The Archduke's Songbird-Chapter 337: Surreal Sight

As Jerrick stepped out of the tent, his heart felt lighter, though the cold wind bit at his skin and the tent’s flaps snapped against the gusts. He cradled his newborn son, Adalrich, in his arms with a flimsy cloth draped around the infant, barely enough to keep him warm.

Behind him, the sky had darkened, and the moon was beginning to rise, casting a silver glow over the war-torn camp. The cold winds howled as if the battle still raged somewhere in the distance, but here, in this sacred moment, there was only peace. He had won, and now he held his greatest victory in his arms.

Before he left the tent, Jerrick had carefully settled Jessamyn in, wrapping her tightly in furs to shield her from the cold. She looked fragile in the dim light, exhausted from giving birth but still radiant with the glow of motherhood. Her voice, though weary, reached him with concern. "Shouldn’t he be dressed more warmly?" she asked, her gaze following him as he carried their son out.

Jerrick paused at the entrance and smiled. "He’s fine," he said confidently. "He’s my son; he can bear the cold." His voice was calm, yet beneath his stoic exterior, something stirred—a sense of immense pride and an unshakable connection to the child in his arms. He knew his son wasn’t like other children. He could feel it deep in his bones, the power his son carried, the aura that emanated from him—Oppressive and majestic.

Jessamyn, too tired to argue, only sighed and let her eyes flutter closed. She trusted Jerrick with their son, but a mother’s heart always worried. She knew her husband would raise their son to be strong, perhaps too strong. He was never one to coddle or show tenderness for long. That was why, in her heart, she had hoped William would play a larger role in their child’s life, balancing Jerrick’s harshness with the gentleness their son would need.

Outside the tent, Jerrick stood tall, his eyes scanning the horizon. He saw Filbert leading the rest of his men toward him, their figures silhouetted against the setting sun. As they approached, Jerrick felt a swell of emotion. These men had fought beside him, shed blood and sweat in battle, but now, they would kneel before something even greater.

Jerrick lifted his son high above his head, showing the infant to his men. "My son, Adalrich Theodulf," he announced, his voice carrying over the wind, strong and proud.

The moon, now fully risen, cast its light upon the baby. As the silver rays touched his skin, the boy’s body began to glow faintly, almost ethereal. The blue of his eyes reflected the moonlight, making them gleam like precious gems. His tiny form radiated a soft, magical light, an undeniable sign of the power he held within. It was as though the heavens themselves had blessed him, and all who witnessed it were struck with awe.

The men, tall and rugged from battle, their armor stained with blood, immediately fell to their knees. The ground trembled under the weight of their reverence. "Your Majesty!" they shouted in unison, their voices filled with devotion. "May your reign last a thousand years! May your reign bring peace and unity to the nations. We vow to serve you!"

Jerrick’s heart raced, both with pride and a strange unease. He had known of the prophecy, had understood the significance of the name Jessamyn had chosen for their son. But to see it unfold before his eyes, to witness his hardened warriors kneel not for him, but for his infant son—Adalrich, the Supreme Wolf Ruler of All—it was almost too much to comprehend.

As the men bowed their heads, Jessamyn stirred in the tent. Though exhaustion weighed heavily on her, the echo of their voices reached her, pulling her from the edge of sleep. She rose slowly, her limbs heavy with fatigue but driven by the need to see what was happening. Wrapping a thick cloak around herself, she stepped outside, the chill biting at her cheeks.

The sight that greeted her was both surreal and heartwarming. Jerrick stood tall, their son cradled in his arms, and before them, every warrior knelt. Jessamyn smiled softly, her heart swelling with pride. She approached Jerrick, her arms outstretched, and he handed their son to her, their fingers brushing in a moment of silent connection.

She held her son close, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. He was still so small, still just a baby. The weight of prophecy and power could wait. For now, all she wanted was for him to be safe, to be loved.

