She held him tight.

Aramus wrapped his arms about her and did the same.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, Aramus. I really wanted to. I’m so sorry I did not,” she said into his chest.

He bent his head so his beard tangled in her curls and his lips moved against them when he replied, “It is done. Behind us. Think naught of it any further, my Ha-Lah.”

She nodded, her cheek moving against his chest.

“Do I need to look in on the girls so they know I’m all right?” he asked.

He lifted his head as she tipped hers back and said, “Yes, though I believe Aelia is asleep. Dora is not. You worried her with what you said earlier.”

“She should know Cass’s feelings for her and,” he stressed when it looked as if his wife would open her mouth to interrupt, “after witnessing the death of Mercy, know she’s protected at all costs.”

“She lost her mother, my love,” she reminded him quietly.

“And thus, she must know that in times of strife, when danger lurks and much is uncertain, she will be protected at all costs.”

“She is fond of you, me, the men, she shouldn’t be thinking about losing any of you.”

“In time, she will have no choice but to lose us all. The only choice all of us have is to hope that time is long.”

Ha-Lah pressed her lips together.

“It is young for her to learn of death, of mourning, of how you heal but don’t. Of traitors and plots and deception and danger. But she is a princess of two realms, Ha-Lah. And she is not five, she’s eight. She’s old enough to know.”

“Aelia was there too.”

“Aelia bounces through life in a bubble of cheeriness. Cassius has worked hard to build that around her. Nothing touches her and won’t, until the time Cass decrees it should.”

“I wish to say at this time that we will be discussing if eight years old is the appropriate age to share about plots and deception and danger when it comes to our children.”

For the first time in hours, Aramus smiled.

His wife’s face softened when she saw it, and he shifted her out of both his arms and held her with only one at her shoulders, turning her and moving them up the steps.

“I will look forward to this discussion.”

“I’m thinking thirteen,” she stated.

Aramus almost laughed.

He was not going to shelter any child of theirs, of royal blood, of Mer blood, until they were thirteen.

They would learn to be alert and cunning and prepared.

“We’ll talk of it then,” he said.

“When they’re thirteen?” she pushed.

He started chuckling, doing it replying, “When they are here.”

The doors opened for them and they passed through.

When they were shut behind him, and he was moving her to the wide staircase that wound about the edge of the central turret, the supports of the railings made of stone carved in lacy versions of coral, Ha-Lah murmured, “Thank you.”