“That night, it was the worst it had ever been. And I—I had to answer.” I fall into his arms, the words torn from me through sobs. “I remember the storm. The way the lightning split the sky, the thunder shaking the stone. I remember—” My breath breaks.
He cradles my head, fingers weaving through my hair. “Shh. I’m here, Mira. I am here. Whatever happened—whatever has changed—I am here.”
I bury myself against his chest. Long minutes pass in ruptured breaths and steady hands.
“I don’t know what happened, Vale,” I whisper. “I don’t know…” My palm presses to his chest, slick with tears, and he holds me until the terror loosens its grip—just enough.
It takes time, but eventually I compose myself enough to recount the night. I shiver as I relive the way the storm wailed outside, the call ringing louder than the tempest. My hands clutch him as I speak of the lock falling to my touch—its enchantment yielding before it ever recognized our oath. All of it.
Silence settles between us.
Then, finally, I speak the truth that first ignited this fear.
“During the wedding… during the attack… Vale, I wasn’t just knocked back. I wasn’t just afraid. I felt the knife.”
My fingers clutch the place again—the same spot the torn fabric revealed. Unbroken skin. No mark.
“I saw it,” he says, breaking. A tear escapes him, betraying centuries of composure. “I was watching you. Gods, Mira—you were beautiful. And when it happened, I saw it. I couldn’t get to you fast enough. I saw the blade—” His voice collapses. In all his years, I doubt he has ever wept as he does now. Not like this.
Here, in the quiet aftermath of the impossible, we finally understand what we almost lost.
Together.
“Vale.” There’s a gentle strength in my voice as I brush his cheek, his own fortitude lifting as I drape my hands behind his neck, holding us together. My fingers caress the hair at his nape—grounding, sincere. It’s important that he hears what I say next. “That isn’t all I have felt.”
We inhale in sync, eyes wet yet searching each other’s faces. I see the slight tremble of his lips, and I press on.
“Vale, I came back. It felt like I died—and maybe I did—but I came back. I felt you there. Your pain, your love, all of it. I came back. I grabbed onto your voice and I?—”
He buries his face against my shoulder, and for once, I hold him.
“I don’t say that just to soothe you,” I continue softly, my hands steady at his back. “And more than that…” He lifts his head, eyes searching, desperate for something that might make sense of it all. “I can’t explain it. Just like I couldn’t understand everything leading up to it, but…” I search not my memory, but my very soul. “Something in me changed. I know that. And yet, I feel like part of it has always been in me. It’s who I am—and it isn’t.”
I feel his pounding heart begin to ease beneath my palm. The thin sheet between us shifts as his hands move at my back, slow and reassuring. A quiet proof that he is still here. With me.
“I’ve felt it too,” he admits. “It is still you—and yet… not.”
We share a fragile smile at the inadequacy of words that somehow hold so much truth.
He exhales and draws me tightly into his chest. I allow myself to sink into his hold as he eases back into the bed, bringing me with him, the fear slowly draining from our bodies.
I rest my head against his chest, my palm pressed flat against his heart, only the talisman between the two. His fingers wander aimlessly across my skin—simple, intimate, irrevocably changed by what we’ve shared tonight.
“Things will never be the same, will they?” I ask quietly in the dying firelight.
“Whatever fate may hold for us,” he kisses my brow, “sameness was never going to be it, little flame.”
I smile as a fresh sting gathers behind my eyes—not fear now, but love. Love fierce enough to make us fight for every tomorrow.
“I love you, Vale,” I whisper.
“I love you, my flame.”
I feel the last of the tightly bound tension ease as he finally settles.
No matter what has changed—no matter how I have changed—love is the reason.
That is the truth that matters above all others.
