Blackthorn Vale, Northumberland, England
October 19 1980
6:12 a.m.
The first thing Seraphina Blackthorn noticed when she woke was that her back hurt.
The second thing she noticed was that her husband was not beside her.
The third thing she noticed was that the baby was awake.
Seraphina opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling.
For several seconds, she remained perfectly still.
Then something moved beneath the blanket.
A small, unmistakable flutter passed across the lower part of her abdomen.
She placed one hand over it.
“Good morning to you too.”
Another movement answered her.
Seraphina smiled.
“You’re becoming rather demanding.”
The baby moved again.
“Yes, I know.”
She slowly pushed herself upright.
At six months pregnant, getting out of bed had become a negotiation.
It was not particularly difficult.
It was simply no longer something she could do without thinking about it.
Before the pregnancy, Seraphina had been able to rise from bed, cross the room, and begin her morning without giving her body a second thought.
Now there were stages.
First, she had to turn onto her side.
Then she had to move her legs over the edge of the mattress.
Then she had to sit for a moment.
Then breathe.
Then stand.
And finally, after making certain the room had stopped moving around her, she could walk.
Her pregnancy had been remarkably healthy so far.
Her healer had told her that several times.
Her ordinary physician had told her the same thing.
The fact that the Blackthorns employed both was considered entirely normal within the household.
Seraphina had no intention of choosing between magical medicine and ordinary medicine when she could have both.
At twenty-four weeks, her stomach was now unmistakably round beneath her nightdress.
She had gained enough weight that some of her older clothes no longer fit comfortably.
Her ankles occasionally became swollen by evening.
Her lower back complained after standing for too long.
She tired more easily.
Certain smells had become unbearable.
Coffee, which she had once enjoyed, now made her stomach turn.
On the other hand, she had developed an almost unreasonable desire for oranges.
She had eaten four the previous afternoon.
Alaric had returned from work to discover her sitting in the drawing room with a bowl in her lap and orange peel scattered across the table.
He had stared at her.
She had stared back.
Neither had spoken.
Eventually he had asked:
“Do you need anything?”
“Another orange.”
He had immediately brought her three.
That was Alaric.
Seraphina looked toward the empty side of the bed.
The pillow was untouched.
She frowned.
Then she heard footsteps.
Not outside.
Inside the room.
The bedroom door opened.
Alaric Blackthorn entered carrying a tray.
He was already dressed.
Dark trousers.
White shirt.
Dark waistcoat.
His black hair was still slightly damp from his morning shower, and several strands had fallen over his forehead.
In one hand he carried tea.
In the other was a plate.
Seraphina looked at him.
“You’ve been awake.”
“Since five.”
“Why?”
“I had work.”
“You don’t normally leave until seven.”
“I didn’t leave.”
He placed the tray on the small table beside her.
“I went downstairs.”
Seraphina looked at the tray.
Tea.
Toast.
Eggs.
Fruit.
And, for some reason, two pieces of chocolate cake.
She looked back at him.
“What is the cake for?”
“Breakfast.”
“Since when?”
“Since you became pregnant.”
“I haven’t eaten cake for breakfast.”
“You ate it yesterday.”
“That was eleven.”
“Eleven in the morning.”
“Exactly.”
Alaric smiled.
“Therefore, breakfast.”
Seraphina shook her head.
“You are terrible at logic.”
“I’m excellent at logic.”
“You brought me cake.”
“You like cake.”
“I do.”
“Then my logic is flawless.”
She picked up the tea.
Alaric immediately frowned.
“Careful.”
Seraphina looked at him over the rim of the cup.
“I’m drinking tea, Alaric.
Not handling unstable explosives.”
“You don’t know that tea isn’t unstable.”
She stared at him.
He smiled.
She took a sip.
“You’re becoming ridiculous.”
“I’ve always been ridiculous.”
“That is true.”
Alaric sat beside her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
His eyes moved toward her stomach.
Then his expression softened.
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired.”
“Anything else?”
“My back hurts.”
“Badly?”
“Not badly.”
“Any dizziness?”
“No.”
“Nausea?”
“No.”
“Headache?”
“No.”
