In the private, steam-filled bath of the castle, the world outside feels like a distant memory, fading into the flickering candlelight and the soft murmur of water. The air is thick with the scent of herbs and oils, a welcome balm to the exhaustion clinging to Oleksandr’s body after a year of hardship. But this, this is a different kind of war—one of the senses, of flesh and blood, of reconnecting with the woman he loves in the most primal way possible.

  Savka moves with quiet grace, her fingers working through the tangles in his long hair, each stroke a slow unwinding of the tension that has bound him for so long. She is gentle as she shaves his face, her touch tender yet firm, and he leans into her, feeling the blade glide smoothly over his skin, erasing the months of dirt and travel. Each movement restores him, piece by piece, as though she is scrubbing away not just the grime but the ache in his heart.

  When she begins to massage his sore muscles, her touch is a mixture of heat and soothing rhythm, her hands pressing deep into the tight knots of his back and shoulders. Oleksandr lets out a low groan, his body finally relaxing under her ministrations, but his mind, ever sharp, stays tethered to her.

  She drops her robe and gets into the bath with him.

  Her skin, soft as silk, glistens under the dim, steamy glow of the bath. As she moves closer to him, he feels the subtle changes in her body—the gentle swell of her hips, the fullness of her breasts, all marks of the life they’ve created together. The scent of her skin, the warmth of her body, drives him to the edge of madness, stirring a hunger he can no longer suppress. He cups her face with reverence, his gaze tracing the curve of her jaw, the line of her neck, before his lips capture hers in a kiss that is pure, raw, and all-consuming. She kisses him back with a desperation that matches his, as though she, too, has been starving for this moment. The yearning between them feels ancient and fierce.

  Savka lets out a soft gasp as he kisses down her neck, his hands roaming her body, worshiping her in a way only a man who has been away too long could. His rough hands caress the curves of her body, feeling the changes motherhood has brought. Yet she is still the same woman he fell in love with—more beautiful, more powerful, more precious than ever. The kiss grows feverish, the need for each other surging, passion breaking free like a wave. He lifts her effortlessly, his strength evident as he brings her to the edge of the bath, her wet skin catching the glint of candlelight.

  In the flickering light, they come together like a storm—fierce, urgent, unrelenting. Oleksandr’s desire burns away every doubt, every fear, every battle of the past year. He revels in her, in the way her body responds to his touch, her sighs and whimpers echoing in the chamber like the sweetest music. They lose themselves in the fire of their union, becoming one flesh, one blood.

  When they finally collapse together, breathless and spent, Oleksandr holds her close. His hand traces the softness of her belly, where his son was sewn. It is more than love—it is destiny. As the steam rises around them, so does the promise of a new life, one they will face together, forever entwined.

  The fire in the hearth crackles softly, and Oleksandr lies propped on one elbow, his broad frame sprawled comfortably on the bed. His gaze is fixed on Savka, who sits against the cushions, their son cradled in her arms. She is bathed in the golden light of the flames, her raven hair spilling over her shoulders, her expression serene as she feeds their child.

  His son.

  A primal wave stirs in his chest, his instincts roaring with pride and possessiveness. She is everything to him—his mate, his queen, the mother of his son. The sight of her, nourishing their child with her body, fills him with reverence so profound it steals his breath. He reaches out a rough hand and rests it gently on her knee.

  “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. His eyes soften as they meet hers, his adoration unmistakable.

  Savka blushes faintly but doesn’t look away. A shy smile curves her lips. “You flatter me, Oleksandr.”

  He shakes his head, his hand giving her knee a gentle squeeze. “Not flattery. Truth.” His eyes drop to their son, who suckles contentedly, one tiny hand resting against her chest. A proud smile spreads across his face. “Look at him. He’s perfect. You made him, Savka. You carried him.” Her smile wavers slightly, and a flicker of emotion appears in her eyes. It tugs at his heart. Shifting closer, he brushes his knuckles tenderly against her arm. “How was it?” He asks quietly, his voice laced with concern. “Carrying him? Were you—” He falters, his brow furrowing. “Were you alright? Did you have help?”

  Savka’s gaze lowers to the baby, her fingers brushing his wispy white hair. “It wasn’t easy,” she admits softly. “There were moments when I wished for you more than anything. The sickness at the start… the endless fatigue.” She smiles faintly. “He was strong even then. I felt him kicking, reminding me every day why I had to be strong, too.”

  Oleksandr’s jaw tightens, guilt flashing in his eyes. He moves closer, his hand resting over hers. “You shouldn’t have done it alone,” he says, his voice heavy. “I should’ve been here.”

  Savka cuts him off with a shake of her head. “You were doing what had to be done. For us. For our future.” Her fingers tighten around his. “And I wasn’t alone. I had the midwives, my ladies-in-waiting… but most of all, I had him.” She looks down at the baby again, her face softening. “Feeling him grow, knowing he was ours… it gave me strength.”

