The First Warrior had given birth to a healthy baby boy and all the Royals had assembled to give their blessings to the newborn. The monarchs tried to look happy at the birth of the Royal Advisor's grandson but it was quite apparent that the joy was like salt on their wounds.

They had practised curves on their lips but Amara had lived with them long enough to know the pain that they tried so hard to hide.

After giving their blessings, all of them but the Queen, dispersed. Amara stayed beside her for moral support. The old woman looked like a shadow. She feared that the Queen would shatter. 

The assembly for the Chosen Heir had been postponed to the following day and the young woman seized the opportunity to seek her mother's guidance. 

Felicia was inside her room, holding her newborn in her arms. The three midwives halted their work when they saw the Queen enter the room. 

The Frisier looked up and smiled at the women before ordering the midwives to disperse. After they had left, she held her newborn out to the Queen, 'Do you want to hold him?'

Amara knew her presence was not needed when she saw the Queen take him in her arms, smiling through her tears. The younger woman silently left after giving Felicia a small departing smile. 

'He's lovely, Felicia,' the Queen broke the silence.

The First Warrior, despite being the tough woman she was, burst into tears. 'Thank you, my Queen.'

The older woman placed the baby in the cradle and moved to sit next to her niece. She pulled her into a hug, gingerly patting her back, 'It's alright, love. It's alright.'

'I am sorry about Damien. I can't imagine what-' Felicia sobbed, unable to express her heavy emotions.

The Queen's eyes watered as her mind travelled back in time. When Prince Damien was born, he had been so small and fragile that she had tended to him for months before she let him out of her sight.

'You know him, Felicia,' her voice wavered, 'Where ever he is, he will be alright.'

The younger woman cried, 'I didn't do anything to help you. I am sorry, my Queen.'

'Hush, now, Felicia. There's no need to be sorry. I would never want you to risk your child. You are dear to me,' Queen Revenna brushed the younger woman's hair with her hand. 

They stayed like that for a while.

'What have you named him?'

'We haven't named him yet.'

'And why is that?'

'I want Damien here when I name him.'

The Queen paused and glanced at the little boy. 'Name him, Felicia. It will be cruel to deprive a high born like him of his name.'

The First Warrior turned away and gazed outside the window. She couldn't get herself to reply. Instead, her mind was filled with tearfully pleasant memories she shared with the Crown Prince. 'We used to play together,' she started, 'Damon, Damien and I.'

The Queen hummed in response, a small smile on her face.

'Damon usually watched over us keeping us from wreaking havoc,' the young woman chuckled at the memory. 'Those were nice times.'

'They indeed were, Felicia.'

She turned to her aunt and smiled, 'I'll name him but we will not announce his birth till Damien comes back.'

The Queen opened her mouth to protest but the younger woman shook her head, 'No more celebrations without him, please.'

Queen Ravenna nodded, gratefully, accepting the First Warrior's request.

'How is the King?'

She exhaled, 'Worried. Nine days and there's still no word from our spies.'

'We should attack them.'

Shaking her head, she explained, 'We are not sure that Damien is with them. There will be no use of the war if they don't have him.'

'Are we only going to wait?'

'Till we received the word from our spies, we will not attack.'

Felicia exhaled loudly. She threw the sheets away and attempted to get on her feet.

The Queen was horrified. With wide eyes, she motioned the younger woman to sit back down. 'Rest, Felicia.'

Despite Queen Revanna's protests, the young woman got to her feet. The pain that throbbed in her abdomen was apparent. Her face skewered as she gripped the headboard to support herself.

When the older woman tried to help her, Felicia lifted her hand, 'No, my Queen. I am tired of resting. It is time that I contribute.'

'Child, listen to me,' the Queen touched her shoulder, 'no one expects you to do anything. You just gave birth. Give yourself some rest.'

Felicia looked at her aunt defiantly, 'I do not need rest, my Queen. Trust me, I have had plenty.'

'Felicia...'

Rage burned in the younger woman's eyes, 'I am the Frisir!' She announced with fresh tears in her eyes, her hands drawn into tight fists. 'When my son grows, he must hear the stories of my strength and my loyalty. I will not standby and watch while another brother of mine is harmed.'

As Amara headed toward the Shalore's lab, she cursed herself for not congratulating Felicia. There was no doubt that the other woman would understand her situation but she couldn't help but feel guilty. No matter the circumstance, the birth of the child was great news and must be celebrated. 

She told herself that she would give her best wishes to her after she had received some answers. 

Her mind wandered to the Queen's words. 

There's a traitor in the Council, Amara.

She understood why Damien's mother wanted her to be the Chosen Heir. Amara wouldn't latch onto the throne after the Crown Prince's return. 

Sighing loudly, she tried to keep her tears at bay as she thought of her Prince. If she had treasured him enough, maybe he would still be with her. If only she had stayed put and demanded entry into his study...

Gritting her teeth, she cursed herself silently. 

As she walked through the hallway, something caught her eyes. She halted and turned to peer through the window. Down, in the snow-clad garden, she saw two figures who were certainly not warriors. 

The Royal Advisor and his son-in-law, Jeremiah.

Confused, she observed them. 

What are they doing out there? She wondered as she squinted her eyes at them. 

Jeremiah didn't look happy which was odd since he was over the moon when he held his child. If she didn't know any better, she would say that he looked... troubled.

Rowan, on the other hand, looked angry.

She watched as Jeremiah walked to and fro in front of the old man, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

Suddenly, Rowan shifted his weight to his feet, parting from the stone bench. She was shocked when she saw he stalk toward the younger man without the help of his walking stick. He gripped Jeremiah's shoulder and began to say something. Amara assumed that it was something unpleasant as the shadows that covered the younger man's face grew darker and darker.

As far as she knew, Rowan couldn't walk without the support of his walking stick.

She reached for the handle so that she could open the window and listen to what they were talking about but before she could put her thought into action, her emerald eyes connected with dead grey one's.

It seemed as if Rowan could look into her soul and drain her of her secrets if she had any. For some reason, she felt alarmed.

He's blind, she reminded herself.

But she no matter what she told herself, her intuition screamed at her to run. The hair behind her neck stood as goosebumps trailed her arms. She was drenched in cold fear.

Unable to take the hollow gaze, she stepped away, clutching her temple with shaking hands.

Sir Rowan had always been nice to her.

Shaking her head, she breathed deeply. I'm paranoid, she reasoned, that's all.

There's a traitor in the Council, Amara.

Maybe Jeremiah was scared of being a father and maybe Rowan was trying to infuse the younger man with some spirit. 

That sort of thing was common, wasn't it?

Jeremiah is scared. It's natural, she told herself as headed toward the Shalore's lab. It's natural. Rowan is only helping him out. 

It's natural.