Heal

"Ah!" Wesley cried in pain as his bones popped back into place. His father gritted his teeth in discomfort as he worked on the injured area with his magic.

Someone handed him a bottle of rum, and Wesley gulped from it greedily, making his throat feel as on fire as his hand did.

"Just a bit more," Ambrose said as something else popped. It was extremely unpleasant. Wesley felt like the magic was melting his bone fragments and welding them back together. Healing through magic was nearly always unpleasant, especially for large wounds, and Wesley would've chosen to heal naturally if the option wouldn't have ended in the permanent loss of use of the hand. It would have healed wrong, and he wouldn't be able to use the appendage to its full potential, if at all. Thus he had asked Ambrose to fix it.

"Seven hells!" he cried out again, his skin covered with a sheen of sweat from the exertion. It hurt so bad.

Another pop and searing heat. If he didn't have view of the hand, he'd think someone was pushing a fire poker or a branding iron into the skin.

Then, all at once, Ambrose pulled back. "There," he breathed. "It's not completely healed, but it's enough to be functional."

Wesley tested it by slowly clenching his fingers into a fist and releasing it. It was sore as all seven hells, but the fact that he could move it was a miracle. Ambrose had neglected to heal the outside of his hands, which were both covered in pinprick scabs and blood blisters from the Kraken's assault, but Wesley was content with that. It would hurt far less to heal those naturally, and he wouldn't mind the scarring.

"Wesley Roberts!" A voice came from the water. Wesley stood and peered over the taffrail at the unfamiliar siren that called him.

"The battle is won. The King is dead. Valentine Cross has sent me to collect you."

Wesley's heart swelled at the news. He was alive. They had succeeded. He would see his siren again before the sun set.

"I will be a moment," he called back down. The siren nodded and slipped beneath the waves again.

Wesley turned back to the hodgepodge crew that remained. All of the men had come to his aid when he'd asked. He was forever grateful for the sacrifices many of them had made.

"Thank you," he said, his gaze sweeping across the men before holding on Cassius and Castor. "You have no idea how much this means to me. You have saved us all."

He turned to Castor. "I am sorry for the Queen Adelaide, Captain Williams," he said.

Castor shook his head. "She was insured. We will be all right."

Wesley nodded, knowing it to be true.

"Every man who fought here today is a hero. I hope that the scales you amass from this battle are enough for you all to live comfortably for the rest of your lives," he said genuinely.

"I must go now," he finished, "but I wish you luck in the aftermath of this day."

"I should go too," Evander stepped forward, causing Cassius to frown slightly. "There will be discussions of rebuilding and I should be present for them."

Wesley nodded.

"Will you come back to me?" Cassius asked Evander softly before he could step away.

Evander nodded. "I would be a fool not to."

Cassius smiled as the smaller man rose to his toes and placed a chaste kiss on his jaw. With pink cheeks, Evander stepped toward Wesley, ready to see his home again, and ready for it to heal.

----+------+----

"Valentine, come quickly. Your sister has suffered a grave injury," one of the men rushed into the throne room with the news.

Valentine didn't hesitate as he followed the man, fearing the worst for Cordelia.

The corridors passed by in a blur, and all he could hear was the blood rushing through his ears. Minutes felt like hours and his mind reeled with the most awful scenarios. If Cordelia died because of this plight, he would never forgive himself.

However, when they came upon the slumped form in the hallway, blood seeping heavily from her chest and her belly round with child, Valentine realized the man had not meant Cordelia.

"Merin," he came cautiously closer to her. Her black hair was half undone from her once perfect braid and her skin, once a milky white was an ashen sort of grey. She still looked beautiful. More so, he thought, than he remembered. In his youth, her features had always been marred by an ugly cruelness, but in this moment, she seemed real. Scared, but real.

She seemed to be crying, but suppressing each sob since it hurt for her chest to heave. One of her slender arms was wrapped protectively around her stomach while the other covered her wound in a vain attempt to staunch the cloud of blood seeping through her fingers. "My baby. Don't let my baby die."

Valentine looked down at her bulging stomach. The size indicated that she was close to delivery, but she had not yet gone into labor. Had she not been dying, it might've been but a few days before she held her child in her arms. Luck was not on her side.

"The father?" Valentine asked.

"Dead," she heaved. "Please. Save my child."

She procured a dagger from the ground beside her and held it out with shaking fingers, handle toward Valentine.

He understood what she was asking of him. Gingerly, he took the blade from her and wrapped his fingers around its jewel encrusted hilt.

Perhaps he'd been wrong. Perhaps motherhood had been enough to change her heart.

Her hand dropped as the last signs of life drained from her, and before it was too late, Valentine took the dagger carefully to her stomach.

----+------+----

"Valentine." Wesley felt so much relief when his eyes finally set upon the man's silky black hair and the mesmerizing curve of his shoulder blades and spine. The hair was braided out of his face, and Wesley could see his ear and part of his cheek from this distance.

He must not have heard the merchant, for the siren had not yet turned to face him.

"Valentine!" he called more excitedly, swimming closer and fully expecting to be engulfed in his lover's arms.

However, when the siren jerked at the noise and twisted toward his mate, Wesley froze when he saw that the man's arms were already occupied.

In awe, Wesley swam closer and laid his eyes on the delicate features of a beautiful baby girl. She had slept peacefully, nestled into Valentine's bare chest like it was where she belonged.