“Cramping?”
Seraphina slowly lowered her cup.
“Alaric.”
“Yes?”
“I’m fine.”
“I know.”
“You’ve asked me that every morning for the past two weeks.”
“I like consistency.”
“You interrogate me like I’m one of your employees.”
“I don’t interrogate my employees.”
“You interrogate everyone.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“They’re paid to tolerate it.”
Seraphina smiled.
Then the baby moved.
Her hand instinctively went to her stomach.
Alaric noticed.
“Again?”
She nodded.
He placed his hand over hers.
They waited.
Nothing.
Alaric frowned.
“I missed it.”
“Apparently.”
“Tell him to do it again.”
Seraphina raised an eyebrow.
“Tell him?”
“Yes.”
“You are assuming it’s a boy again.”
“I’ve already told you.”
“You are guessing.”
“I have a feeling.”
“That isn’t evidence.”
“I don’t need evidence.”
“You’ll make a terrible prophet.”
“I don’t intend to become one.”
They waited.
Another small movement came beneath Seraphina’s hand.
Alaric felt it.
His eyes widened.
There it was.
A tiny kick.
He smiled.
Not the confident smile he wore around other people.
Not the mischievous smile that appeared whenever he was planning trouble.
This was different.
Quiet.
Almost boyish.
“Hello,” he whispered.
Seraphina watched him.
The great Lord Alaric Blackthorn, powerful combat mage, businessman, swordsman, habitual troublemaker, and terror of several magical duelling circles, sat beside his pregnant wife with one hand resting against her stomach.
He looked completely defeated.
By a baby who had not even been born yet.
Seraphina smiled.
“You’re going to spoil him.”
“Probably.”
“You don’t even know if it’s a him.”
“I’ve decided.”
“You cannot decide the baby’s sex.”
“I can hope.”
“That is different.”
Alaric looked at her.
“Do you hope for a boy?”
Seraphina thought about it.
“No.”
He blinked.
“No?”
“I hope for a healthy child.”
Alaric smiled.
“Fair enough.”
She looked at him.
“And you?”
“The same.”
A pause.
“Though a boy would be nice.”
She laughed.
“There it is.”
By seven o’clock, Blackthorn Manor had become fully awake.
The fireplaces burned.
The corridors filled with footsteps.
The enchanted lights faded as sunlight entered through the windows.
Somewhere in the eastern wing, an argument was taking place between Maggie Pembroke and an enchanted kettle.
Nobody knew why.
Nobody asked.
Seraphina dressed slowly.
She had begun choosing practical clothing rather than elegant dresses whenever possible.
Today she wore a long dark-green skirt, a cream blouse, and a knitted cardigan.
The cardigan had originally belonged to Isolde.
It was slightly too large.
Seraphina liked it that way.
She stood before the mirror and adjusted her hair.
Her reflection looked familiar.
But different.
Pregnancy had changed her in small ways.
Her face was slightly fuller.
Her waist had disappeared beneath the growing curve of her stomach.
Her movements were slower.
But her eyes remained the same.
Calm.
Observant.
Difficult to deceive.
She placed both hands over her stomach.
“Six months.”
The words felt strange.
Only three months remained.
Three months until the child arrived.
Three months until the nursery was no longer empty.
Three months until the house changed again.
She smiled.
Then the baby kicked.
“Impatient.”
She left the bedroom.
Alaric was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
Seraphina stopped.
“You waited?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“So you wouldn’t walk downstairs alone.”
She looked at him.
“I’ve been walking downstairs for forty-three years.”
“Not while carrying my child.”
Seraphina sighed.
“Alaric.”
“I know.”
He extended his arm.
She took it.
They descended together.
Halfway down, Seraphina stopped.
Alaric immediately stopped too.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You stopped.”
“I wanted to stop.”
“Are you dizzy?”
“No.”
“Tired?”
“A little.”
“Do you want to sit?”
“No.”
“Tea?”
“Alaric.”
“Yes?”
“Please stop.”
He closed his mouth.
They continued downstairs.
At the bottom, Seraphina smiled.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For trying.”
He smiled.
“I’ll get better.”
“You won’t.”
