How much time had passed? Weeks? Months? She could not tell. Each endless day blurred into the next. Hope had long since abandoned her.

  Ever since she had been wounded, she had not risen from her bed. She no longer had the strength. Nor did she wish to. Even sleep offered her no peace, for nightmares pursued her without respite.

  One day—no different from any other—the door opened, and someone stepped inside.

  The handmaiden, most likely. The girl no longer even bothered to glance toward the door.

  Yet this time, what she heard made her eyes fly open. A single word, spoken in a small voice she did not yet recognize.

  “Mom?”

  She blinked, bewildered. The door closed again, but the soft patter of tiny footsteps told her the owner of the voice was still there. She tried to turn her head toward the sound, but her muscles no longer obeyed her; she could not move. A wave of helplessness washed over her, and tears welled in her eyes.

  Suddenly, the small presence gripped the edge of the bed and clambered onto it. A child of about two years old, with silver hair and silver eyes, appeared beside her. A handmaiden stood close behind him, watchful.

  The girl tried to speak, to call him by his name, but no sound escaped her lips. Her throat and mouth were so dry they burned. A sorrowful grimace crossed her face.

  At last she had the chance to see him again—to speak to him, to touch him—yet her body refused to respond. It was as though her very being were punishing her in turn.

  The little boy crawled closer, then nestled against her.

  “Mom… are you sick?” he asked timidly.

  He gazed at her with equal parts curiosity and confusion.

  At last, she managed to whisper:

  “No… I am better now. Thank you.”

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  She offered him a faint smile, her eyes still shimmering with tears.

  She spoke as much for her son as for the handmaiden. Moved by pity, the young woman had seized a rare moment of inattention from the Emperor to bring the child to her.

  The captive went on:

  “I missed you… You’ve grown so much… Would you hold me? I cannot…”

  The boy did not hesitate. He wrapped his little arms around her with all his strength, and they remained that way for long minutes. The comforting warmth of his small body enveloped the girl, who—for the first time in a long while—felt a heartbeat pressed against her own.

  The handmaiden stepped forward and gently lifted the child into her arms.

  “I am sorry, but he cannot stay. I… I will try to bring him again. Please, be patient. Hold on to hope.”

  “Oh… see you soon, Mom!” the boy replied—first disappointed, then brightening at the thought of returning.

  Grief washed over the girl once more, yet understanding the circumstances, she merely whispered a “thank you” before being left alone again.

  ???

  In the days that followed, the handmaiden returned alone, and neither woman ever dared speak of the event again, as though fearing to tempt ill fortune.

  The girl, who had begun to recover her strength, was able to sit up once more.

  Several dozen days later, the handmaiden finally returned with the young prince at her side. He seemed to grow almost before her eyes.

  When he reached her, she was at last able to take him into her arms—and she burst into tears. An immense wave of relief washed over her, though she knew it would not last.

  “Mom, are you better now?”

  “Much better, thanks to you. And you—how are you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are they kind to you? Are you… happy?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. I’m learning things. But… I want to stay with you.”

  “So would I, my love… so would I…”

  More meetings followed, each closer than the last. The girl grew stronger with each passing day. Soon she could stand—and even walk—again.

  Seeing her son gave her the final glimmer of happiness she needed to want to go on living.