Chapter 51: No More Waiting

Lady Aurora knew.

The entire manor knew, truth be told.

How could they not?

The walls were thick stone, but even that hadn't been enough to muffle the sounds that carried from the west wing bedchambers. Moans that rolled like thunder, sobs like breaking tide. The echo of desperate whispers. The occasional sound of a body hitting wood or the squeak of the mattress.

It had been hours since dawn. And still, no one had come out.

Aurora sat at one of the sitting room windows, one boot resting in the opposite knee. Her silver eyes stared at the clouds parting overhead,

the first rays of sunlight warming the ocean-facing cliffside.

She didn't move.

Didn't speak.

Didn't even sip from the cooling teacup on the tray beside her.

"I've waited this long to hear from my brother," she murmured aloud, to no one.

"I can wait a few more hours. Right?"

But even she didn't sound convinced.

Midday light poured in through the gauzy curtains of the bedchamber, gentle and golden. It must have been near noon.

Elena lay beneath the covers, her bare skin flush against Seamus's chest, legs tangled loosely with his. His hand rested on her hip, his breath warm against her temple.

She was speaking softly—her voice tired but alive—as she told him everything that had happened the day before.

Or… most things.

She conveniently left out just how close she and Niegal had become in the storm-drenched sanctum beneath Puerto Cuidad. That particular truth would remain hers—for now.

Seamus listened closely, his hand stroking lazy lines across her shoulder as she spoke. She began to ramble, eventually trailing into detailed descriptions of the new spells she'd learned, the mana patterns she'd deciphered with the Behike, and her newfound ability to sense leyline shifts.

He responded in kind—explaining the volatile tensions in Parliament, the tenuous alliances forming against the Church, the suspicious silences from once-loyal houses.

They shared everything. Or nearly.

That was when Elena remembered the page.

"Wait," she said suddenly, turning onto her side.

She reached behind her—toward the pillow where she'd hidden the parchment Niegal had given her the night before. As she stretched, her bare back was exposed to the afternoon light.

Seamus sat up slightly. His breath caught.

The angry welts were gone.

In their place: smooth scars. Pale and newly healed. No angry welts, no bruised skin. It was as if it had been completely healed overnight.

He reached out, fingers trembling slightly, and brushed the edge of one scar. His touch was featherlight.

Elena froze.

"…Seamus?" she asked softly, glancing over her shoulder.

But he didn't speak immediately. He just looked.

His eyes were a storm of grief and tenderness.

"You've healed well," he said at last, voice hoarse. His gaze dropped, unable to meet hers.

Elena turned to face him, holding the page to her chest. She reached for his chin, tilting his face back toward her.

Her smile was small.

Bittersweet.

Faintly sad.

"Your uncle really helped me back there," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

"He's a damn good healer, that's for sure."

Seamus's eyes finally met hers.

And something in him broke.

"I'm sorry," he said—his voice cracking on the words.

"I'll be trying for the rest of my life to make it up to you."

Elena's brows furrowed. "Seamus… stop."

She cupped his face between both hands.

"Stop punishing yourself. You don't need to keep reliving-"

He placed a hand gently on her stomach.

Her voice faltered. Her heart stopped.

Her eyes filled with tears before she even realized she was crying.

"…You don't understand," Seamus muttered. His jaw was tight, his hand trembling against her skin.

Elena shook her head, lips parting but no sound coming out.

He brushed her cheek next, wiping a tear with his thumb. His eyes begged her to see him. To forgive him. To feel the weight of what he couldn't say.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, pressing his forehead to hers.

Memories flashed in her mind:

Her knees buckling as she learned to walk again.

Biting into a leather strap everytime she needs more stitches, blood pouring from the cot she lay into a bucket.

The aching emptiness in her womb no healer could ever touch.

Seamus kissed her.

Not hungrily this time.

Not like a storm.

But like a prayer.

Once.

Then again.

And again.

Each kiss murmured I'm sorry.

Each kiss whispered I didn't know.

Each kiss begged Please stay.

Elena didn't know what she felt anymore.

She only knew her heart was full.

And breaking.

And maybe, just maybe… starting to hope again.

Lady Aurora stood outside their door, pacing like a caged lioness.

It was long past noon.

No one had risen. No food had been taken. No water fetched.

That's enough, she thought, throwing the door open with a dramatic flare of skirts and righteous fury.

"Have you both—!"

She froze.

Seamus had Elena's legs draped over his shoulder, her hands clinging to his back and neck, mid-motion, both flushed and panting.

They gasped.

Elena yelped and tried to dive under the covers.

Seamus grabbed the sheets and flung them up with a roar.

"MOTHER!"

Elena burst into laughter.

A real, snorting, belly-shaking laugh—the first such sound to grace WindSwept in over a month.

Aurora's face turned beet red.

She spun on her heel, sputtering like a firecracker, and slammed the door shut behind her.

Down the hall, Cheri nearly choked on her tea.

Inside the bedchamber, Seamus and Elena lay still for a moment—staring at each other, wide-eyed, breathless.

Then they both burst into laughter.

Together.

Outside, the sun had broken free from the clouds.

Inside, WindSwept stirred for the first time in weeks.

It was time.

To rise.

To rebel.

To reclaim what had been taken.

And above all—

To face the world as one.