“Probably not.”
The breakfast room was already occupied.
Octavian sat at the head of the table reading a newspaper.
He was dressed impeccably despite the early hour.
Silver hair.
Dark waistcoat.
White shirt.
Ebony cane resting beside his chair.
He lowered the newspaper as Seraphina entered.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning, Grandfather.”
His eyes immediately went to her stomach.
“How did you sleep?”
“Well.”
“Any discomfort?”
“Some.”
“Where?”
Seraphina smiled.
“Back.”
Octavian nodded thoughtfully.
“I’ll have Isolde prepare something.”
“She already did.”
“Good.”
He returned to his newspaper.
Then added:
“And you are not going to work today.”
Seraphina stopped.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Excellent.”
Alaric pulled out her chair.
Octavian watched him.
“You are becoming tiresome.”
Alaric looked at him.
“I learned from you.”
Octavian folded his newspaper.
“I was never this bad.”
Seraphina sat down.
“You were worse.”
Octavian considered that.
“Perhaps.”
The doors opened.
Isolde entered carrying a tray.
“Everyone is lying.”
Octavian looked up.
“About what?”
“Alaric said he wasn’t going to fuss over Seraphina this morning.”
Alaric looked offended.
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Isolde placed a cup of herbal tea in front of Seraphina.
“Drink.”
Seraphina smiled.
“Thank you.”
“And eat.”
“I am eating.”
“More.”
“Mother.”
Isolde looked at her.
Seraphina immediately picked up a piece of toast.
“Good.”
Octavian hid a smile behind his newspaper.
The doors opened again.
Lucian entered.
He was wearing yesterday’s trousers.
His shirt was untucked.
His hair looked as though he had lost a fight with his pillow.
He walked toward the table.
Isolde looked at him.
“Where have you been?”
“Sleeping.”
“Where?”
“Library.”
“Why?”
“It was closer.”
“The library is on the other side of the house.”
“Exactly.”
Lucian sat.
Octavian looked over his newspaper.
“You are twenty years old.”
“I’ve been told.”
“You need to develop discipline.”
Lucian picked up a piece of toast.
“I have discipline.”
“Name one example.”
“I’ve disciplined myself not to attend morning meetings.”
Alaric laughed.
Octavian stared at him.
“That is not discipline.”
“It requires tremendous dedication.”
Evangeline entered carrying a small wooden box.
Something inside squeaked.
Isolde closed her eyes.
“No.”
Evangeline stopped.
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“I know you.”
“It’s harmless.”
“What is it?”
Evangeline opened the box.
A tiny silver-furred creature looked out.
It had enormous ears, four little paws, and eyes like polished black beads.
Seraphina leaned forward.
“What is that?”
Evangeline smiled.
“A moon-mouse.”
Lucian stared.
“That thing is alive?”
“It was.”
Everyone looked at her.
Evangeline blinked.
“I mean—it is.”
Octavian lowered his newspaper.
“Where did you find it?”
“The orchard.”
“Why was it in the orchard?”
“It was lost.”
“How did it become lost?”
“It wouldn’t tell me.”
Lucian rubbed his forehead.
“You speak to animals.”
“Yes.”
“And it wouldn’t tell you?”
“It was embarrassed.”
“Of course it was.”
Alaric pointed toward the box.
“Does it bite?”
Evangeline looked at the creature.
“No.”
The creature immediately bit the edge of the box.
Alaric raised an eyebrow.
Evangeline frowned.
“That doesn’t count.”
Seraphina laughed.
The baby moved.
She placed her hand over her stomach.
Evangeline immediately noticed.
“Again?”
“Yes.”
Evangeline’s face lit up.
“Can I—?”
Seraphina smiled.
“Of course.”
Evangeline approached carefully and placed her hand against Seraphina’s stomach.
Nothing happened.
She waited.
Then—
a tiny kick.
Evangeline’s eyes widened.
“Oh.”
She looked at Seraphina.
“Hello.”
Another kick.
Evangeline grinned.
“He likes me.”
Lucian shook his head.
“He’s not even born yet.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means he’s currently inside Mother.”
“Exactly.”