  He leans in and presses a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering there. “You’re stronger than I ever knew,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you’re never alone again.”

  Savka turns her face to him, her smile small but full of warmth. “I knew you’d come back. I told him every day, ‘Your father will come home to us.’ And now you’re here.”

  Oleksandr cups her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Always,” he vows, his voice low and full of steel. “Always here. For you and for him. I'm not going anywhere, even if you didn't want me. I'd always chase you... I am your servant.”

  She smiles tenderly, the look in her eyes mirroring his statement. She shifts, cradling the baby in her arms for a moment longer before gently passing him to Oleksandr. He takes the child with a reverence that makes her heart ache, his massive hands cradling the infant as if he were the most fragile treasure in the world. Oleksandr leans back, resting the baby on his broad chest, the tiny figure utterly dwarfed by his size. The baby squirms slightly, then settles, a contented little sigh escaping him.

  Oleksandr chuckles softly, brushing a finger along the baby's downy head. “The future king of this land,” he says with a smirk, “is drooling milk on me.”

  Savka laughs lightly, though her smile is tinged with a shadow of the past year’s trials. She scoots closer, resting her head against Oleksandr’s shoulder, her hand lightly stroking the baby’s back. “He’s already claiming his throne, one drool spot at a time,” she teases, her voice warm. For a moment, they sit in a peaceful silence before Savka’s expression grows more serious. “I didn’t even know I was carrying him when you left,” she says quietly. “When I realized… I was terrified.” Her fingers brush against the baby’s tiny hand. “I’d never felt anything like it. This strange mix of fear and joy. It wasn’t just me anymore. It was us. And... you weren’t here.”

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  Oleksandr’s brow furrows, guilt flickering in his eyes, but he stays silent, letting her continue.

  “When my father found out…” She trails off, letting out a soft sigh. “He was furious. He couldn’t believe it. His precious, virginal daughter, pregnant. By the barbarian bodyguard he’d entrusted with her safety.” Her tone softens, tinged with frustration. “He wasn’t just angry at me, or at you—though believe me, he had plenty of anger for you—he was scared. Scared for me, scared for the kingdom. What people would say if they found out.”

  Oleksandr’s jaw tightens. “And scared I wouldn’t come back.”

  Savka nods. “Exactly. He was furious at himself for sending you on that mission. And he hated you for putting us in that position. His paranoid side was questioning if you'd run off if you found out about the baby. But he was angry at me, too.” Her voice cracks slightly. “I’ve never seen him look at me like that. Like I’d betrayed him. Like I was... dirty."

  Oleksandr reaches out, taking her hand in his. “You didn’t betray anyone,” he says firmly, his deep voice a quiet rumble. “We love each other. That’s not betrayal. It's nature.”

  She smiles faintly, squeezing his hand. “I know. But it didn’t feel that way then. I felt… ashamed. And so alone.”

  His grip on her hand tightens slightly, his expression darkening. “He should’ve protected you.”

  Savka shakes her head. “He did, in his way. He kept it a secret, after all. No one outside of a few in the castle knows he’s a bastard. To the world, he’ll be the heir, and nothing else matters.”

  Oleksandr’s lips twitch into a sardonic smile. “A barbarian’s secret bastard who’s already got a claim to a throne. He’ll make a fine king.” He looks down at the baby, his tone softening. “Though if he’s anything like me, he’ll get into more trouble than you’re prepared for.”

  Savka smiles at that, but the sadness lingers in her eyes. “I was so angry at him for sending you away. I told him it was cruel. That he was sending you to your death, and for what? A bounty? Some trade deal? I told him that if anything happened to you, I’d never forgive him.” Her voice cracks again, and she swallows hard. “I think he felt the same. If you’d died, Oleksandr, I think he would’ve hated himself forever...”

  Oleksandr reaches out, brushing her cheek with his rough fingers. “But I didn’t die,” he says softly, his voice steady. “And I came back. To you.” He glances down at the baby, who has begun to stir slightly, his little mouth opening in a soft yawn. “And to him.”

  Savka smiles, tears welling in her eyes. “When he was born, everything changed. My father… he softened. He held him, and it was like all the anger just… melted away. He still isn’t thrilled about us,” she adds with a wry smile. “But he adores him.”

  Oleksandr lets out a low hum of approval, his gaze fixed on the baby. “He should be proud. You’re incredible, Savka. What you’ve done, what you’ve been through…” His voice trails off, his hand stroking the baby’s back. “I’ll spend my life making it right. For you. For him.”

  Savka leans into him, resting her head against his shoulder again. “You already have,” she whispers. “You came home. That’s all I ever needed.”

