Scars of the Crown

Ward POV Three months. Three whole months since Valerius ripped them from me, since the world tilted on its axis and I thought I’d lost everything that mattered. And not a single day has passed since I got them back that I haven’t woken up with a silent, fervent prayer of thanks. Every breath Casey takes, every soft sound Elara makes, is a gift I’ll never take for granted. We built Elara’s nursery right next to our bedroom. It was Casey’s idea, born from the raw, visceral fear that still clawed at her in the dead of night. She couldn’t cope with the thought of our baby being even a few steps away, not after the terror of being separated, of not knowing if she’d ever see her again. The walls are painted a soft, calming cream, the floor padded for those inevitable first tumbles, and every corner child-proofed with an obsessive attention to detail. But even with the state-of-the-art crib and the softest mobiles, most nights Elara ends up back in our room anyway. Casey still wakes screaming sometimes, her body rigid, her hands flailing for the baby as if she’s still locked in that cold, damp cell. And I can’t blame her. The nightmares haven’t faded completely yet. Some nights, the echoes of Valerius’s fortress are louder than others. But I’m always there. Always. A hand on her back, a whispered assurance, a solid presence to anchor her back to reality. Tonight, the moon is a sliver in the sky, and the compound is hushed. I lean against the doorframe of the nursery, arms folded, the cool wood a familiar texture against my skin. The only light comes from a soft, dim nightlight, casting long, gentle shadows that soften the edges of the room. It’s a sanctuary, a peaceful tableau I’ve waited so long to see. Casey is sitting propped up on the nursing chair, a worn, comfortable thing that’s seen more use than any piece of furniture in the house. Her hair is loose, a dark curtain falling around her shoulders, and her eyes are heavy with a sleep that feels earned. Elara is latched to her, a tiny, determined creature, her miniature hands curled tight against her mother’s skin, feeding with that greedy, steady focus only newborns possess. And yeah – every time I watch this, something tightens low in my gut. It’s a stupid, possessive little flare of jealousy that makes me huff a quiet laugh at myself. It’s ridiculous, I know. It’s just how it works. Nature. But seeing my girl, my Casey, the woman who fought Valerius with nothing but her fierce will, giving so much of herself, so physically, to our daughter… it hits something primal in me. It makes me want to crowd close, to pull her into my arms, to remind her that she’s mine too, and that I’ll always be here to give her strength, too. Casey lifts her gaze, catching me watching from the doorway. The corner of her mouth tugs up into that familiar, teasing smile that always manages to melt whatever tension I’m holding. She knows exactly what that look on my face means. She’s been winding me up about it for weeks, every time she’s nursing. “Stop glaring like you’re gonna fight her for it,” she whispers, her voice a soft rumble, careful not to disturb Elara’s quiet concentration. “She’s got more right than anyone to the milk bar.” I push off the doorframe, the floorboards silent under my weight, and cross the room. The scent of Casey and clean baby is intoxicating. I lean down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, then brush my thumb over Elara’s impossibly soft cheek. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I murmur against Casey’s hair, my voice low and rough. She snorts softly, a sound of pure amusement. “Liar. You get that exact same scowl every single time. You’re just jealous I’m not feeding you too. Maybe you need a little Elara-sized milk bar, huh?” I grin, pressing closer, my voice dropping even lower, a possessive rumble against her ear. “Maybe I am. Maybe I just like seeing what’s mine. All of it.” I nuzzle her neck, inhaling her scent. “You both are. Mine.” Casey hums, a warm, contented sound, and her eyes soften. She squeezes my hand where it rests on her knee. She doesn’t know it yet. Doesn’t have a clue what I’ve been planning for weeks, coordinating with Duncan and a few of the boys. It’s nothing big, nothing flashy. No grand gestures that would draw too much attention or put her on edge. Just something I’ve wanted to do since the day I first held her hand, since I knew she was the only woman I’d ever want beside me. Something simple, something real, something to make sure she knows, beyond any doubt, that they’re never going anywhere again. That this is it. Home. I lean down again, kiss her forehead, then brush my lips against Elara’s tiny, downy head, the feather-light touch sending a jolt through me. And I smile to myself, a genuine, deep smile that reaches my eyes. She’s going to be speechless. And I can’t wait to see her face.