It was a pit she could not climb out of. Her thoughts repeated themselves in endless circles, never leading to a solution. Finally, she stopped her pacing, pressed her palm to the cold wall, and closed her eyes, desperate for a moment of peace.
None came.
Sighing, she gave up, grabbed a thick woolen shawl from the bed, and stalked toward the door. To go where, she had no idea. She yanked it open and froze.
Kael was there. He leaned against the wall opposite her door, arms folded, ankle propped casually over the other, as if he’d been waiting for her to emerge all along. The torch above his head was nearly spent, bathing his face in ochre. The rest of him was lost to shadow, a mythic creature half-conjured by the fire and half by her own expectation.
They looked at each other in silence. As always, he looked so composed, his beauty—and there really was no other word for it—not dampened a bit by the patched-up clothing he wore. The same could not apply to her, with her messy braid sagging over her shoulder, oversized shirt, tucked under the red-and-blue plaid shawl knotted at her throat.
She opened her mouth to say something—what, she didn’t know. He beat her to it.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Kael’s voice was low, but it filled the corridor like a river at flood, impossible to ignore.
“No. The meeting was rather intense. Especially with Maven suggesting I'd make a lovely parcel for the royal courier service. Nothing says 'thinking of you’ like your daughter's corpse.”
He nodded, a hint of amusement breaking through his concern. “War councils tend to linger.”
Alina moved closer, until they were only a few feet apart. She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging herself for warmth. “How long have you been standing there? Don’t tell me you’re my new door ornament.”
He shrugged, chin dropping. “Long enough to calculate the exact number of times you'd pace that floor before giving up.”
There was a weight to that, as if he'd predicted not just her restlessness, but her need for company, for witness.
She shifted her weight, pleasantly surprised at the implication. “You could have knocked.”
He smiled, a little ruefully. “And say what? 'Pardon me, Princess, just checking if insomnia is contagious’?”
She snorted, then, surprising herself with the sound. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”
He considered that, then straightened, pushing off the wall with a smoothness that reminded her of a panther uncoiling to stalk. He crossed the space between them in two steps. “Because of all the usual reasons,” he said, “and maybe one more.”
He waited, giving her the option to retreat, to dismiss him or return to her solitude.
Instead, Alina met his gaze, let her shield drop and scraped together her courage. “Will you… come inside?” The words felt thick, as if they’d never graced her tongue before.
He said nothing, eyes blazing, and followed her into the tiny guest chamber.
It was even smaller with him inside. Kael surveyed the space with a glance—the single cot, the battered table, the washstand, and candle stub—then seated himself on the edge of the bed, back to the wall. He left her the other half, a clear invitation, and watched as she hesitated on the threshold before giving in and perching beside him.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the slow, twin rhythm of their breathing and the faint hiss of melting wax.
Alina cleared her throat, then drew up her knees, wrapping the shawl tighter. “Why does Maven hate me?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, I know why…but why does he hate me so much more than the others do?”
Kael raked a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. “He’s afraid. Fear makes people sharp, and sometimes cruel.”
She stared down at her knees. “But what if he’s right? What if my being here does get people killed? I never asked to be a part of this. I never wanted to fight anyone. I don’t even know what I am, let alone what I’m supposed to become.”
Kael let her words hang in the air, then answered without rush. “That’s more honest than most leaders I’ve known.”
She looked at him, and found his golden gaze on her. She searched his face for irony. There was none.
He went on. “Do you want to hear a secret?”
She blinked,then nodded.
“My first winter here, I was asked to lead a raid. I was seventeen. I’d only ever fought in drills, never for real. The people we went after were better trained, better armed. We lost the fight, and two good men with it. I ran, at the end. I left the others, and I hid in a ditch until it was over.”
He stopped, letting the admission settle between them.
