Alaric laughed—a low, surprised sound that rolled out of him like wind over the surface of the lake. “Alright, fine. You got me,” he said, grinning now. “Yes, I wish you as many wild impulses as your heart can conjure.”
Then the grin faded just enough to leave something honest behind. “Just not the suicidal ones.”
Evelyne smiled again, slower this time. Warmer. She gave a small nod. “That’s reasonable. I’ll be more careful next time.”
That seemed to throw him more than anything else. His brows lifted in quiet surprise.
“Thank you,” he said after a beat, simple and sincere.
She turned back toward the water, watching the silver ripples catch at the willow’s reflection. Her shoulders eased, as if the weight she carried had slipped for a moment. It felt dangerously normal. And perhaps worth the risk. With him, scandal felt less like a noose and more like a choice she could make for herself.
A shiver ran down her spine.
Alaric caught it immediately. “Are you cold?”
She stilled. “No.”
He studied her, long and quiet, as if searching for the truth in her denial. Then he only tilted his head back, gaze lifting toward the stars.
Evelyne followed his line of sight despite herself. Above them, the night stretched wide, threaded with constellations thatbelonged to no king, no council, no god. Just a sky that had watched every vow and every betrayal, and would outlast both.
She let herself breathe in that silence beside him—not as a princess, not as a bride, but as a woman who, against all reason, did not want the moment to end.
Because it was a beautiful night to feel absolutely nothing but free.
Chapter 56
Alaric tilted his head back, letting his eyes trace the arc of stars above. The night was still, almost too perfect—crisp air, soft rustle of leaves, moonlight slanting over lake. It was the kind of beauty that made a man aware of his own heartbeat.
“Look,” he began, pointing quickly upward. “Do you see that cluster of stars? Just there, past the tallest branches of the willow?”
Evelyne lifted her gaze. The night stretched wide above them, constellations threaded like silver pins across a swath of ink.
“That’s the Crown of Andorin,” he continued. “Named for the first emperor of my homeland. Legend says that when he died, the gods placed his crown in the heavens as a reminder that power, no matter how great, is fleeting.”
Evelyne turned toward him, the faint light from the water catching in her eyes. “You seem passionate about this.”
Alaric’s mouth tugged at the corner. “I like to know things,” he said, trying to be casual, though his voice came out warmer than intended. “To understand the world and everything in it.”
“And what do you like to study most?”
He hesitated, pulse ticking. She was actually asking.
“Many things,” he managed after a beat, his gaze flicking back to the sky because it was easier than staring into her face. “The world and what lies beyond it. What can be seen and what cannot. The things others overlook.”
He gestured toward the sky, voice quickening.
“The thing about stars is they’re more than just lights in the sky. They’re older than kingdoms, older than any story we’ve ever written. Some may not even exist anymore, but their lightstill reaches us. Something long gone, still shaping the way we see the world.”
They stood close now, shoulder to shoulder. He risked a glance at her. She was watching him, head tilted, lips parted.
“They move, too,” he heard himself say at once, like if he stopped he’d lose her attention. “I meanwemove… A dance older than civilization itself. And… um… here we are, trying to make sense of it. Something so majestic, so untouchable. Like you.”
He froze as soon as he said it, breath shallow. A flicker of color rose in her cheeks, and for one dangerous moment, he thought she might run. He nearly did.
He exhaled slowly, heart thudding, and pointed again. “Do you see that one? The cluster in the north? That’s Esharion’s Arrow. Sailors have followed it for centuries—it always points the way home.”
“Always?” she asked.
