Astraia stared at him, fury brewing beneath her skin. “This isn’t about my past. It’s about a favor.”
“Feels like a forgotten wound.”
He did not say another word. But the look he gave her—quiet, unreadable, almost hurt—said more than she was ready to hear.
***
The manor was too quiet—no clatter of dishes, no murmured footsteps. Only the sharp strike of Astraia’s boots against polished marble. Not a single maid or footman loitered about the manor, but this did not surprise her.
After the ambush, she had flagged down a wagon driver—half-conscious from her own injuries and covered in blood that wasn’t hers. The man didn’t argue as he helped load Draven into the wagon. Fear made people helpful.
As soon as they arrived, the butler named Graves recognized her instantly.
She had sworn him to secrecy, threatening him with swift removal of an arm if he breathed a word of her appearance to anyone but Caelan. Especially not to Lord and Lady Vireaux.
Graves was very agreeable and had rushed them to the corner apartment where Astraia used to stay on her summer visits to Volpes. It was then that Graves revealed the lord and lady were on holiday and were not expected to return until the month’s end.
Astraia sighed as she passed the whitewashed walls of the elaborate manor covered with paintings depicting the city of Volpes, the mystical gardens of Desire, Lord and Lady Vireaux, and of course, Caelan.
Her steps slowed. Between two sconces, a painting stopped her breath in her chest.
Sunlight. Wind-swept hair. A stare full of fire.
Her own.
The summer breeze blew through her dark hair, small strands falling over her face. Her skin was sun-kissed from days spent in the gardens of Desire and riding Orion through the wildflower fields. There was no smile on her lips, but a pair of blue eyes were ablaze with determination, captivating any onlooker who would stop to admire the brushstrokes on canvas.
She had never seen this painting before. Not in all the summers she had spent here as a child and after Caelan’s proposal.
“I tried to remember your face. Every line. It doesn’t do you justice.” Caelan stepped up beside her, his hands behind his back, staring at the painting.
“Why is this here?” Astraia asked quietly, fear seeping into her voice. Fear of what this painting meant.
Caelan stared ahead as he spoke, his tone hard. “When you left to return home that summer, I was another man. A man of hope, dreams, filled with passion. You said yes. It opened my eyes to the life we could have together. Then I got word of the explosion. Graves brought me the correspondence while I was out doing combat drills with the other guards.”
He paused then, taking a deep breath before turning to face Astraia. The green of his eyes collided with hers, and a flood of emotions from her past came rushing from her memory. Warm summer nights in the gardens. Elegant balls and dancing into the morning. Laughing until her sides were sore. Stolen kisses under moonlight and starless skies.
“It said you were destroyed, Astraia. That you perished with your parents and Elion. And I… I lost it. I flared. Desire broke through every thread of my tether. I injured two of my men. The earth opened up and swallowed them.” His eyes glistened with tears, his voice broke, but he held her gaze. “I spent weeks in grief. Every shadow in this stars-forsaken manor reminded me of you. I couldn’t breathe inside or in the gardens. The willows wept for you, Astraia. The entire manor was in mourning. I finally fled. I went to Antilias near the Hollow City and spent six months with my uncle. While I was with him, he helped me cope with painting.”
Astraia could not help the tears that spilled down her cheeks. The agony in Caelan’s voice was raw, real. Shame curled in her chest—not because she had left, but because someone had mourned her like this. Because someone had loved her so loudly while she had tried to disappear.
“You…you painted this?” she asked, disbelief still thick on her tongue.
“Yes.” Caelan took her hand in his, brushing his thumb over the top of her hand. “My world may have burned that day, but I never stopped loving you, Astraia.”
He brought her hand to his lips, lightly kissing her skin. For a moment, she didn’t feel like she was running. It was dangerous, how easily his presence unwound her, even after so many years.
Without thinking, she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Caelan’s waist. His arms clung to her, embracing her as though she might drift away and disappear.
“Caelan, I am so sorry,” she murmured into his shirt, as dark spots from her tears appeared on his tailored guard uniform.
“Please, don’t say that. You’re here. You’re alive. And right now, that’s all that matters,” he replied, voice low and relieved. “And this time, I’m never letting you go.”
***
Caelan led her down a familiar corridor to the kitchens, his steps unhurried, casting glances her way every few seconds as if he still couldn’t believe she was real. The moment they passed through the kitchen doorway, Corina dropped her spoon with a loud clatter and burst into tears.
Astraia barely had time to brace herself as the cook enveloped her in a flour-dusted hug.
