Damian’s POV

“Sire.” Elara slipped her good hand beneath the baby. “Move.”

I didn’t.

Claire’s blood was spreading through the cloth around our son. His fists had fallen open, and the silver beneath his skin was fading. Elara reaching for him dragged me back to the dungeon floor, to the moment his chest had stopped moving beneath my hand.

“Damian.” Her voice came from beyond the memory. “I can’t reach them.”

Claire’s fingers closed weakly around my bandaged wrist.

“Let her work.”

Her voice brought the room back—the blood, Elara kneeling before me, our son lying too still between us.

I released them and stepped back.

Elara laid him against...