It had taken him ages to calm her down from her initial fit. The siren couldn't blame her, for her birth had been traumatizing for him as well. As she slept though, he found his heart throbbing as he watched her little gills flare.

Now, because of Wesley's outburst, she was starting to wake up, her face scrunching up in a cry for her disrupted sleep.

Valentine tried to soothe her, but he was not very experienced with caring for children. His attempts only woke and upset her more.

Seeing his struggle, Wesley gently took the baby from his mate's arms and with practiced efficiency, calmed her back to a near sleep.

"Who's this little one?" he asked softly, peering down at the shock of white hair on top of her head. It matched the scales of her little tail, with the exception that each scale was rimmed with a beautiful outline of deep shimmering gold. It was the same gold that filled her irises when she had looked up at him with a tiny pout. Wesley's heart swelled as she curled into him, her little fin still crumpled and delicate from being in the womb.

"She's my niece," Valentine said gently, moving behind his love and wrapping his arms around him as he peered at the child with his chin on the man's shoulder.

"She's beautiful," Wesley responded.

"She's in need of a home," Valentine tentatively voiced in Wesley's ear.

Wesley's heart must've skipped a beat, for he had no other way to describe the flutter of hope that danced in his chest. He tore his eyes away from the sleeping babe and locked them onto a pair of loving lavender irises. The expression in them was enough for Wesley to confirm the meaning behind Valentine's words.

"Yes." The word sounded breathless. Valentine smiled as he tightened his arms around his family.

"She'll need a name," Valentine said, looking down at their daughter fondly.

Wesley ran a thumb lightly over her soft, pale cheek and was reminded in that moment of his little sister.

"Waverly," he whispered.

Valentine knew the significance of the name, in honor of his late sister, and kissed the merchant's cheek as he said, "It's perfect."

"Everything is perfect."

----+------+----

"No," Valentine stated firmly. They'd been stuck in these political discussions for days, trying to figure out what the kingdom needed now that the corrupt monarch had fallen. There were countless faces filling the room, all with some manner of importance to Aurelia.

"It's the most obvious conclusion," the elderly man pushed.

"I have no interest in becoming king," Valentine reiterated.

"Perhaps that's what makes you the best choice."

"I said no," Valentine said. "Once these discussions are finished, I have no intentions of staying in Aurelia. I plan to live out the rest of my life on the surface with my mate and daughter."

"Very well," the man sighed, looking around the room. "With the deaths of Prince Merrick and Princess Merin, the next eldest in the royal line would be Prince Evander."

Evander looked up at the sound of his name. He had been distracted by thoughts of Cassius and had only been paying half attention.

"Being as you and your sister helped form the rebellion and have shown your kindness and compassion across Aurelia, I believe the people would be willing to accept you as their king."

"I refuse," he said without hesitation. "I plan to travel the surface, as my brother has, alongside my mate."

The elder looked perplexed that both men had refused the throne. His eyes then turned to the only thirteen year old in the room.

"That leaves Princess Cordelia."

"I would gladly accept the crown," she said with an impressive maturity in her voice. "I have a great love for this kingdom and the people who reside in it, as well as an interest in seeing it become a better place. As Queen I would ensure positive change throughout Aurelia. However, I have two concerns that are worth mentioning. The first is that I am not of age to rule."

"A regent could be enacted to guide you until you come of age. What is your second concern, child?"

"I am still young, but I have reason to believe that when the time comes, I will not take a mate. My soul, instead of partially residing in the chest of another, feels whole within me. I will likely not produce an heir."

The man nodded in thought. It was uncommon, but not unheard of. Not everyone in their world was destined for a mate. "The other six kingdoms would likely have difficulty accepting an heir not of royal blood. For that reason, I suggest you name the child of Princess Merin as your heir."

All eyes turned to Valentine, who had already claimed the child as his adopted daughter. She was in another room, sleeping under Wesley's protective gaze. "I can neither accept nor deny this honor for Princess Waverly. I can, however, promise that my mate and I will teach her compassion and love for both the surface and subsurface worlds. If it is wished, I will also groom her for the throne, but when the time comes, she will be the one to accept or reject it for herself."

Everyone nodded, seemingly accepting of this outcome.

"That leaves the regent then."

"I nominate Calloway," Cordelia said. "He was a great help in leading the rebellion and a good man. I am honored to call him my friend and would trust my kingdom under his watchful rule for the next few years."

"I second that nomination," Evander said.

"And I accept it," Calloway's voice came next.

"That settles it then," the man said. "Calloway shall be the King Regent, Princess Cordelia shall be the Queen, and Princess Waverly shall be the Crown Princess. Thank you all for your time."

Valentine's body flooded with relief. It was over. They could finally go home.

----+------+----

A/N

Happy Pride Month everybody! 🌈🌈🌈🌈🌈

We're almost done!

Question: Do you have any allergies? I'm allergic to nickel, so if I touch certain metal clothes hangers, pants buttons, belt buckles, necklaces, earrings, microphones, bottlecaps, etc. I'm screwed (or at least I get irritating rashes for about a month after contact). The best parts? You can't tell something's nickel just by looking at it and the reaction supposedly gets worse the more you're exposed to nickel. I'm a guitar player who plays with nickel wound guitar strings and coated nickel microphones that wear away with use. It's just peachy.

See you Sunday with the final chapter!

-Mora Montgomery