Lucian looked at Alaric.
“She’s going to teach him everything.”
Alaric nodded.
“I’m worried.”
“You should be.”
Lysandra arrived ten minutes later.
She carried a notebook under one arm and a small metal device in the other hand.
Octavian noticed it immediately.
“What is that?”
“Nothing.”
The table became silent.
Lucian looked at her.
“That answer has never worked.”
Lysandra placed the device beside her plate.
“It’s a prototype.”
Alaric looked at it.
“Prototype of what?”
“An automatic spell stabilizer.”
“Does it work?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“It has only exploded twice.”
Octavian folded his newspaper.
“Then it is not finished.”
“That’s why it’s a prototype.”
“Do you intend to test it today?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“The laboratory.”
“Good.”
Lysandra smiled.
“Unless the laboratory is busy.”
Octavian narrowed his eyes.
“Why would it be busy?”
She looked away.
“Reasons.”
Lucian leaned toward her.
“What did you break?”
“I didn’t break anything.”
“What did you improve?”
“Nothing.”
“What exploded?”
“Nothing.”
Lucian looked at Octavian.
“She’s hiding something.”
“I know.”
Lysandra glared at both of them.
“You are all impossible.”
Isolde reached over and took the device.
Lysandra gasped.
“Grandmother!”
Isolde examined it.
Then handed it back.
“Your stabilizing rune is reversed.”
Lysandra froze.
She looked at the device.
Then at her notebook.
Then back at the device.
“Oh.”
Octavian smiled.
“Brilliant.”
Lysandra glared at him.
“I was going to discover that.”
“Eventually.”
At eight fifteen, Alaric left for work.
The Blackthorn family business was called Blackthorn & Hargrave Trading Company.
To ordinary Britain, it was an old private company dealing primarily in property management, transportation, agricultural supplies, engineering materials, antiques, and specialist imports.
Its offices were located in the nearby city of Greyhaven, roughly eight miles from Blackthorn Manor.
Greyhaven was an ordinary northern city.
Factories.
Railway lines.
Department stores.
Pubs.
Banks.
Schools.
Workshops.
Busy roads.
Brick buildings blackened by decades of smoke.
Thousands of people lived there.
Almost none of them knew that another population lived among them.
The magical people called themselves the Veiled.
They were not a separate species.
They were human.
They lived ordinary lives.
They worked ordinary jobs.
They attended ordinary schools.
They bought groceries from ordinary shops.
They rode buses.
They paid taxes.
They complained about the weather.
They argued with their neighbours.
And they were forbidden from revealing themselves.
Centuries earlier, the magical community had established the Veiled Covenant.
Its central law was simple:
Magic must never knowingly be used against the non-magical world.
The Covenant prohibited magical people from using spells to control, manipulate, deceive, injure, steal from, or gain unfair advantage over non-magical humans.
There were exceptions for emergencies.
But even those were heavily restricted.
The Veiled therefore lived alongside ordinary humans while maintaining their own laws, councils, courts, healers, schools, and traditions.
Most ordinary people never knew.
A few did.
The Blackthorns were among them.
Their business existed in the narrow space between both worlds.
The public offices handled ordinary commerce.
The private offices handled magical contracts.
An enchanted artifact that needed transporting could be handled discreetly.
A magical family needing a property purchased without drawing attention could approach them.
A Veiled craftsman needing ordinary materials could order them through the company.
At the same time, an ordinary farmer could purchase machinery without ever knowing that the person who arranged the financing was a magical aristocrat.
The two worlds touched constantly.
They simply pretended not to notice.
Alaric preferred it that way.
His car travelled down the estate road.
He passed the black iron gates.
The gates opened.
He raised one hand in acknowledgment.
Then he drove toward Greyhaven.
The city appeared gradually.
First came farms.
Then smaller houses.
Then factories.
Then rows of brick terraces.
By eight forty-five, Alaric entered the city.
He parked outside the company’s main office.
The building was four stories tall.
Dark brick.
Large windows.
A brass sign beside the entrance read:
BLACKTHORN & HARGRAVE TRADING COMPANY
Below it, in smaller letters:
Established 1649
Alaric entered.
