For a small moment, Sorza did nothing but let his head rest against his mother's chest.
He didn't speak. He didn't move. He simply allowed himself to sink into the warmth of her embrace, like a boy once more, tucked away from the world behind the quiet thrum of a heartbeat he'd known since the beginning.
His mother—Lady Calethra—had never been one to hide her affection for her children, not truly. Behind closed doors, within the soft light of chambers where courtiers dared not tread, she had been all things: warmth and will, tenderness and steel. She kissed their foreheads when no one was looking and whispered lullabies when they were children. Yet in public, like all royals, she had learned the armor of restraint. The mask of decorum that the blood of princes demanded. A crown, after all, did not sit well on a heart worn plainly.
But tonight, none of that mattered.
