He watched the flash of relief hit his son’s eyes, relief that his father understood, and in a perfect world Apollo could leave it at that.

But this wasn’t a perfect world. It was a complicated one. And it was Apollo’s duty to guide his son into learning how to navigate it.

Thus he forged ahead.

“However, once I shared time with her without those expectations and it became abundantly clear that Madeleine was not your mother, she did many things to bring me joy. She did many things to make me angry. She did many things to make me think. She did many things to make me wish to keep her safe. She did many things to make me feel.”

He saw his son’s face getting red, either increased anger or another emotion, Apollo did not know.

But he didn’t stop.

“Your sister never knew your mother. But if you’ve been paying attention—and Chris, I know you pay very good attention—you’d have seen that Maddie does many things to bring your sister joy.”

“Mum was a better mum,” he stated mutinously. “Élan will never know. Élan will never know how good a mum Mum was.”

That grief.

Gods.

He had been sorely mistaken.

“No,” Apollo whispered. “And you are correct. Your mother was a better mother because you were hers and she was yours and there is never a better mother to have than your own. And your sister will never understand that, which is a tragedy we both know well. But would you not allow me to have what Maddie gives me, allow your sister to have what she could give her, allow yourself to have what she so wants to offer you, even if it isn’t the same, even if it isn’t as good, simply because you deserve it and she deserves the privilege of giving it?”

“You act like it’s better than what Mum could give.”

He was still whispering when he returned, “I have never done any such thing.”

Christophe again looked to the side and said nothing.

Apollo didn’t force back his eyes.

Instead, he moved his hand to curve his fingers around the side of his son’s neck and dropped to a knee in the snow.

“You are my little man,” he told him quietly.

Christophe didn’t look back to his father but he did swallow.

“I forget,” Apollo went on. “You are such my little man, so brave, strong, grown-up, I forget that you’re still my little boy.”

Apollo watched his lips tremble, the vision cut deep into his soul, but he kept speaking.

“I was mistaken. I knew there was something amiss. I understood you were struggling. I understood why, Chris, seeing Maddie dressed in our House’s colors, ready to take my arm. Something you remembered was your mother’s and mine.”

At that, Christophe cut his eyes to his father. There was anger in them, defiance.

But mostly pain.

Apollo sustained that wound and gave him a squeeze.

“I was mistaken,” he repeated. “Mistaken in thinking that my little man could work through that hurt and see things as they are, the happiness your sister and I have with Madeleine in our lives. The happiness you could glean having her in yours. I forgot that you’re still my little boy and being such, I should see to you.”

“I’m not a little boy,” Christophe snapped.

“No, you aren’t, yet you are. And, my son,”—Apollo leaned into him just as he pulled Christophe close so they were nearly nose-to-nose, his eyes steadily holding his son’s—“until you’re a father, you won’t understand this. But I was mistaken in something else. That being I want you to be my boy for as long as I can have that. I will have decades of you being a man. Now, I must cherish the time when you’re my boy and take care of you as a father should while you are. This I will do. I will rectify these mistakes and from now on, look after you.”

“Does that mean you’ll be sending her away?” Christophe asked, his tone very much not like anything Apollo had heard from him.

It was ugly.

“Is that what you want?” he inquired. “For me to be alone again? For your sister to lose a woman’s touch?”

“Élan has Bella,” Christophe retorted.

“Indeed,” Apollo acceded. “And what will you leave me?”

Christophe clenched his teeth.

Apollo did not give up, for he couldn’t.

He loved his son.

And he was in love with Madeleine.

“And what will that leave Maddie?” he pressed. “I have you. Élan. Achilles. Draven. As you know, that list goes on. If I were to send Maddie away as you wish, what would she have?”

Christophe knew the answer to that but instead of saying it aloud, he slid his eyes away.

“I know not how to heal your hurt, for even having Maddie, I still mourn your mother,” Apollo said gently. “I mourn her for myself and I mourn her for you and your sister. Thus I know that hurt will never completely fade away. What I also know is, your mother is lost to us, but we still live. And the only way to do that is to live, finding as much laughter and happiness along the way as we can.”

Christophe kept his eyes averted and as he did, Apollo knew he was feeling too much for this to be sorted now, in the cold and snow, while men were out looking for his son and many were worried.

“We’ll talk more when we’re home and those who are worried know you’re safe.”

Christophe finally looked back to him. “I’ll ride with Lees.”

Apollo endured yet another wound and shook his head.

“You’ll ride with your father.”

Christophe clenched his teeth but he said nothing further.

Apollo straightened from the snow and moved to Torment, guiding Christophe with him with his hand back to his shoulder. Achilles, Frey, Kell and Nathaniel watched silently as he mounted then bent and pulled his son up in front of him.

Christophe held himself stiffly, clearly trying to stay as far away from his father as he could.

Without a word, Apollo spurred Torment into a canter, pulling ahead of the men who were silently following them, wishing to be home to put minds at ease, especially Maddie’s.

He did this with his own mind in turmoil.

The Queen’s strategist, general to her soldiers, as his thoughts chased each other through his brain, he could not settle on a strategy of how to help his son deal with his pain and his grief.

He’d expected too much from him.

But this was not Christophe’s burden.

It was Apollo’s mistake.

Madeleine looked like his mother and Christophe had not even reached double digits. He would not process the differences between the two women as an adult would.