Your arms ache from hours of gripping Alistair's waist, your eyes sting as you fight against tears, and your throat burns—whether with bile or unshed emotion, you can't tell. You’d often mocked the White Queen for her emotional responses regarding her son's safety, but now, you understand.

After what feels like an endless search through the woodlands surrounding the capital city, Alistair finally brings the horse to a stop at the sight of your little golden-haired daughter, Cordelia, blissfully wandering a field of large talking flowers, her giggles echoing in the serene air.

“There she is, darling,” Alistair says, his voice soft and soothing as he dismounts and gently lifts you off the horse. He wraps an arm around your waist to steady you, your legs shaky after hours of riding.

“See? I told you she’d be alright,” he adds, a warm smile lighting his face as you both draw near to your four-year-old daughter, who had wandered away from the Castle of Hearts hours ago.