And yet I know the lengths he would go if I called him to act.
I feel the tension in him, that quiet battle he fights—not stepping in. Trusting me instead. Giving me space, time.
That may be one of the greatest acts of love he offers: the steadiness not of a rescuer, but of a witness who sees me in my strength and makes room for it. Who believes in it.
It’s all the more natural to rise when I’m not bracing to protect myself.
All the times I had to be strong to survive, it wasn’t a choice. It was a sentence. But now… now I have a man who loves me, a family within reach, and a reason greater than fear to keep moving forward.
I have a place to land when I’ve been strong too long. I couldn’t face this all without them.
I glance over my shoulder.
Soria and Ace ride just behind us, the rear guard trailing further still. Ace flips a coin between his fingers—a signal that he’s both alert and unbothered. Saving his energy for the lute strapped to his back, no doubt. When the rest of us tire, he’ll revive us with music. He always does.
Soria catches my gaze and tilts her head in that familiar way—Do you need anything?
More sister than servant. I offer her a quiet smile and a small shake of my head.No. I’m alright.
Then I look forward.
Guards lead the way, their gestures subtle as they signal to sentinels stationed among the hills. The path ahead winds through cliffs and valleys, treacherous in its beauty. But my gaze stays fixed on the horizon.
I do not fear failing. I fear what I have to lose. I steady my breath. Lift my chin.
I am going home.
Danger may wait for us—but that only sharpens my resolve. At Vale’s side, I do not walk as a girl uncertain of her place. I ride as a queen of this realm. A protector.
And I will not fail them.
The heavy cloak draped over my shoulders is a beautiful counterbalance to what weighs on me internally. I’m grateful for its warmth, even as the sun on my face begins to thaw me. The season passes differently this high in the mountains.
Shouldering Sylara’s legacy has become more of an honor than a burden.
When Soria wove the piece in place—too subtle to be called a tiara—braiding my hair and pinning it with care, I could almost feel Sylara watching. That same tender expression from the more intimate family portraits, smiling at me as I take up her mantle.
I’ve never had a legacy to call my own. Until now.
I snap myself out of the solemn haze, fearing I might disappear into it if I don’t do something rash.
“Alright, Ace. Play us a song. I know you’ve been waiting for one of us to ask.”
He beams, wasting no time before launching into a jaunty tune that has us laughing in moments—the sound of joy far more my aim than the nonsense of his lyrics.
We carry on like that: songs and stories, until Caerhollan rises into view at last.
We stop on the hillside and breathe it in.
Soon, we’ll carry on again—straight to the front gates and into the heart of the Hold.
“You’re ready for this, flame,” Vale says.
His words remind me how much of this next moment rests on me.
A vision of regal grace—this arrival will not be marred the way my walk down the aisle was. The people need to see their queen: strong and beautiful.
And our enemies—those who conspire in shadow—they need to see it even more.