  Oleksandr shifts the baby slightly, keeping him close to his chest as he looks at Savka. His deep blue eyes, usually so fierce and unyielding, soften with vulnerability. “I never wished for riches or power,” he begins, his voice low and steady. “Not for intrigue, nor the politics of courts. I only ever wanted a purpose—to wield my strength for something greater. But now…” He glances down at their son, his expression tender. “Now, I want to make it up to your father. Not with words, but with actions. With devotion.”

  He looks back up at her, his jaw tightening with determination. “I’ll prove myself by giving this kingdom what it needs. By giving him what he feared would be lost. I’ll raise strong heirs with you—honorable, mighty sons, and daughters of wisdom and steel. Through our union, he will see his line not just continued, but fortified. Unbreakable.”

  Savka’s hand gently brushes his cheek, her eyes shimmering with emotion. “He already sees it, Oleksandr,” she whispers. “He just… doesn’t know how to admit it yet.”

  Oleksandr gives a small, rueful smile, but then his gaze grows distant, shadows creeping into his expression. “There’s something I’ve never told you,” he says quietly. “The night before I left for Norway, I had a dream. My brother… Thekkur, he came to me.”

  Savka’s breath catches at the mention of Thekkur, her hand stilling on Oleksandr’s shoulder. “What… what did he say?”

  Oleksandr’s voice is grave, almost reverent, as if speaking of a sacred memory. “He stood on a beach, black as coal, under a sky without stars or moon. The waves crashed, but there was no sound, only silence. He looked at me, and his words echo like thunder in my mind. He said, ‘To return to your blood, you must cover your hands with it.’”

  Savka frowns, her brow furrowing. “What did he mean?”

  Oleksandr lets out a slow breath, his gaze falling to his hands. “I didn’t understand then. I thought it a warning or some riddle to haunt me on the road. But now…” He pauses, his throat tightening. “Now I know. To find my place, to return to what’s mine, I have to face the truth of my bloodline. I have to end the man who gave it to me.”

  Savka’s eyes widen, her lips trembling as the weight of Oleksandr’s words sinks in. “Oleksandr…” She whispers, her voice barely audible. He hesitates, his jaw tightening as he looks down at their son resting peacefully against his chest. The words feel heavy, the memory still raw, but he knows he can’t keep it from her.

  “The man I was sent to kill,” he says slowly, his voice low and strained, “he… he was my father.”

  Savka gasps softly, her hand flying to her mouth. “Your father? How is that possible?”

  Oleksandr nods, his expression unreadable, but the storm of emotions flickering in his eyes betrays his turmoil. “Oddvarr… He knew it the moment he saw me. He didn’t say it outright at first, but I could feel it in the way he looked at me—like I was a ghost. The way he spoke to me, the strange familiarity… It all makes sense now. He was a man who thought he'd lost everything, only to discover a living son standing before him. A son who bore the features of the woman he once…” He pauses, his voice cracking slightly. “…of the woman he once loved.” Savka’s heart aches at his words, her hand reaching out to touch his arm, offering silent support.

  He takes a deep, shaky breath, his brow furrowing as he struggles to put his thoughts into words. “He saw me as something precious,” he says finally, his tone laced with conflict. “Not just a son, but an exceptional one. A warrior. An heir who’d surpassed him in every way. And yet, for all his cruelty, all his sins… there was something human in the way he looked at me. Something I didn’t expect.”

  Savka’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, her chest tightening as she imagines the pain Oleksandr must endure. “You had to… to kill him,” she says softly, her voice trembling. “As soon as you found him…”

  He closes his eyes, his grip on their son tightening slightly as if anchoring himself to the present. “Yes,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And even now, I don’t know how to feel about it. He was a monster, Savka. He caused so much suffering, destroyed so many lives—including my mother’s. But in those final moments…” He trails off, shaking his head. “In those final moments, he wasn’t the monster I imagined. He was just… an old man. A father who’d lost everything.”

  Oleksandr’s voice softens, a shadow of something almost like reverence passing through his tone. “But… as he faded, he wasn't hurt. He wasn’t betrayed.” He pauses, his gaze distant as if reliving the moment. “He was content. Happy, even. In all his long years, he never met a foe who bested him. And I could see it in his eyes—he was satisfied that the one man who managed to, was me. His son.”

  Savka’s breath catches, her hand gripping his arm gently, grounding him. “He was proud of you,” she whispers, her own voice heavy with emotion.

  Oleksandr nods slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line. “A strange kind of pride,” he murmurs. “The kind that comes with knowing you’ve been defeated, but by the very blood you leave behind. He knew his bloodline was secured and exceptional. In that moment… I wasn't just his executioner. I was his legacy.”

  Savka tightens her hold on him, her voice soft but resolute. “And now, you’ll make sure that legacy becomes something he never could. Something good.”

  Oleksandr gazes down at his son, a soft smile touching his lips. "A king born of a slave," he murmurs, the irony not lost on him.

  Savka places a hand on his arm, her voice tender. "So are you, Oleksandr," she says gently. "In your own way."