The receptionist looked up.
“Morning, Lord Blackthorn.”
“Morning, Margaret.”
“Meeting at nine.”
“I know.”
“Mr.
Collins has already arrived.”
“That is unfortunate.”
She smiled.
“He brought paperwork.”
“Even worse.”
Alaric walked toward the staircase.
The receptionist called after him.
“Your father wants you in his office.”
Alaric stopped.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t say.”
Alaric sighed.
“That is never good.”
The office occupied the top floor.
Octavian’s official office was old-fashioned.
Dark wood.
Leather chairs.
A large desk.
Bookshelves.
A fireplace.
Maps.
Business ledgers.
And a locked cabinet containing documents that had nothing to do with ordinary commerce.
Alaric entered.
Octavian was already there.
Alaric stared.
“You followed me.”
“I arrived before you.”
“You were at breakfast.”
“And then I left.”
“How?”
“Car.”
“Of course.”
Octavian looked up from a file.
“We have a problem.”
Alaric sat.
“What kind?”
“Ordinary.”
Alaric relaxed.
“Good.”
“One of our warehouses has a structural issue.”
Alaric frowned.
“Which one?”
“North warehouse.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough that we need an engineer.”
Alaric leaned back.
“Why am I here?”
“Because you own the company.”
“So?”
“So you are responsible.”
Alaric sighed.
“I preferred magic.”
“You cannot solve every problem with magic.”
“I could.”
“That is exactly why you shouldn’t.”
Alaric smiled.
His father slid a folder across the desk.
“Read it.”
Alaric opened it.
Inside were inspection reports, invoices, photographs, and engineering notes.
For the next hour, they discussed the warehouse.
No curses.
No demons.
No ancient artifacts.
No magical disasters.
Just paperwork.
Alaric discovered that he hated paperwork more than most dark wizards.
At eleven, Alaric entered the private section of the company.
The door looked ordinary.
It was not.
He placed his hand against the brass plate.
A faint rune appeared beneath his palm.
The door opened.
Beyond it was a completely different world.
The hallway was narrower.
The lighting softer.
Protective symbols had been carved into the walls.
Several doors bore old family seals.
A clerk approached.
“Lord Blackthorn.”
“Morning.”
“We have three matters.”
“How bad?”
“One is inconvenient.”
“And the others?”
“Expensive.”
Alaric sighed.
“Naturally.”
The clerk handed him three folders.
The first concerned a magical family purchasing property.
The second involved a shipment of enchanted glass.
The third involved a dispute between two Veiled merchants.
Alaric opened the third folder.
“Why is this here?”
“They requested a Blackthorn mediator.”
“Why?”
“Because both parties trust the family.”
Alaric closed the folder.
“That was a mistake.”
The clerk smiled.
“They already know.”
Back at Blackthorn Manor, Seraphina was having a very different kind of day.
She was sitting in the library.
Not reading.
Resting.
That distinction had become important.
Her healer had advised her to take regular breaks.
Seraphina had agreed.
She simply disliked doing nothing.
A book rested open on her lap.
She had been reading the same page for ten minutes.
Her attention had wandered toward the garden.
The baby moved again.
She smiled.
“You are distracting me.”
A knock came at the door.
Eleanor entered carrying tea.
“Your tea.”
“Thank you.”
Eleanor placed it beside her.
Then looked at the book.
“You haven’t turned the page.”
“I know.”
“Are you tired?”
“A little.”
Eleanor nodded.
She had learned not to ask the same question repeatedly.
Unlike Alaric.
Seraphina smiled.
“He’s becoming unbearable.”
“Lord Alaric?”
“Who else?”
Eleanor sat opposite her.
“He is worried.”
“I know.”
“He has asked Thomas to inspect the nursery twice today.”
“Twice?”
“Three times.”
Seraphina closed her eyes.
“Of course.”
Eleanor smiled.
“He’s also ordered a new heating system.”
“Why?”
“He thinks the room is cold.”
“It isn’t.”
“I know.”
Seraphina sighed.
“What else?”
“New curtains.”
“Why?”
“Apparently the old ones aren’t thick enough.”
