EDRIC The long, cold silence of the throne room is only broken by the faint sound of the servants whispering outside, but I pay them no mind. My gaze is fixed on the double doors, waiting. Waiting for what the Thorne family has sent. I can feel a tension in my chest, a strange knot that has been there ever since I received the news. What if... what if it's her? What if this child, this heir, is Luna's?

"Do you have any hope for it to be her, Your Grace?" Derrick's voice cuts through the silence, pulling me back to reality. His question is careful, as always, yet I sense a hint of curiosity.

I don't look at him as I answer, my eyes still fixed on the doors. "Well, I don't even know. Who knows."

I should feel indifferent. I should have no expectations, yet I do. I don't understand why I'm waiting for something that could be nothing more than a wild hope, a fool's hope. But Luna's death still haunts me. Every night, it replays in my mind. Every moment I've spent since her passing has been a blur of exhaustion and regret.

And now, this.

The doors suddenly open, and my breath catches in my throat. A child enters, escorted by a servant, her steps hesitant, yet confident. White hair. White eyes. My heart skips a beat. It can't be. It's impossible. But then I see it—the subtle way she carries herself. The strength hidden beneath her delicate exterior. I turn to Derrick.

"I should be cold. I should test this child," I mutter to him, though my voice lacks the conviction I'm trying to portray.

"Of course, Your Grace," Derrick responds, though I catch the uncertainty in his tone. He's seen me, seen my struggles since Luna's death. He knows how much this means to me.

I stand, my voice cold and calculated. "What abilities do you possess?" I ask, my tone firm, a test. A challenge.

The child's eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't hesitate. "I possess magic abilities," she says, her voice clear and unwavering.

Magic abilities.

Just like Luna.

My heart slams in my chest. My mind races, trying to piece together the puzzle that is unfolding before me. Could it really be her? Could this be my child? The child Luna never got to hold?

"Bring in a magician," I say, my voice steady despite the storm inside. I need to know. I can't allow myself to be fooled by hope. Not again.

Derrick nods, his expression unreadable as he steps aside to give the order. Moments later, a magician enters, and I watch as the man approaches the child, placing his hands on her head to check her mana.

"Your Grace," the magician says, his voice filled with awe. "Her mana level is remarkably high! I've never encountered a child with such potential."

I feel something inside me snap. This is no coincidence. It has to be her. The resemblance to Luna, the magic—everything lines up. I can feel it in my bones.

I glance at Derrick, and without a word, he understands. "Prepare a room for her," I instruct, my tone a little softer now. She is my child, after all. I can't—won't—deny her.

Later that night, as darkness fills the room, I sit in my study, the dim light of a single candle casting shadows on the walls. Derrick enters, his footsteps silent as he approaches me, reports in hand.

"Your Grace," he begins, his voice grave. "I've conducted an investigation into her past. It appears that she is labelled as an illegitimate child by the Thorne family."

I lean back in my chair, letting the weight of his words sink in. It's not surprising. The Thorne family has always been ruthless, and any child born from a forbidden union would likely be cast aside. But something about the way Derrick speaks makes my gut twist. There's more to this.

"What's her name?" I ask, almost dreading the answer.

Derrick hesitates for a moment before speaking, his voice softer now. "Aveline Maeve. I found out that Aveline Maeve is the name Lady Luna wanted to give her before she died from childbirth."

Aveline Maeve.

The name lingers in the air, and for a moment, the world fades. Luna's memory rushes back to me, and I can almost hear her voice, soft and gentle, as she spoke of her dreams for their child. She had wanted to name her Aveline.

I close my eyes, the weight of everything pressing down on me. Luna's death. This child. This miracle that has somehow appeared before me. I should be cold. I should be calculating. But I can't. Not now.

Derrick looks at me carefully, as if waiting for some sort of response, but all I can do is nod, a gesture that speaks volumes. I've heard enough. I know everything I need to know.

The child—Aveline—is mine. There's no doubt in my mind anymore.