The hall quiets again.
“You have walked into our fires and refused to flinch,” I say. “You have questioned us when we were blind. You have mended what we did not know was broken. You have reminded us that we fight not for crowns or titles—but for people. For family. For a future worth burning for.”
Heat swells in my chest.
Not the wild, devouring kind.
The steady kind.
The hearth-fire kind.
Alaric leans forward, elbow on the table, eyes bright. “You must remember,” he calls up to me, voice ringing clear through the hall, “you are not alone, Thorne. You always have us, brother.”
A murmur rises, threads through the hall—agreement, support, the kind of loyalty that is chosen, not demanded.
My throat tightens.
I have no words for a moment.
And then—warm fingers slide between mine.
“And me,” Delia says quietly, stepping forward so she’s just a pace ahead of me, standing where everyone can see her. She lifts her chin, eyes flashing in the firelight. “Especially me.”
That more than anything sets my world on fire.
She turns her face up to mine, and for a heartbeat the hall disappears. The Great Flame dims. The noise fades to nothing.
There is only this woman.
This human who walked into my infernos and called me back to myself. Who held my heart—literally—in her hands and refused to let it burn out. Who walked into my people’s grief and started reorganizing my healers before I’d even finished sulking.
Nightfall is a realm of dreams.
I never dared think I deserved one.
“Stay with me,” she whispers under her breath, so soft only I can hear.
Always, I think, even before I answer.
“Always,” I murmur back, pressing my forehead briefly to hers before straightening.
I turn once more to my people.
“To the miners of The Ember Vein,” I call, raising my goblet high. “To their families. To the Dreamwrights and the healers. To the soldiers who held the line. To the Lords of Nightfall and the women we are entirely unworthy of.”
That earns a cheer.
“And to the fallen,” I add, voice steady but low. “May their fire burn on in every dream we protect.”
I tip my goblet to the Great Flame.
It roars in answer, leaping high, sending a shower of harmless sparks raining toward the ceiling like a storm of stars.
The hall erupts—cheers, shouts, the slam of cups, and the thud of fists on tables. Music surges again—a wild, pulsing rhythm that sets feet tapping and hips swaying.
Delia leans into my side, her head resting briefly against my shoulder.
“Did you just publicly admit you’re not a lone, broody terror of the realm anymore?” she teases softly.
