Ace is waiting there. He is dressed, too, in greater finery than at our greeting just hours ago. His smile dazzles, and I realize then how handsome he is—torchlight flickering across his black hair, still tousled in a way I am beginning to understand must be his signature roguish charm.
“M’lady,” he greets me, sweeping once more into a pronounced bow. Only slightly less flourish than the first. “A vision from the forest itself. If you don’t set every heart in that hall aflame, then Caerhollan has grown dull indeed.”
Despite the nerves prickling at me, a laugh escapes. He grins wider, triumphant.
The door behind us opens and Vale enters. His stride is brisk, heavy with the weight of duty—but he stops dead in his tracks the moment his eyes find me. The silence thickens. My breath catches under the sharpness of his gaze, and I feel the blush bloom across my skin.
Ace claps his hands, grinning as if he’s been waiting for it. “Well then, my king, I’ll not stand in the way of destiny. Allow me the honor of escorting our lady Soria inside while you… collect yourself.”
Soria shakes her head fondly but allows Ace to offer his arm. Their laughter fades as the doors close behind them, leaving me and Vale in the hush of the chamber.
He comes closer, pride alive in his eyes. “We’ve not had a mortal in these halls in longer than most here can remember. But we’ve also not had someone who proved themselves so fierce when it matters most. Little flame—you are a force. Don’t you allow yourself to forget that for a single moment.”
His gaze holds me fast, burning and steady. “But if you do, I am here at your side. You are not alone. Not tonight. Not ever.”
He extends his arm, overly formal, as though to anchor me in ceremony even as the man beneath longs to pull me closer. I set my hand against him, steeling myself with a long breath, raising my chin high. He feels strong beside me, solid. Be it the work of the healers after we arrived or merely the commanding presence duty demands, it fortifies me nonetheless.
“A force,” I whisper back, willing myself to believe it.
And together, we turn toward the banquet hall.
The great hall erupts with light and sound the moment the doors open. Candles blaze in heavy wrought-iron chandeliers overhead, their flames mirrored in polished goblets and gilded dishes. Music swells, laughter carries, the scents of roasted meats and spiced wine mingle thick in the air. It rivals even the grandest celebration ever seen in my quiet village a hundred times over. Revelers fill the crowded space, and I can’t help but wonder just how many call this palace their home.
Vale guides me forward, every step steady, until we reach the long table set above the crowd. My awareness blurs, the world reduced to brightness and sound, a thousand eyes fixed upon me. He takes my hand in his, his grip warm and certain. I barely notice he is speaking—his voice carrying into the rafters—until the hall shifts. A ripple of sound. Then clapping, cheers, and the thunder of voices breaking over us like a tide.
Heat flushes across my cheeks, but I force a smile, faint at first, then truer when Vale’s hand tightens around mine. He lifts it high, a gesture of triumph, of claim, and the hall roars its approval.
From there, the night unravels into fragments. Faces pressing close, mouths forming words I cannot always hold. Praise offered with polished bows, some with whispered gratitude—an older woman leaning close as she refills my goblet, her voice trembling, “You brought him back to us. My thanks, forever.” Others are less kind: a sneer caught at the edge of the crowd, eyes that linger too long, questioning. I feel the old wounds I once thought healed sting with fresh ire.
Ace sits nearby, his grin quick as a blade, diverting the over-eager with jokes and charm. “Careful, m’lady,” he murmurs, his eyes alight with mischief. “If you look too dazzling, half the court will forget we’re here for him.” The jest pulls laughter from me when I most need it. Is this what friendship feels like?
On Vale’s far side, Odrin remains watchful, every bit the soldier even in feast. Soria, radiant in her finery, lends me steadiness each time her eyes meet mine across the table, a quiet nod of assurance when the noise swells too large. And in the shifting edges of the hall, I glimpse Daerin—only another servant to most, but I catch the glint of his eyes before he vanishes into the crowd.
It is too much. Too bright. Too loud. I worry I may lose myself in the dizzying overwhelm of the night. Yet every hidden brush of Vale’s hand beneath the table anchors me—his thumb across my knuckles, the faint press of his knee to mine, small reminders that I am not adrift in this sea of faces. If in the cottage I was drawn to him, I now find us tethered as I weather this storm. The gentle sensation of his touch against my skin ignites something in me louder than the sea of merriment around us.
At last the meal stretches into dancing and revels, the music rising, laughter chasing through vaulted stone. My head swims, each cheer and clap still ringing in my ears even as Vale rises and leads me from the table. The great hall recedes, the voices echoing long after the doors shut behind us.
Even in the hush of the palace, they linger—the echoes of applause, of whispers, of eyes I can still feel upon me. Only our footsteps remain, steady and unhurried, as we make our way through the palace. I still cannot make sense of the place. From grand halls to quiet chambers, all connected through a maze of halls, I begin to wonder if it ever ends.
The further we get from the banquet hall, the closer we draw the to end of the night, the more dearly I find myself leaning into the man at my side.
The echoes of the banquet still ring in my ears long after the lastcheer has faded, as if the voices of the hall cling to me. Even here, in the quiet of the royal wing, the sound presses close. My breath catches when Vale opens the door to my chamber, guiding me just inside.
I turn to him, the weight of the night spilling out in a whisper. “It won’t always be like that… will it?”
He remains in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame, watching me with a steadiness that is almost unbearable. “Mira,” his voice is low, almost reverent. “You were extraordinary. How could anyone not adore you?”
I try to hold to his words, but the ache finds me anyway. “Not all adored me. There were sneers. Harsh glances. I saw them.” Overwhelm and fear come to a head inside my mind.
His eyes harden, the gentleness shadowed by steel. “Some will not take kindly to seeing a mortal at my side. There were wars, long ago, that sundered our worlds. Scars like that do not fade quickly.” He draws a breath, his voice roughening with something darker. “But hear me, little flame—if any dare turn their venom upon you, even in whispers, they will find my sword at their throat. I would see the hall burn before I let harm touch you.”
The edge in him both unsettles and steadies me, a fire burning not just for duty, but for me. The growing desire between us has been palpable, and so it would seem the depths of all that I have felt are matched by this own blazing heart.
At last he moves, closing the space between us. His hand rises, brushing against my cheek, though no tears have fallen, as if he can banish sorrow before it takes root. The tenderness in his touch unravels me, and I give up trying to resist it any longer. Our time together suddenly more precious, more dire.
He pauses a moment, looking me in the eye. Passion stilled if only for a moment to ensure I am here with him. The old hurts and new fears fall like chains now unshackled by the tenderness I see in those eyes. If I must face the uncertainty ahead, I will no longer fight against that which feels most true.
He gathers me into his arms, holding me against him, his breath warm where it stirs my hair. He inhales deeply, as if to drink me in, as though the very act of holding me eases something in him.
