunged and caught her around the waist, lifting her up until she kicked and giggled, flailing like a fish.

“Traitor!” Ava yelled, laughing too hard to mean it. Sophie tried to rescue her sister and nearly fell. Callen shifted, steadying her with one hand while keeping Ava trapped with the other, and Cillian let out a sound that was unmistakably delighted. A small, breathy laugh that Zaria felt in her bones.

Zaria stood under the archway and watched. Her chest ached with love so full it felt dangerous. This... this, was what she wanted. Not crowns. Not councils. Not rooms filled with plotting. Just her children laughing in winter air, Callen’s rare smile catching at the edges, the world quiet enough to pretend it could be gentle.

And then reality slipped its fingers into the moment and reminded her why gentleness never lasted. Sophie’s laugh rang out again, and for an instant Zaria saw not the child she’d gathered into her home, but the girl she’d found in grief. Eyes that had already learned what it meant to lose people.

Ava spun in a circle beneath falling snow, and Zaria remembered how the girls had been left with absence where safety should have been. Where their parents should still be. Her own throat tightened. River...

The name was a bruise that never fully faded, a grief she carried tucked behind her ribs so she could keep moving. River’s smile, River’s fierce loyalty, River’s death, everything Gulshan had stolen and dared her to survive anyway.

I can’t lose anyone else. Not Callen. Not Sophie. Not Ava. Not Cillian. Not Zephira. The flurries thickened for a moment, the sky shifting darker gray, and Zaria tightened her cloak instinctively.

Callen looked back toward her then, just a glance, quick and instinctive, checking her in the way he always did. Their eyes met across the garden. Zaria forced a smile.

Callen’s mouth softened in response, but his gaze lingered a fraction too long, as if he recognized the thought that had tightened her chest. He turned back to the girls, lifted Ava again, and pretended for their sake that this was all there was.

When the cold finally began to bite too sharply, Fay called them in with the steady authority of someone who didn’t care how royal anyone was. Sophie protested. Ava tried to bargain for “five more snowflakes.” Cillian yawned hard enough to make his whole body soften in Callen’s arms.

Back in the nursery wing, warmth wrapped around them like a blanket. Boots were kicked off. Cloaks were hung. Cheeks thawed pink. Zephira was settled in her cradle near the hearth, where the air stayed warm and the light stayed soft.

Sophie hovered near the cradle like a guard. Ava climbed onto the rug with a wooden dragon toy and began making it “fly” in dramatic circles. Cillian was handed to Zakai briefly, who had appeared like he always did, quiet and reliable, stepping into the role without being asked and then returned to Callen when his small hands reached for his father again.

The domestic noise settled into something gentle. Eventually, the children were coaxed into quieter play and then into naps, their energy burning out the way fire did when it had been bright all morning.

Zaria stood at the window for a moment, watching the snow drift over the gardens, and felt that sharp split inside herself: mother and protector, tenderness and urgency, love and fear braided together so tightly she couldn’t separate them anymore.

Callen came to her side without a word. “Walk with me,” he said quietly. Zaria nodded. They left the nursery wing together, moving through the castle corridors in a silence that wasn’t empty so much as heavy with everything neither of them wanted to say too quickly.

Callen’s hand found hers, his fingers warm and firm, a steady tether. The knight’s annex lay behind the castle. It always smelled faintly of oiled leather and polished steel, of work and discipline.

Callen led her to a small alcove near the training boards, away from the main hall where any passing knight might overhear. There, he turned to face her fully. His eyes were tired. Not just sleepless tired, something deeper.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said. No anger. No command. Just truth. Zaria swallowed. “I know.” Callen’s jaw flexed. He looked away for a heartbeat, then back, as if forcing himself to meet her with honesty rather than control.

“I can’t...” His voice roughened. “I can’t do that again. I can’t stand there and watch you fight and…” He shook his head once, hard. “You say you’re fine and you smile and you walk into danger like it’s nothing, and I...”

“And you what?” Zaria asked softly. Callen’s eyes flashed with something raw. “And I’m helpless.” The word landed between them like a wound. Zaria’s chest tightened. She stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the steadiness, the love that didn’t always know how to be gentle.

“You’re not helpless,” she said. Callen let out a bitter breath. “When it’s steel, I can kill it. When it’s fire, I can endure it. When it’s politics, I can outlast it.” His gaze sharpened. “But when it’s magic, when it’s something I can’t see, something I can’t stop, what am I supposed to do, Zaria? Stand beside you and hope?”

Zaria’s throat burned. She thought of Sophie, Ava and Cillian laughing in snow. She thought of River. She thought of Zephira’s tiny falter that first night, and the way terror had filled the room. “I don’t want to go either,” she admitted, voice quiet. “Not like this. Not with her so small.”

Callen’s gaze softened by a fraction. “But,” Zaria continued, forcing the words past the ache, “Gulshan isn’t going to stop because we want peace. He took the Isles. He left Sophie and Ava without parents. He took River...”

Her fingers curled around Callen’s coat, gripping lightly as if she needed something real. “And if we pretend this ends at our borders, it will come here. Right to our home.” Callen’s mouth tightened.

Zaria lifted her chin. “I won’t wait for him to bring the curse to our children. I won’t.” Callen stared at her for a long moment, the war in him warring with the love. Then he stepped closer, so close their breath mingled.

