Finally, it was over.
The air loosened.
The formations were dismissed, though Aamon kept the three princes behind for a private word. The captains and the rest of the knights were released with short, clipped instructions for tomorrow.
Ezra did not linger.
He slipped away before anyone could stop him. Before anyone could clap his shoulder or ask questions or attempt small talk about what had just happened.
Why?
Because he was tired.
Not the kind of tiredness that came from sparring.
Not even the kind that came from real battle.
This was heavier.
It pressed behind his eyes. It settled into his bones.
He had not felt this drained since the first time he realized he was pregnant. Since those long nine months of carrying Lior while pretending nothing was different.
Since the sleepless nights of the first year, when every cry felt like both a blessing and a terror.
Now, all he wanted—
Was his son.
His little Lior.
He wanted to hold him.
