Two children had been born, separated by several tens of minutes. Cerena, utterly exhausted despite the support of the healers, had no chance to meet her two children and sank into a leaden sleep.

  A few hours later, when she awoke, her handmaiden was at her side, smiling. She stood, stepped briefly into the corridor, and returned immediately.

  “Have you rested well, My Lady? You have worked admirably. I have summoned His Majesty.”

  Cerena, still dazed from fatigue yet fully aware of the precariousness of her situation, stammered:

  “Where… is… where are they?”

  “Do not worry; they are well. They are in excellent hea—”

  “I want to know where they are,” she cut her off.

  The handmaiden, bewildered by Cerena’s firm tone and serious gaze—as the young woman gradually regained her senses—stood momentarily speechless.

  “I only asked that you be allowed to rest. You shall see them soon,” she replied, offering a smile meant to reassure.

  Cerena cast her a wary glance, trying to read between the lines.

  “Do not lie to me. I deserve the truth. They have been taken from me, haven’t they?”

  The handmaiden shook her head and stepped back, lowering her eyes, barely able to form an explanation.

  “No, I—”

  The door opened, startling the handmaiden before she could finish her sentence. Another voice rose:

  “I had thought to make myself clear. Circumstances have changed; thy accusations are without foundation.”

  The Emperor entered the chamber while the handmaiden, after a swift bow, slipped hurriedly outside without adding a word, as though fearing admonishment.

  Shortly thereafter, another servant entered the room, carrying two infants in her arms. Delicately, she laid them against their mother, who was torn between confusion and relief, and left the room in silence.

  Alone now, Cerena looked at her husband in disbelief, then turned her gaze toward the two newborns, half-asleep, whom she held tenderly.

  An irrepressible urge to cry seized her, her heart racing. A long moment passed, the Emperor observing the scene from a distance.

  When Cerena finally regained her composure, she lowered her eyes and murmured:

  “I am sorry… I could not help but think…”

  The Emperor approached slowly and sat beside her.

  “A nurse attended to them while thou didst rest. Thy maidservant remained at thy side the entire time.”

  He gently laid a hand on the head of one of the twins, his eyes reflecting an unprecedented tenderness.

  “Thou hast been strong; thou mayest be proud. Yet a task remains to be fulfilled…”

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  Cerena’s gaze betrayed her anxiety. He continued:

  “Thy son and daughter require names.”

  The young woman widened her eyes. She had been so focused on the Emperor’s demeanor toward her that she hadn’t even thought about it. She let out a deep sigh of relief.

  So it was a boy and a girl… She closed her eyes, thinking of the futures each of them would have… and told herself she would have plenty of time to decide later.

  “Edwyn… for him. And for her… Nina.”

  In tribute to the person to whom I owe my life, she thought, recalling the name on the letter she had secretly received months earlier.

  The Emperor smiled, apparently satisfied. A silence fell as they contemplated their fragile, peaceful offspring.

  ???

  During the days that followed, Cerena was made to rest extensively. She apologized profusely to her handmaiden, bowing humbly for having accused her unjustly. The latter, visibly embarrassed, did not seem to hold it against her.

  The presence of her handmaiden, along with the nurse, allowed Cerena to continue watching her children grow without overexerting herself. She also felt great relief when she was finally able to leave her bed.

  The first three months passed in a flash. Cerena noticed that the twins were not growing as quickly as Owen or Elvira — probably because they had been born together. Their rate of growth was nevertheless above normal: they had already reached the equivalent of six months.

  They could sit up, laugh heartily, and manage to articulate a few syllables. They recognized those around them, and the touch of their tiny hand grasping Cerena’s warmed her heart.

  The twins shared their mother’s chestnut hair. Yet she noticed in their gaze the same golden gleam as their father’s. Their pointed ears also left no doubt.

  Cerena felt herself come alive again, both physically and mentally. Her husband had not ceased visiting her, and their moments of intimacy had resumed some time ago.

  Watching her children grow before her eyes brought comfort and joy, though she felt a pang of guilt: they could never replace her elder children or fill the void of their absence in her heart.

  Yet when she closed her eyes, she felt deep within herself a fear of forgetting them someday, and above all, that they might hold it against her.

  ???

  Six months passed peacefully. Cerena had regained her health and resumed her routines: her walks, her baths, her meals. This time, she shared as much as possible with her children, who had reached the age of one year.

  Though still small, the twins were lively and very close, playing and bickering all day long.

  They had their own room, but Cerena could visit them whenever she wished, the Captain gladly escorting her.

  The duo’s mischief elicited both her laughter and the remonstrances of her handmaiden, who spent her time running after them.

  One morning, just as Cerena was about to lift them from their bed, a guard arrived at a brisk pace. He took the Captain aside and exchanged a few words with him, both casting furtive glances at the young woman.

  The soldier departed, leaving her alone again with the Captain. Sensing that the matter concerned her, she asked:

  “Is there a problem?”

  He stroked his beard and regarded her for a moment, as if weighing his words.

  Finally, he said with a slight sigh:

  “It seems we have company.”

  Cerena did not react immediately. She recalled the intrusion at the palace months before.

  “Are my children and I in danger?” she asked.

  “No, I doubt it,” he replied, a wry smile on his lips.

  Tilting her head in incomprehension, she was about to respond, but a thought froze her in place. Her heart skipped a beat.

  What if Owen had returned?