“Don’t let the bow fool you,” Vale says dryly, though the fondness beneath his tone is plain. “He thrives on spectacle. If you laugh, he’ll only grow worse.”
“Then it seems I’ve doomed myself already,” I murmur, still smiling.
Ace’s grin widens, brighter still, as if I’ve just given him leave to continue forever.
Vale takes my hands in his now, eyes focusing on me.
“These are my most trusted inner circle. Along with Soria, who I trust with you more than any other, they are those you can turn to if ever you need anything. Ever.”
With a nod their way, the others disperse, warm smiles a reminder that they remain my allies. A foreigner in this palace, I need all I can get.
Four faces among a sea of ever-moving parts. I have barely seen much of the castle in my short time here, but already it’s overwhelming—the scale of it, the polish, the way everything feels so ordered and distant from the life I had only days ago.
I turn inward to Vale—his broad frame my sanctuary in a world that feels as though it might spin off its axis at any moment.
Now alone, in another stolen moment, he pulls me close. I close my eyes and rest against him, his warmth a blanket I want to wrap myself in.
“As much as I want you safe, I don’t ever want you to feel uneasy here. Among the few I trust implicitly with you, there are also a few places that can provide you comfort. Unfortunately, I have much to attend to—diplomacy, threats, the very peace of Caerhollan. It rests on my shoulders.
Any time you need me, I am here. Do not ever hesitate. But come—let me show you where you can claim something all your own.”
I begin to notice my own shakiness by the contrast I feel as I start to settle near him. I had gone months without crossing paths with another soul, yet I am now faced with an ever-expanding world.
Coming off the meeting room where he made introductions, he points down a narrow passageway.
“There’s an alcove there. Not large enough to serve any purpose other than a place for me to step away from it all when I need to. Some days the meetings never end. In times of war, it feels like the one place I can breathe. In times of peace, it’s where I remind myself what I’m working toward each day.”
The smile on his face cannot hide the weight of all the years he carries. I don’t draw attention to it. His scars are his to show when he wants to—his choice alone. It’s a quiet comfort knowing even the mighty warrior needs respite from time to time. I find myself ever so slightly less out of place in this kinship.
He leads me through the palace. He doesn’t bother explaining all the rooms as we pass—just vague comments here and there—but a select few he makes sure I have a chance to know.
We pass a hall lined with carved doors, each marked with discreet sigils. When Vale slows before one, my heart sinks—it’s my chamberdoor. I think he means to part from me here, leaving me to the quiet of a room that still feels foreign.
But he moves on, pausing only to nod at the guard posted between my door and another just beyond. His. Realization strikes sharp and hot: our chambers lie side by side, divided only by a single watchman. My breath catches, though Vale betrays nothing beyond calm assurance.
He leads me farther to a tall, iron-bound door. When he pushes it open, light spills in radiant color across the stone floor.
Tall panes of stained glass stretch upward as though to catch the heavens, casting their rainbow down the length of the gallery. Every step sets the light shifting, alive and strange against the cold mountain stone. On the opposite side, narrow windows overlook the sheer slope below, stark and gray in contrast.
“The Overlook Gallery,” Vale says. “It was one of my favorite places when I was young. I would roam these halls wild and free.” His voice falters, a pause as though memory presses against him. “When the palace filled after the Fade, the gallery was closed. It became a place apart, meant only for us, my family and alike.” He glances toward me, something gentler easing into his tone. “But now it’s yours as well. Come here whenever you wish.”
The Fade. So much left unsaid. Even in his steadiness, I feel the ache in what he withholds.
We linger in the kaleidoscope of light before Vale guides me on to a narrow stair at the gallery’s end. The air grows cooler as we descend, the stone darker, torchlight sparse. The steps twist down until we reach a small foyer: plain stone walls, a hearth glowing faintly, and a scattering of chairs that invite pause.
As we leave the secluded chamber, a single guard stands at the doorway beyond, barring the passage that leads into the busier wings based on the cacophony of voices just beyond. The guard is unassuming at first glance, but there’s something about him—stillness sharpened into readiness—that makes me certain nothing will pass him unnoticed.
Vale gives a nod, and the man steps aside. No questions, no words. Only a watchfulness that lingers, marking the boundary between the sanctuary behind us and the palace beyond.
“This space is ours,” Vale says, gesturing lightly to the hearth and chairs. “Few come this way. If you ever need quiet, you’ll find it here.”
Beyond the guarded threshold, the palace sounds soften—the murmur of voices, the faint ring of footsteps. Then the passage opens, and we step into a vast chamber.
Despite the array of directions left open to venture, Vale moves with purpose to a set of heavy doors just off the private room. Heaving them open, a stillness awaits as he leads me onward.
Shelves stretch out in endless rows, rising like pillars into shadowed heights. Shafts of light fall from windows set high above, striping the worn wood and leather spines. Dust motes turn lazily in their beams, as though time itself slows here.
“The library,” Vale says, his voice lowered with reverence. “It’s open to all. Yet most within these walls have grown tired of its pages. Centuries dull even wisdom. But not yet for you.” His eyes hold mine. “Here, Mira, you will have quiet. Solitude. Sanctuary. And if you seek it, knowledge.”