“They’re perfectly fine.”
“He agrees.”
Seraphina opened her eyes.
“Then why?”
Eleanor paused.
“Because he is Alaric.”
Seraphina laughed.
“Fair.”
By noon, the manor had settled into its daily rhythm.
Octavian disappeared into the library.
Isolde worked in the greenhouse.
Lucian slept.
Evangeline spent several hours in the forest.
Lysandra occupied the laboratory.
The servants worked throughout the house.
And Seraphina moved slowly between rooms.
She eventually found Isolde in the greenhouse.
Her mother-in-law stood among the plants, trimming a silver-leafed vine.
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
Isolde did not look up.
“So are you.”
“I was sitting.”
“I saw you walking.”
Seraphina smiled.
“You are impossible.”
“I learned from your husband.”
“That explains everything.”
Isolde finally looked at her.
“How is the baby?”
“Active.”
“Good.”
Isolde touched her daughter’s arm.
“You look tired.”
“I am.”
“Then sit.”
Seraphina obeyed.
A wooden chair moved toward her by itself.
She sat.
Isolde continued working.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
It was comfortable.
Seraphina watched the greenhouse windows.
“Mother?”
“Hm?”
“Do you think something is wrong?”
Isolde’s hands stopped.
“With what?”
“The baby.”
“No.”
“You answered too quickly.”
“I’ve spent seventy-nine years learning when to worry.”
“And?”
“And I am not worried.”
Seraphina looked at her.
“You’re certain?”
Isolde smiled.
“I am certain that you are healthy.
The child is healthy.
And your father has already placed enough wards around you to protect a small kingdom.”
Seraphina laughed.
“He’s frightened.”
“Of course he is.”
“I’ve never seen him like this.”
“Neither have I.”
Isolde returned to the plant.
“That child has managed to frighten your father before being born.”
Seraphina smiled.
“That sounds like a Blackthorn.”
“It does.”
At two in the afternoon, Lucian finally woke.
He wandered into the library.
Octavian looked up.
“Good afternoon.”
Lucian yawned.
“Morning.”
“It is two.”
“That explains why I’m hungry.”
Octavian returned to his book.
Lucian opened a cabinet.
“Where’s the food?”
“Kitchen.”
“I don’t want to walk that far.”
Octavian stared at him.
“The kitchen is downstairs.”
“Exactly.”
“You are twenty.”
“I’ve been told.”
Octavian closed his book.
“Come here.”
Lucian approached.
Octavian tapped the floor with his cane.
A small spatial distortion appeared.
The kitchen doorway opened directly beside them.
Lucian stared.
“You could have done that earlier.”
“I wanted you to walk.”
Lucian smiled.
“You’re evil.”
“I am your grandfather.”
“Same thing.”
Octavian almost laughed.
“Go eat.”
Lucian disappeared through the doorway.
The doorway closed.
Octavian smiled to himself.
For all his complaints, he loved the boy.
They all did.
At four thirty, Alaric returned.
He entered the manor carrying a briefcase.
The front door opened.
He stepped inside.
The door closed behind him.
“Home.”
No answer.
He looked around.
“That’s rude.”
The house remained silent.
Alaric walked toward the drawing room.
Seraphina was there.
She was sitting on the sofa with her feet raised on a cushion.
Alaric immediately stopped.
“You’ve been resting.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He placed his briefcase down.
Then noticed the bowl beside her.
“Oranges?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Four.”
“Four?”
“They’re small.”
He stared at the bowl.
“That is not small.”
Seraphina smiled.
“Do you want one?”
“Yes.”
She handed him one.
He sat beside her.
For several moments, they simply ate oranges.
No magic.
No prophecy.
No ancient wards.
No supernatural threats.
Just a husband and wife sitting together after a long day.
Alaric finally spoke.
“Work was terrible.”
Seraphina smiled.
“Why?”
“Paperwork.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It was.”
“What happened?”
“I had to read.”
She laughed.
“You poor thing.”
“I suffered.”
“I can tell.”
He leaned back.
“How was your day?”
“Quiet.”
“Did you rest?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Seraphina looked at him.
“Enough.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
The baby moved.