Just as she turned to return to the tent, Filbert’s voice broke the silence. "My Queen," he said hesitantly, his eyes drifting toward a ball of cloth lying near the entrance, its edges soaked with blood. "I almost forgot about this."

Jessamyn glanced at the bloodied bundle, her expression unreadable. "Ah," she murmured, almost as if she had forgotten about it herself.

Jerrick’s eyes followed Filbert’s gaze, narrowing in curiosity. He stepped closer, his heart tightening as Filbert unwrapped the cloth, revealing two severed heads. The sight didn’t shock him—Jessamyn had always been capable of more than most gave her credit for—but it stirred something deep within him, a mixture of pride and concern.

His men, however, reacted differently. A murmur rippled through the crowd. They had seen Jessamyn arrive with the heads, but now that the blood had dried, and the moment was here, they were reminded of who she truly was.

Jessamyn’s voice broke the tension. "I met them on the way here," she explained casually. "I should’ve listened to you when you tried to teach me how to properly behead someone."

Jerrick’s eyes flickered with a dark amusement as he examined the heads. One of them was a man Jessamyn had humiliated during the games, his features twisted in death. The other... His expression darkened as he picked up the second head by its hair.

"He was leading a battalion to Ayberia," Jessamyn continued, her voice growing somber. "Things are worse in Elodia than we thought."

Jerrick’s hand tightened around the head, his mind racing as he studied the features. Suddenly, recognition flashed across his face. "This is the Second Prince," he muttered, his voice low. He turned the head toward Filbert, who nodded in grim confirmation.

"Second Prince?" Jessamyn’s eyes widened in shock. "Of Altania?" Her voice pitched higher in disbelief. Had she really killed a prince?

Without a word, Jerrick dropped the head and turned to his wife. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, his heart heavy with guilt. He didn’t need to know the details—he could feel the weight of her suffering, the struggles she had faced without him. She had been forced to endure so much on her own, and though she had survived, he couldn’t help but feel responsible for leaving her to fight these battles alone.

"I should have been there," he whispered into her hair, his voice thick with emotion. "You shouldn’t have had to do this by yourself."

Jessamyn leaned into his embrace, her body trembling with exhaustion and the release of tension. She had been strong for so long, had carried the burden of survival while he fought his wars. But now, in his arms, she allowed herself to be vulnerable, to let the walls she had built up crumble.

Filbert, standing nearby, carefully wrapped the head back in the cloth. "The Second Prince was trying to overthrow his brother," he said quietly. "Your Queen has done us a great service." 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

The men around them, those who had once been wary of Jessamyn’s strength, now looked at her with reverence. Even those who had been reluctant to kneel before her in the past now dropped to their knees willingly, their respect for her solidified.

Jerrick nodded at Filbert’s words and gently guided Jessamyn back into the tent. "Prepare dinner," he commanded, his voice firm but distant as his thoughts lingered on his wife’s ordeal.

Inside the tent, Jerrick helped Jessamyn settle back onto the bed, making sure she was comfortable before he turned his attention to their son. Cradling the baby in his arms, he looked at Jessamyn, his expression softening.

"Tell me what happened," he asked quietly, his voice tender but laced with an edge of worry.

Jessamyn let out a deep breath, her eyes filled with weariness. "A lot happened, Jerrick," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your mother is dead. Lady Celena—she was your sister. William killed them both." She paused, the weight of her words sinking in. "Lady Celena killed the King. Prince Louis is now King. Months have passed since you left, and winter came early..." Her voice faltered for a moment.

"And our son... he imprinted on Cordelia’s daughter." Her lips curved slightly.

Jerrick’s breath caught in his throat. He pressed a hand to his son’s head, silently connecting with him, seeking the details Jessamyn had not yet shared. As the memories of the past months flooded into him, his heart clenched.

Tears pricked his eyes as he absorbed the weight of everything she had endured. Jessamyn hadn’t blamed him, hadn’t scolded him for leaving her to face these challenges alone.