“You always choose the hardest path,” he murmured. Zaria’s laugh came out thin. “You married me.” Callen’s eyes held hers, gold and tired and fierce. “I married you because I couldn’t not.” The silence between them thickened, heavy with longing and fear and all the things they didn’t have time to unravel gently.

Then Callen’s hand came up to cup the side of her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone like he was memorizing her. And he kissed her. Not soft. Not careful.

A kiss full of everything he couldn’t say in a meeting room. Fear and devotion and anger at the world, love so intense it bordered on pain. Zaria melted into it, gripping his coat, kissing him back with the same fierce hunger, as if this was the only way to promise him she was still here.

When they finally broke apart, they stayed close, foreheads nearly touching, breath uneven. “I will come back,” Zaria whispered. Callen’s eyes closed for a heartbeat. “You better,” he murmured, voice rough.

Zaria touched his jaw, feeling the tension there. “And you’ll stay. You’ll protect them while I’m gone.” Callen’s gaze opened again, steady now, decision settling into him like armor.

“I’ll protect them,” he promised. “And I’ll tear the world apart if you don’t return to them.” Zaria kissed him once more, softer this time, then pulled away before she could lose her resolve in his arms.

Back in their wing of the castle, the corridor was quiet. The rugs muffled her steps. The air smelled faintly of clean linen. Zaria rounded the corner toward the nursery door and stopped.

Koen stood in the doorway like he’d been carved there, half-shadowed by the frame, posture still and precise. His gaze lifted to hers immediately, red eyes intent. For a heartbeat, Zaria’s irritation flared because he always appeared at thresholds, always arrived like a reminder that magic never truly slept.

Then she saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands rested at his sides as if he’d been ready to move fast. “She faltered,” Koen said quietly. Zaria’s heart lurched. “Zephira?” Koen nodded once. “For a moment. I felt it.” His jaw tightened slightly, as if he disliked admitting that aloud. “It passed.”

Zaria moved past him without thinking, pushing gently into the nursery. Fay looked up from the rocker where she sat with a blanket over her lap, Zephira’s cradle beside her. The baby slept, tiny chest rising and falling steadily.

“She’s fine,” Fay said softly, reading Zaria’s face. Zaria exhaled shakily, stepping to the cradle. She leaned over Zephira, watching her breathe, her chest easing only when she saw the steady rhythm remain unchanged.

Koen stood behind her, close enough that she could feel him but not close enough to touch. He didn’t ask to hold Zephira. He didn’t reach out. He simply watched, the way someone watched a flame that could either warm a room or burn it down.

Zaria straightened slowly. “Thank you,” she said, quieter than she meant. Koen’s gaze flicked to hers. His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture eased by the smallest degree. “It’s… necessary,” he replied, as if gratitude made him uncomfortable.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Christian appeared without announcement, moving with that effortless authority that made doors and people part for him without question. His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp with purpose.

“Princess,” he said softly. Zaria’s stomach tightened. “What is it.” Christian’s gaze flicked briefly to the cradle then back to her. “You leave in three days.” The words hit like cold water. Zaria’s throat tightened. She looked down at Zephira, so small, so warm, so unaware of what adults were deciding around her.

Three days. She blinked hard. “That soon.” Christian’s voice gentled, just slightly. “We don’t have the luxury of longer. Zaria swallowed, forcing her breath steady. “Callen—” “I’ll speak to him,” Christian said immediately. “I’ll handle it. Not in front of anyone. As a brother not a prince.”

Zaria nodded, emotion tightening her chest until it hurt. “All right.” Christian stepped closer and lowered his voice. “You’re allowed to feel it,” he said, quieter now. “You’re allowed to hate me for it. But you’re also allowed to be the woman who saves people.”

Zaria’s eyes burned. “I don’t hate you.” Christian’s mouth curved faintly. “Give it time.” He glanced toward Koen, and the air shifted, two men sharing an understanding neither of them spoke aloud. Then Christian gave Zaria a final steady look and left as quietly as he’d come.

Zaria stood for a long moment in the nursery, listening to Zephira’s breathing, to the faint crackle of the hearth, to the muted sounds of the castle continuing as if nothing had changed. Then she moved.

She spent the rest of the evening with her children like she was trying to store the moments under her skin. She sat with Sophie while Sophie insisted on telling Zephira a story “so she won’t be lonely.”

She helped Ava brush her hair and listened to her chatter about snowflakes and gardens and how Cillian laughed when Callen spun in circles. She kissed Cillian’s forehead until he grinned and reached for her, sticky fingers grabbing at her braid.

When it was time for bed, she tucked them in one by one. Sophie clung to her longer than usual. “You’re coming back,” Sophie said, voice small but determined. Zaria pressed a kiss to her hair. “Yes,” she promised. “Always.”

Ava yawned and mumbled, “Bring me a snowflake,” and Zaria laughed softly through the ache in her throat. Cillian fell asleep holding her finger. Zephira slept with her fist curled near her cheek, tiny and fierce even in rest.

Later, when the castle quieted and the hearth burned low, Zaria and Callen lay down together in the dim warmth of their chamber. Callen’s arms wrapped around her from behind, holding her carefully, protectively, as if he could shield her from the future by sheer will.

Zaria pressed back into him, fitting herself against the solid line of his body, breathing in the familiar scent of him, steel and smoke and home. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to.

Outside, snow continued to drift past the windows in slow, silent flurries. Inside, Callen held her like a vow. And Zaria held on, knowing the morning would come whether she was ready or not.