Alaric looked down.
“There he is.”
Seraphina raised an eyebrow.
“You really won’t stop calling the baby a boy.”
“No.”
“Stubborn.”
“Blackthorn.”
She smiled.
“Fair.”
Another movement came.
Alaric placed his hand against her stomach.
“Hello again.”
Seraphina watched him.
“What are you going to teach him?”
“Everything.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“Probably.”
“Anything specific?”
Alaric thought.
“How to ride.”
“Fine.”
“How to swim.”
“Fine.”
“How to use a sword.”
Seraphina stared at him.
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s a useful skill.”
“He’s not even born.”
“Preparation is important.”
“He will be an infant.”
“Then I’ll wait.”
She shook her head.
“What about magic?”
Alaric became quiet.
For a moment, his expression changed.
“I’ll teach him whatever he wants to learn.”
Seraphina smiled.
“And if he doesn’t have magic?”
Alaric looked at her.
“Then he doesn’t have magic.”
There was no disappointment in his voice.
No hesitation.
Only certainty.
“He’ll still be my son.”
Seraphina leaned against his shoulder.
“Good answer.”
“I know.”
She laughed.
At sunset, the family gathered for dinner.
Octavian sat at the head of the table.
Isolde beside him.
Alaric beside Seraphina.
Lucian across from them.
Evangeline arrived carrying a flower.
Lysandra brought her notebook.
The servants moved between the rooms.
The evening was ordinary.
Almost painfully ordinary.
And that was exactly what the Blackthorns wanted.
Because outside the manor, two worlds continued to exist side by side.
Ordinary people went home from work.
The Veiled returned to their hidden homes.
Factories closed.
Shops shut their doors.
Buses carried tired passengers through Greyhaven.
Children went to bed.
Streetlights illuminated the roads.
And somewhere among those ordinary streets, magical people lived without revealing themselves.
They followed the Covenant.
They obeyed their laws.
They kept their secrets.
The Blackthorns did the same.
But they never forgot the principle at the heart of their family:
Magic did not make a person better.
Blood did not make a person better.
Power did not make a person better.
A person’s choices did.
At the dinner table, Lucian stole a piece of bread from Lysandra.
She slapped his hand.
“That’s mine.”
“You weren’t eating it.”
“I was going to.”
“Eventually.”
“Give it back.”
“It’s bread.”
“It’s my bread.”
Evangeline laughed.
Isolde sighed.
Octavian continued eating as though nothing had happened.
Alaric leaned toward Seraphina.
“Should we stop them?”
“No.”
“They might start fighting.”
“They’re siblings.”
“So?”
“So they’ll survive.”
Lysandra reached across the table and stole Lucian’s potatoes.
Lucian stared at her.
“You’ve declared war.”
“Apparently.”
Alaric smiled.
Seraphina shook her head.
The baby moved beneath her hand.
She smiled.
For one evening, Blackthorn Manor was simply a home.
Not an ancient magical estate.
Not a house with living corridors and forgotten chambers.
Not a place watched by ancient trees.
Not a family bound to old magic.
Just a home.
A family eating dinner.
Laughing.
Arguing.
Living.
And for the Blackthorns, that was enough.
Outside, the last light disappeared behind the hills.
The King’s Thorn stood silently in the distance.
The manor’s windows glowed warmly against the darkness.
Greyhaven’s lights flickered miles away.
Two worlds continued beneath the same night sky.
One knew magic existed.
The other did not.
And between them stood the Blackthorns.
They had lived between those worlds for generations.
They intended to continue doing so.
For now, there was no crisis.
No enemy.
No war.
No ancient creature at the gates.
Only an ordinary evening.
Only a mother six months pregnant.
Only a father preparing for another day at work.
Only grandparents arguing over tea.
Only children making noise.
Only servants keeping the household running.
Only a baby moving quietly beneath his mother’s heart.
And beneath the oldest foundations of Blackthorn Manor, where ancient wards slept in darkness, something listened.
It did not move.
It did not speak.
It simply listened.
Waiting.
But upstairs, Seraphina slept peacefully.
And for tonight, that was all that mattered.
End of Chapter 02