At last, they arrived at The Heart of Vellesmere.
The water shimmered under the moonlight; cool mist curled at their ankles. In the center, an island sat still. A great willow stretched over the lake, its silhouette trailing tendrils into silver water.
Beyond it, rising from the faraway hill, the Ivory Bastion loomed.
By daylight, the fortress looked abandoned, half-swallowed by moss and time. But under the moon, it transformed. Evelyne always had the strange impression that the ruins were still moving.
Alaric dismounted first. He reached for her reins, steadying her horse with one hand. Then he turned to her and offered his other hand. Evelyne stared at him for a moment. She hesitated, then placed her hand in his and let him help her down. As her feet met the ground, she looked up at him, finding his eyes reflecting the same moonlit shimmer of the lake behind them.
His focus flickered down to where their hands remained connected. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Evelyne inhaled sharply and withdrew her hand, folding her fingers tightly against her palm.
Alaric gestured toward the lake.
“A walk?” he offered.
She nodded.
They walked beside each other toward the lake’s edge. The cool air wrapped around her, yet she felt unbearably warm. The hush of the night, the gentle rustling of the willow leaves, the rhythmic lap of water against the shore—it all wove around them. Evelyne welcomed the quiet, though her thoughts were anything but.
She stole a brief look at Alaric’s profile, the moon tracing the sharp planes of his face. Her attention lingered too long.
He angled his head, catching her in the act, a flicker of amusement curving his mouth. “If you mean to admire me, princess, you might try being less obvious about it.”
Evelyne faced forward at once. “I was not admiring you.”
“No?” He hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps I was mistaken.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Alaric chuckled, tucking his hands inside the pockets.
“I’m glad this happened,” he admitted. “This—” he gestured between them, toward the dark stretch of lake and sky, “—not a council meeting, or another stilted dinner where we both pretend, we’re not exhausted or angry or five minutes from snapping.”
He looked at her. “Frankly, I think there should be a lot more of these. It’s easier to talk to you without the ceiling listening.”
Evelyne didn’t answer at once. She waited, watching him from the corner of her eye.
“That said,” he added, more firmly now, “I have to bring you to your senses. Sneaking out of the castle a few days after someone tried to kill you? Not exactly what I’d call cautious. Or wise.”
“I needed air,” she replied evenly.
He didn’t flinch. “Air is also inside the walls.”
She opened her mouth to retort with something cutting, but he raised a hand gently.
“I get it,” Alaric said. “You needed space. But you're not just Evelyne of Edrathen anymore. You're the empress-to-be. If something had happened to you, I—” The words caught, hung unfinished between them like smoke. He looked away briefly, jaw working. “I’m not going to stand by and stay silent while you get yourself hurt just to prove a point to people who already want you dead, no matter what you do.”
Evelyne remained still. The wind picked up, cold against her cheeks, though her chest was already warm with something else—anger, guilt, something tangled between the two.
“It wasn’t calculated,” she confessed finally, keeping her voice even. “I didn’t slip out to make a statement. I had an impulse. I couldn’t sleep; a lot was on my mind.”
“I believe you. But it was still reckless.”
Evelyne’s lips curved slightly. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
He blinked at her, caught off guard.
“I thought you were rooting for less restraint, more chaos,” she teased.
