The mansion was quiet now. The guests had gone, the doctors had left.
In the master bathroom, General Stone stood in front of the mirror. He had finally taken off his jacket.
He hissed as he peeled his undershirt off. The fabric was stuck to his back.
He hadn't told anyone. When the mortar hit the depot, a piece of shrapnel had grazed his back. It wasn't deep, but it was ugly. A long, jagged tear across his latissimus dorsi.
He grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a towel. He bit down on the towel and poured the alcohol over his shoulder.
The burn was blinding. He groaned, bracing his hands against the sink, his knuckles turning white.
"Marcus?"
Stone froze. He spun around, trying to hide his back.
Seraphina was standing in the doorway. She was wearing a silk nightgown, holding onto the doorframe for support. She looked weak, but alive.
"What are you doing?" she asked softly.
"Nothing," Stone said quickly. "Just... cleaning up."
Seraphina walked into the room. She moved slowly, wincing with each step. She walked around him.
She gasped when she saw his back. The angry red line, the dried blood.
"You're hurt," she whispered. Her fingers hovered over the wound, afraid to touch.
"It's a scratch," Stone lied. "Julian took the real hit."
"You idiot," Seraphina said, but there was no heat in it. Her eyes filled with tears. "You came home like this... you held me... and you didn't say a word?"
"You were busy," Stone tried to joke, but his voice cracked. "You were pushing a human out of your body."
Seraphina took the towel from his hand. "Sit down."
"Sera, you should be in bed..."
"Sit. Down."
Stone sat on the edge of the tub. He was a General who commanded thousands of men, but he didn't dare disobey his wife.
Seraphina gently cleaned the wound. Her touch was light, reverent. She kissed his shoulder, right above the cut.
"I thought you weren't coming," she confessed softly. "When the pain started... I thought I was going to die alone."
Stone turned and pulled her into his lap. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of milk and baby powder.
"Never," he swore. "I will burn the world down before I let you go alone."
They sat there for a long time, holding each other in the silence of the bathroom.
"Have you named him?" Stone asked.
"Victor," Seraphina said. "For victory."
"Victor Stone," Marcus tested the name. "Sounds like a tank commander."
"He will be a poet," Seraphina argued with a smile.
A knock at the door interrupted them. It was Isolde.
"Sorry to interrupt the love fest," Isolde said, leaning against the doorframe, holding a thick envelope. "But a royal courier just dropped this off."
Stone took the envelope. It was heavy cream paper, embossed with the Royal Crest in gold leaf.
He opened it.
INVITATION TO THE VICTORY GALA
In Honor of General Marcus Stone and the Heroes of the Border War.
"It's next week," Stone said, tossing the invitation on the counter. "I hate galas."
"You have to go," Isolde said. Her eyes were sharp. "Julian is getting a commendation. And... I think he's planning something."
Seraphina raised an eyebrow. "Planning what?"
Isolde smiled, a secretive, knowing smile. "Let's just say Imogen better get a manicure."
