Page 118 of Princess Redeemed
He winces but manages to raise a hand to stop me.“Reach into my inside chest pocket.”
I want to question him but think better of it.He’s fading quickly.I reach underneath his duster and grasp something cold and hard.I pull out?—
“Oh my God…” It’s a bottle of root beer.Just like we shared at the matinee that day so far in the past.Tears well in my eyes.“Daddy…”
He holds his hand up again.“This is what I should have told you long ago.I never appreciated what I am.I ran from it.But know this about your heritage.The blood lust doesn’t define you.It toughens you.You are not immortal, but you are formidable—your strength greater, your senses keener, your presence heavier than any human could endure.Every heartbeat is a weapon, every breath a promise.It is a gift carved in darkness, not to free you from death, but to make life burn brighter, fiercer.Freer, Hannah.I’m finally free.”He raises his arm, barely touches my cheek.“And you.You’re free now, Hannah.You’re free.”
Then his body goes still.
No final words.No dramatic gasp.Just stillness.
The kind that’s absolute.
I sit there for a long time, my arms still wrapped around him, my cheek resting against his shoulder.Richard’s body lies in the distance, and the ether is still.
So still.
I look down at my father’s lifeless form.
He was cruel.
He was manipulative.
But he was still my father.I wouldn't exist but for him.
And in the end, he chose to die to free me from the burden of ending my mother’s husband.
When I finally rise, I leave him exactly as he is.The ether will claim him eventually.Take him where he’s meant to be.I open the root beer and take a long drink, let it transport me back to one of the few good times I shared with my father.
I smile, and then I touch my belly, the place where the next chapter waits to be born.
My son will not know the cold weight of legacy the way I did.He will not serve old laws written in blood and vengeance.He will be the bridge, as my father said.The one who ends the cycle.
The world will not shape him.
He will shape the world.
I glance back once as I walk away, waiting for the portal to transport me back to Rogan.
I half-expect my father’s eyes to snap open, his voice to rise again with some final lesson, some final command.
But there is only silence.
And peace.
At last.
EPILOGUE
I’ve never knownsilence like this.
It wraps around me like a second skin, thick with meaning, humming with things left unsaid.For once, it’s not the silence of fear or grief.
It’s peace.
Real peace.
Rogan’s hand rests lightly over mine, his fingers calloused and warm.Our son is asleep between us, his tiny fist curled against my chest.I study his face for what feels like the hundredth time today—those impossibly long lashes, the slight furrow in his brow, like even in dreams, he’s already carrying the weight of his destiny.
