I exhale, pressing my palms against the blanket, forcing myself to sit up more even though my body protests.
The exhaustion is deep. Not just from the fight, not just from the healing. From him. From the way he looked at me. From the certainty in his voice when he said the world would fall if I did.
The absolute. Infuriating. Thick-headed. Bastard.
The door swings open and Lyra strides in, arms crossed, an amused smirk tugging at her lips.
“I was trying to give you two some time once you woke up,” she says. “But I figured I should step in before you two actually killed each other.”
I sigh at her. “You heard the yelling.”
She shrugs. “The whole damn outpost heard the yelling.”
I let out a frustrated breath, dragging a hand down my face. “Then you already know why I’m upset.”
Lyra raises an eyebrow and drops into the chair Thane vacated like she owns it.
“I do.” Lyra sighs, glancing toward the door. “The otherswanted to come. But . . . ” Her lips quirk, a little wry, a little fond. “Most people don’t just stroll into the Warlord’s quarters unless they want to lose a limb. Or dignity.” She shrugs. “Figured I’d take my chances.”
Then, quieter: “They were scared, Amara. We all were.” She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her gaze level, unwavering. “And by the way, you’re a godsdamned idiot.”
I blink at her. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Lyra watches me for a long moment, all smirking gone. “You think he’s trying to control you, but you’re wrong.” Her voice isn’t teasing anymore. “Thane isn’t afraid of losing the realm, Amara. He’s afraid of losing you, dumbass.”
She doesn’t yell, but her words cut, quiet and clean, right between the ribs.
I open my mouth—then close it. Because—because I know he cares. I’ve always known that. But I was so focused on proving myself, on proving that I could handle this, that I didn’t stop to see it for what it really was. The realization knocks the breath from my lungs.
I press my lips together, staring at the lantern light flickering across the ceiling, chasing shadows along the wooden beams. I don’t know what to say. And for once—Lyra lets me sit in the silence. For all her teasing, all her sharp edges, she doesn’t push me this time.
She sees something in my face—something fragile. And she softens.
Her eyes hold mine, unwavering. “Stop trying to prove it.”
I frown. “Prove what?”
Her voice stays calm, but there’s an edge to it now. “That you deserve to be here. That you’re strong enough, capable enough, worthy enough. We know, Amara. We’ve always known.”
At some point, sleep pulls me under. I wake to the soft scrape of a chair against the floor. The lantern is burning lower, the shadows in the room deeper. I shift, blinking through the haze of sleep. My body aches, but it’s a dull ache now, not the sharp fire from before.
Lyra is gone, and in her place, Valen sits at my bedside, watching me with that knowing expression of his. “Good,” he says simply. “You’re awake.”
I let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down my face. “For now.”
He hums in amusement. “I want to check on the healing.”
I don’t argue. I know he won’t let me get away with pretending I’m fine. Slowly, carefully, I shift upright, wincing as I adjust. Although Valen can’t heal with the same skill as healers, he can manage minor injuries, along with checking what has already been tended to.
Valen’s hands hover just above my ribs, his magics pressing into my skin, warm and steady. He works, the golden glow of healing flickering between his fingers. Then, after a long pause, he lifts an eyebrow. “You’re unusually quiet.”
I don’t respond.
He tilts his head slightly, as if assessing me, not just my injuries. “That’s concerning.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”
