The warmth in his tone stirs something deep within me, a quiet bloom of emotion that I’m careful to keep hidden. Still, my lips curve into the faintest of smiles, acknowledging his words and the unspoken promise they carry.
Father turns his attention back to me, satisfied with Jason’sresponse. “You must be weary from your journey,” he says, gesturing toward the rear doors with a graceful sweep of his hand. “Rest now, and we will gather for dinner as a family this evening.”
Lord Jeffery inclines his head respectfully, his hand resting on Lady Striden’s as they exit the throne room. Celaena follows them closely, her gown swaying with every careful step. Her eyes linger on Jason, a quiet kind of longing reflected there.
Jason remains, his gaze still locked on mine. There’s something about the way he stands that makes the room feel smaller, as though it holds only the two of us. Then, almost imperceptibly, nods subtly toward one of the smaller side doors behind him. His gesture is a quiet suggestion, a thread of understanding that passes between us without a single word.
I don’t react outwardly, though my pulse quickens. I don’t need to ask what he’s implying—I already know. Jason turns before I can dwell on it further, his steps echoing as he follows his family out of the hall.
As the heavy doors groan shut behind them, sealing their absence, my father steps closer. The chill of his hand brushes my shoulder as he leans in, pressing a cold, lingering kiss to my forehead.
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” he murmurs.
As he leaves the room, the faint echo of his footsteps mingles with the rapid thrum of my heart, his approval trailing behind him like a shadow.
I freeze in place, Jason’s nod replaying in my mind. As if on instinct, my legs carry me forward before my thoughts can catch up. The soft rustle of my dress whispers against the stone floor as I make my way to the east wing, the growing cooler as I descend.
The familiar path winds deeper into the castle’s heart, its corridor lit by the flickering glow of scattered lanterns. The shadows seem to shift and breathe around me, the low hum of magic threading through the stones a comfort I’ve always found grounding.
The underground library looms ahead—a sanctuary of stone and secrets, its vaulted ceiling hidden in shadow. The air grows colder still as I approach, carrying with it the scent of aged parchment andcandle wax. As children, Jason and I had claimed this library as our refuge. Whenever the guards sought to drag me back to my studies, Jason would take my hand and lead me down the winding corridors. Once, he’d brought me to a secluded corner bathed in the dim glow of a single candle. The shadows wrapped around us like a cocoon, shielding us from the prying eyes of the castle’s ever-watchful inhabitants.
I remember the nervous tension tightening my body as we pressed together in the small, darkened space. Footsteps echoed nearby, growing ever closer as a guard searched for us. I had been on the verge of panic when a spider crept down my shoulder, its delicate legs sending shivers along my spine. Just as a scream clawed its way up my throat, threatening release, Jason’s hand covered my mouth. His touch was firm but gentle, and his steady eyes held mine, silently urging me to stay quiet until the threat passed.
When silence returned, Jason leaned closer, his breath brushing against my cheek. In the glow of the candlelight, his lips met mine—a fleeting, tentative kiss that sent a shock straight through me. It was my first kiss, and to this day, no other human had touched me like that.
The warmth of the memory stirs something within me, and I find myself smiling as I step into the library. My cheeks flush as I bite down on my lip to quell the rising giddiness. The girl I was then feels like a stranger now, but the memory remains as vivid as if it happened only moments ago.
The library greets me like an old confidant, the air heavy with the musk of ancient books and the lingering hint of extinguished lantern oil. Shadows dance across the towering shelves whose tomes bear the weight of forgotten stories and the quiet persistence of memory.
And thereheis.
Perched on the edge of a sturdy oak table, buried in a book, Jason’s figure is both familiar and foreign. Candlelight dances across his features, highlighting the lines of his jaw and the warmth in his eyes. His sandy hair, slightly disheveled, falls just above his brow, lending him an effortless charm that makes my pulse quicken.
A beat of silence. His eyes lock onto mine, and the way his smile softens sends a rush of warmth through me. It’s him, and yet not him. The boy I once knew has been replaced by a man whose presence feels bigger, more commanding.
“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show,” he teases, slowly setting the book aside. His voice is warm and familiar.
“And risk letting you defile our secret spot with your terrible taste in literature?” I retort, nodding toward the book he’s abandoned. “Never.”
Jason’s laugh is low and rich, like a melody I hadn’t realized I missed. He stands, closing the distance between us with measured steps, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Terrible taste?” he says, his tone mockingly wounded. “I seem to remember you sneaking one of my books out of here when the tutors were particularly insufferable.”
I arch a brow, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a smile just yet.
“I wasn’t sneaking. I was saving it from your appalling collection.”
He grins wider, his gaze sweeping over me as if he’s trying to reconcile the memory of the girl I was with the woman standing before him.
“You’ve changed,” he observes softly, the teasing giving way to something more serious.
“So have you,” I reply, my voice quieter, the banter softening. My eyes drift over as I take in the breadth of his shoulders, the confidence in his posture, the slight smirk that seems permanently etched into his features.
“Hmmm,” he hums in agreement, his eyes lingering on mine. Then, without preamble, he says, "I hear we are to be man and wife." He leans back casually against the edge of the table, almost daring me to respond.
I arch a brow, steadying myself as my mind whirls for the right words.
“I heard something similar,” I reply, my tone light but edged with teasing.
