No longer just protector of a prince,
but of a family he never expected to find.
At last, through fog and exhaustion, they reached the northern monastery of Saint Aldwin. There, the monks recognized Edward’s royal seal and accepted them as refugees.
But safety was fragile.
The duke’s soldiers marched from the south.
Villages burned.
The kingdom collapsed into civil war.
Amalia and Rowan were summoned to the Council of the North to present the child. Only they could testify that Edward—king’s son or not—was the rightful symbol England needed.
She stood before nobles, exhausted and trembling, but she did not hide.
“Yes,” she said, “I hid him. I protected him. I fed him with my own hands. If that makes me guilty, then I accept it. But I will not let him die.”
The council bowed their heads.
The child would be protected.
Raised in secrecy until he could claim his place.
For the first time since that night in the fog—Amalia felt hope.
Years passed in peace.
Edward grew strong.
Her own children thrived.
And beside her, Rowan healed—not from wounds but from guilt.
When Edward, now a young king, summoned her to Northbridge Castle, he embraced her like the mother he remembered.
“You saved me,” he said. “No crown carries more honor than that.”
Rowan was knighted.
Amalia was honored.
The kingdom cheered.
And for once—she allowed herself to dream.
When all the ceremonies ended and the torches dimmed, Rowan found her under the castle’s evening sky.
“You’re no longer the woman who hid a future king,” he murmured. “You are the queen of my life.”
She smiled through tears.
“And you,” she said softly, “are the man who taught me that love can be freedom.”
They walked together into the golden dusk—
no longer fugitives, no longer haunted—
but partners stepping into the life they had earned.
At last, their long road ended.
And a new one began.
