"The stars stay constant," Lance said, his voice quiet. "Even when everything else changes."
I reached out for him on impulse, but then immediately braced my hand against the cool stone wall. "Maybe that’s why we look to them when we’re lost."
His hand settled on the stone just beside mine. Not touching. But close—as close as we could safely be. In that smalldistance between our fingers lay all the things neither of us dared to say—possibility, risk, longing.
We continued standing there for hours, falling into deeper conversation. Lance told me stories of his childhood—of whittled wooden swords and clumsy, early duels with stable boys. I offered carefully edited tales of my time on the dairy farm, reshaping memories of a girl into the fiction of a curious boy. Through it all, I let pieces of myself bleed through—my thoughts, my values, my hopes. Not all of me, but enough.
Lance admitted to a fondness for the old ballads of the northern tribes. We debated philosophies of leadership. His intellect revealed itself in layers—measured, thoughtful, surprisingly empathetic. Not the cold blade I’d expected, but a man of principle, purpose, and quiet depth.
As the moon crept across the sky and the castle slumbered below, our words grew softer, more personal.
"I’ve… I have been dreaming about you," he said suddenly, his voice barely more than a breath against the wind. "Every night since the hunt."
My heart stilled.
"What happens in these dreams?"
He turned away, his profile bathed in silver moonlight. "Things that cannot be. And yet… they feel more real than anything else." Then he looked at me and smiled. "Though in the dreams, I admit, you’re always a woman."
My breath caught. I should have redirected the conversation. I should have pulled us back to safer ground.
But I didn’t.
The yearning in his eyes, the confusion lining his brow—it was almost too much to bear. This man stood here beside me, uncertain yet open, all because of a lie I wore like armor. And part of me ached to shatter it as I wondered what could grow between us if truth replaced illusion.
"Dreams reveal what we hide from ourselves," I said softly.
He studied me for a long moment. "Do you dream, Lioran?"
"Yes." My gaze drifted toward the Standing Stones far beyond the castle walls. "Of another life. One where I’m not..."
I stopped. Too close. Too dangerous.
"Not what?"
I chose my words with care. "Notconstrainedby what others expect of me."
A silence followed, heavy but not uncomfortable.
"I understand that more than you know," he said quietly.
And I believed him.
We stood that way for a long time, side by side beneath the stars, and for once, I didn’t feel so alone.
Dawn approached. The horizon softened with the first hints of pink and gold, tugging us gently back to reality.
"We should return," he said at last. "Before the castle wakes."
I nodded. But neither of us moved.
Then, almost as one, we walked together toward the stairwell, our footfalls muted on the worn stone. At the threshold where our paths would part, Lance slowed. His hand brushed the wall, fingers tracing an ancient sigil carved into the stone—an old symbol of warding, smoothed by centuries of reverent touches.
"Thank you," he said simply.
"For?"
"For the conversation. For..." he paused, searching for the words. "For seeing me. Without demanding answers."
