She gave the smallest nod, and at that, he set her upright in his saddle, steadying her with one hand before turning away to gather her things.
He swung her pack over his shoulder, turned to her mare, and smoothed a hand along the warm neck in a gesture that was part farewell and part command. Then he touched his heel lightly to the flank and spoke softly. “Go home, Chestnut.” It was the second time he’d sent this poor horse back to the castle without a rider, and yet the mare barely flicked an ear, accepting the order without question, trotting toward the distant line of riders with the confidence of a creature that knew the way.
Jakobav turned back to her. “Drink,” he said, pressing a canteen into her hands.
The water was cool and clean, each swallow easing the dry tightness in her throat. Warmth crept back into her cheeks as he mounted behind her, his thighs closing firmly around her hips. His arm circled her waist in an unyielding hold that told her without flourish—she would not fall again.
The ride south passed easily enough, but the hours dragged on, leaving too much room for her thoughts to churn. She adjusted in the saddle a few times, and each time Jakobav’s arm hugged her tighter.
The miles turned into days, the kingdoms blurring one into the next. Jakobav was careful to avoid towns except whenthere was no other way around. When they rode by Velmire’s watchtowers, grim and scarred by old wars, the soldiers stared too long at Jakobav but didn’t challenge him; his cloak was marked with Dravaryn insignia. Velmire and Dravaryn were long-standing allies, but she couldn’t help the sweep of awareness that ran through her while passing through, knowing Orchid remained sworn against them as rivals.
They crossed Thirelle’s lowlands, golden fields bending beneath late-season winds, again skirting anyone who might ask questions. Along a narrow dirt road at the edge of a village, the people fell quiet as they passed, every gaze following, watchful with unspoken concern. It wasn’t lost on her that he’d taken off his cloak, looking more civilian than soldier.
None of it mattered; the world narrowed to hoofbeats and the ache in her chest.
Jakobav didn’t break that quiet, and she found herself grateful for it. His presence was a shield against the emptiness, and though grief hollowed her out, the warmth of him pressed close enough to remind her she hadn’t unraveled completely, the air around them softening as the land turned gradually warmer with each mile south.
By the time night settled, they’d reached a rise sheltered from the wind near Orchid’s border. Still technically in Thirelle, yet so close to home she could almost taste it, the air was lighter, heavy with the perfume of grass and wild blooms, the kind of sweetness that made her chest ache with memory. Jakobav set about building the fire, sparks striking against the deepening dark, while Ella remained astride for longer than was necessary, letting the fading comfort of the quiet soak into her before she finally slid down.
The journey had been mercifully uneventful, and the gods knew she’d needed the calm. Even those last few hours had steadied her, bit by bit, sorrow settling into something she couldhold without breaking, strength finding its way back, slow and certain.
Jakobav had brought more food this time, dried meat and bread and even a pouch of berries. Another small mercy she thanked the gods for.
At least she wouldn’t be starving and grieving at the same time.
They ate without words, the hush broken only by the crackle of flame and the restless hiss of insects in the grass. Jakobav sat close enough that their knees brushed. The touch felt intentional, and though he said nothing, she couldn't help thinking this was his way of trying to comfort her, a silent offering in place of the words he didn’t know how to give.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she said at last, her voice steady though it scraped her throat to admit it. “To go back and face my kingdom. Face my father and have to explain why I left. And to take my mother’s crown, when I never truly wanted it in the first place.”
A breath shuddered out of her, the words spilling now that she’d begun.
“The crown passes only through Orchid’s daughters. It was always going to be mine, whether I wanted it or not, but I have no desire to lead a kingdom. I’ve only ever wanted to help my people.”
“You’ll do it,” Jakobav replied, calm and unshaken, as though it were a truth too obvious to be argued. “And you’ll do it better than anyone else could.”
A sound left her, caught between a laugh and a sob. “That almost sounded like faith.”
His eyes were molten black. “It is, Ella. And it’s only a gamble if there’s doubt,” he said. “Only a fucking fool would dare to doubt you.”
Her breath stalled, surprise cutting through the grief.
Gods, this man might yet be my undoing.
Sleep didn’t come easily. She lay staring at the branches above her while the fire dwindled to embers, grief growing heavier with every hour she tried to shoulder it alone, until at last, she rolled toward him and found Jakobav already watching her, as if he’d been waiting.
“Ella,” he said, her name low and rough in his mouth, as though it carried a question she wasn’t ready to answer.
“I just…don’t want to think for a while.”
What she really meant was that she didn’t want the distance between their bedrolls and didn’t want silence echoing back at her without the anchor of him close at her side.
He searched her face for a long moment then, without a word, opened his blanket. She moved closer and slipped into his bedroll, the heat of him closing around her at once.
“Are you always this warm?” she murmured, reaching for lightness.
“Are you always this cold?” His arm came around her waist, his hand splaying across her stomach.
“Careful, Prince. People might think you’re being kind to me.”
