In the days since, we moved on to the border where we found a company of Korvath’s soldiers. We held the line at first light yesterday. Korvath’s banners burned before noon. Thatshould bring relief. Instead, it has given my thoughts too much room to wander. The men cheered when the smoke cleared, but I found myself unable to join them.
Instead, I thought of you, and of hands that know how to coax hope from wounded soil. I wondered what you would do with a place like this.
Oftentimes, my thoughts wander and betray my vigilance. Very unbecoming of a king, but I shall make the admission to you:
I wake sometimes with your name already on my tongue, after dreaming of running my fingers through your soft hair and the way my feathers tremble at your touch.
I am returning soon, and there is so much I want to say when I see you again. Things I have no courage for on paper. Things that belong to you alone, not to couriers and seals.
If fate is kind, I will say them to you myself before the next full moon.
Until then, know this: there is not a step I take that does not lean toward you.
I remain yours, more than duty allows me to confess,
Val-Theris
Dearest Val-Theris,
The people watch the gates more closely. They speak your name with something like faith, though I wish they would not place such a fragile thing in the hands of war. I fear my people are turning from their nature to reject such things. I have heard talk that what able-bodied men of Lunareth remain woulddefend Solmiris despite everything, because they continue to believe in you.
In the meantime, I try to be what they need. But when night comes and the lanterns dim, I allow myself the selfishness of imagining your return, and how warm my heart will be in your embrace.
I imagine your wings catching the light at the gates. I imagine the sound of your voice before I see your face. Sometimes I imagine nothing more than the weight of your presence nearby, enough to remind me that I am not alone.
Come back to me safely. That is all I ask. Should you return in the night after sleep has taken me, I beg you—wake me with the touch of your lips against mine.
Always,
Jesenia
TWENTY-TWO
The candles had burned low,pools of wax collecting at their bases. Jesenia sat curled in Val-Theris’s private library, the same room that still smelled faintly of ink and sandalwood. For weeks she had come here every night, reading the histories he loved, surrounding herself with the ghosts of his voice and his handwriting.
Outside, the storm murmured against the stained-glass windows. She turned another page, the sound of parchment soft in the hush—then froze.
A floorboard creaked.
Jesenia’s heart stuttered. The guards were never allowed this deep into the king’s private wing. She glanced toward the shelves and, before thinking, gripped a heavy book in both hands. The moment another shadow slipped through the aisles, she swung.
A pale hand caught the spine in midair.
“Peace, my fierce scholar,” Val-Theris said, laughing under his breath. “I leave for a few weeks and you arm yourself with literature. I thought you were a pacifist?”
Relief broke into laughter before she could stop it. The book slipped from her fingers and thudded softly to the carpet.
“I thought you would be at the border still,” she said breathlessly before throwing herself into his warm, waiting arms.
He smiled—tired and beautiful. “I needed to see you before I had to be king again.”
His kiss came hard and sudden, all the days of separation collapsing into a single heartbeat. Her hands tangled in his sweat-damp hair; his wings trembled open, enclosing her in warmth and the scent of him.
When they parted, he leaned his forehead against hers. “Korvath’s soldiers are retreating for now,” he murmured, voice low and rough.
Jesenia touched his cheek, tracing the faint bruise along his jaw. “You look like a man who has fought the sun itself.”
He kissed her once more, softer this time, lingering. “I cannot stay long. I have much to do. But I could not bear another moment without seeing you.”
