Solena begins gathering clothes, folding them neatly, while I peel off my dress and change into pants and a tunic. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—there’s something different, asif Pariseth had shown me a glimpse of another life, now slipping away.
She approaches with a comb, gesturing for me to sit. “I’ll braid your hair for the journey.”
I settle onto the chair, and as her fingers begin to weave through my hair, I ask, “You and Orios. You’ll have to pretend not to know each other again, won’t you?”
Her hands pause briefly before resuming. “Yes,” she admits quietly. “But it doesn’t bother me.”
I raise an eyebrow, catching her eye in the mirror. “Really? It doesn’t?”
She smiles gently, a smile that holds more truth than words. “No. What we had here—these days together—it’s more than we ever hoped for. Even if it was brief, it was a gift.” She ties off the braid with a practiced flick. “It’s something I’ll carry with me, no matter what comes next.”
A pang of envy hits me, not just for their closeness but for Solena’s ability to find peace in something fleeting. I let out a small sigh. “I’m glad you had that.”
Solena gives me a knowing look. “We have you to thank for it.”
I shake my head. “You don’t need to thank me for anything.”
She places her hands on my shoulders, her gaze unwavering. “We wouldn’t have had this time together without you, Your Highness. That means more than you realize.”
I try to smile, but my thoughts drift to Daed. “I’m afraid things will go back to the way they were. That he’ll pull away again. Here, it was easy to forget everything. But out there? It’s not the same.”
Solena nods, her fingers gently smoothing the braid she’s finished. “It’s different, yes. But what you shared here doesn’t just disappear when you leave.”
I want to believe her. I want to believe that the connection Daed and I found here, away from duty’s weight, will survivebeyond Pariseth. But a part of me wonders if, once we’re back in the shadows of Baev’kalath, it will all slip away like a fading dream.
Solena steps back, gathering my packed belongings and placing them at the foot of the bed. “Whatever happens, Your Highness, you’re stronger than you think.”
I nod, though the uncertainty still gnaws at me. “Thank you, Solena. But I have one last thing to ask.”
“Anything,” she says.
“Call me Amara.”
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, and she bows slightly. “Very well. Amara.”
As Solena leaves, I’m left alone with my thoughts. The peace of Pariseth is already slipping away, replaced by the cold reality of what waits beyond.
I crouch beside the serpentine vine, my fingers tracing the edge of its newest leaf. The green is vibrant against the dark soil, soft and alive, like a whisper of The Grove transplanted here. The vine has been quietly speaking to me since we planted it—small, nonsensical exchanges that somehow bring me closer to home. Even on this unfamiliar island, it thrives, unfurling new life. It’s a simple comfort, proof that something good can take root even in strange soil.
“Wife.”
Daed’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I look up to see him approaching. He’s strong and commanding as always, buthis steps are slower, as if he’s wary of disturbing this moment. His dark hair is tousled, his gray eyes focused on mine, their softness almost making me forget the storm that awaits us beyond Pariseth.
He crouches beside me, his hand brushing lightly against my knee as he studies the vine. “It’s grown already,” he observes, his voice low.
I nod, tracing the vine’s twisting shape. “It has. It’s been talking to me,” I say with a small smile, despite the ache building in my chest. “It feels... happy.”
A faint smile touches his lips, though a heaviness lingers in his eyes. “I’m sorry we have to leave,” he murmurs, regret clear in his voice. “But you understand why.”
I do. I wish we could stay here, where everything feels lighter, where the weight of Baev’kalath doesn’t press down on us. But I understand the duty that calls us back—the war that looms on the horizon.
“I understand,” I say softly, fingers continuing to trace the vine’s delicate stem. “We can’t hide here forever.”
He exhales, broad shoulders shifting as he glances toward the distant sea. “Half the houses have committed their armies, but we still need to negotiate with Mor’Thravar and Gryn’Velcor,” he says, his voice tightening. “Modok remains a problem, and Sarberos is... hesitant.”
“Modok will always be a problem,” I reply, my tone sharp. “He’s dangerous. I don’t trust him.”
Daed’s expression hardens. “I don’t trust him either. That’s why I need to return—to ensure we have the strength we need when the time comes.”
