The castle walls shook with the thunder of fists and steel. The cries of the villagers carried through the corridors, voices filled with fury and betrayal, their hatred for the crown spilling into every corner of the stone keep. John Price moved quickly, boots striking hard against the floor as he carried the small bundle in his arms tighter to his chest.

Luca.

The boy’s tiny fists curled in the fabric of John’s tunic, his soft, muffled grumbles betraying the fact he’d been woken from a deep sleep. He wasn’t crying—not yet—but his pout and bleary eyes showed his displeasure well enough. The lad was barely three, far too young to understand the storm raging outside, though he could sense something was wrong.

John’s jaw clenched as he shoved open the door to a forgotten storage room. He ducked inside, settling the boy down on a pile of blankets stacked in the corner before sliding the heavy bar across the door. It wasn’t much, but it would hold. For now.

He knelt down, placing one hand gently against the boy’s shoulder, steadying him. Luca’s little face, flushed from sleep, turned up to him with a scowl that was more endearing than frightening. “I know, lad,” John whispered, voice low and rough. “Didn’t mean to wake you, but you’ve got to stay quiet now. Just for me, aye?”

Outside, footsteps pounded closer. John’s other hand rested on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw at the first sound of danger. His heart hammered in his chest, not for his own life, but for the boy’s. Protecting the prince wasn’t just duty anymore—it was something far deeper, something that twisted inside him every time he looked into those storm-bright eyes.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead briefly to the child’s hair, drawing in a breath of calm before pulling away. “You’re safe here. I’ll keep you safe. Nothing gets through me, not a soul.”