The coming meeting cannot be delayed. Tensions between the Hoard and my own territory have been simmering for too long, and Vaelkor has a habit of mistaking patience for fear. If I do not meet him now, he will take it as a sign of weakness—an invitation to test my borders. I cannot put off this meeting.
Still, I wish I could.
I glance once more toward the distant horizon, imagining the carriage winding its way through my lands, carrying the woman who now occupies far too much of my heart.
Be safe, little one, I think silently. Enjoy yourself.
And though I know I should be mapping out strategies and counters and concessions, every plan dissolves into a single, persistent thought…
When will I see her again?
48
Jules
The carriage rocks gently as it carries us away from the Crimson Spires and deeper into Lucian’s realm.
I sit back against the velvet seat, one hand resting on the window ledge, watching the countryside unfold beyond the window. The city portion of the Bleeding Court—if you can even call it a city—felt oppressive to me. It was all towering stone, narrow streets, iron balconies, and shadows piled on shadows—not to mention the weird people I met there. Maybe it looked strange because I’d only seen it at night or maybe it was because I was terrified and running for my life.
But this—the landscape I’m seeing as the carriage rolls on—this is beautiful.
The road winds through rolling fields that glow under the red-gold sun, tall grasses bending and whispering as the carriage passes. Trees line the way on either side, their leaves turned every imaginable shade of autumn—deep crimson…burnt orange…copper and gold. Some are so dark they’re nearly black, their branches etched sharply against the sky. Others look like they’ve been set on fire from within.
The air smells different here too. It’s clean and crisp. There’s a faint sweetness to it, like apples and fallen leaves and distant woodsmoke. When I crack the window just a bit, the breeze slides over my skin, cool enough to raise goosebumps on my arms but not unpleasant. It feels like early October back home—if Florida ever actually had a real October, that is. It’s usually just another month of Summer for us. But this is what Fall is supposed to feel like and I love it.
I never get this, I think wistfully. Back home the leaves just turn brown and drop off like they’ve given up.
Here, everything feels deliberate—like the land itself wants to be beautiful.
Hanna shifts beside me, peering out her own window, and for a while neither of us speaks. The carriage wheels crunch softly over gravel, the horses snort now and then, and the whole world seems to slow down.
Then she says, quietly but pointedly,
“You’re really falling for him, aren’t you? Lucian, I mean.”
“What?” I turn to her, startled. “No, I’m not!”
She raises one eyebrow.
“I mean—I’m not,” I insist, even as my cheeks warm. “He’s just… it’s just that…”
I trail off, searching for words that don’t sound ridiculous even to my own ears.
“It’s just that he makes me feel like no other man ever has,” I finally admit. “I mean—he really seems to care about me. He’s so protective.”
“Try possessive,” Hanna says dryly.
“That too,” I concede. “But not in a bad way. He just wants to keep me safe.”
“And keep you here,” Hanna says. “In this fucked-up world.”
I gesture out the window.
“Does this look fucked-up to you?”
She hesitates, then sighs.
“Well… no. This is actually kind of nice.”
