Prologue

She was dead.

Her cerulean eyes were hidden from him forever; her lips would never again kiss him, nor her arms fold around him. She would never again laugh at him, nor would he wake to see the morning softness in her eyes. Alaric could barely comprehend her death. It had been so sudden. Brigid only now confirmed that no breath left Anwen‘s body.

Pain filled him, ceased his ability to move or think or breathe. As he sank beside her, the babe in his arms began to cry. It was as if the infant knew that his mother was dead; the cries were feral and screeching, and the little arms began to flail against his father’s chest. Numbly, Alaric encompassed the child in his arms, held him in to warm him from the chill of the night, and stared at the still face of his wife.

She had given her life for him. She had thrown herself in front of the blade meant for him, taken the dagger to her chest that should have hit his, and fallen before his very eyes. In a rage, Alaric had lunged, attacked, and killed his own father, the man who had plagued his marriage, his wife‘s tribe, and his own life. In those few seconds of struggle, he had felt every ounce of hate flood through him. There had been no hesitation.

But it was all for nothing. His wife lay limp on the floor, not breathing, jostled by those who continued to hope that she had life in her yet. Her hair was sticky with blood. It bubbled from her chest, flowed over her paling skin, trickled to the floor, mingled with the blood of he who had slain her.

Why had she done that? Why, after the last words he had said to her, would she sacrifice herself for him? Why? Why would she leave him like this? Leave her newborn child? Why had she not let him take the consequences of his life?

The choking, burning pain that welled up within Alaric was like none other he had felt. Every happiness he had ever known was now dead on the floor before him. She had been the greatest love he had ever known. She had been the reason that he had kept on fighting, and his very soul now withered and died with her.

As the wails of his child ripped through the air, Alaric sat in the blood of his wife and the blood of his father, held his newborn child to his chest, and sobbed.

A/N: I am planning to begin writing this in December. Just a few more days of waiting!

~Mara