Then shielding myself with brevity, “It’s overwhelming. Being here.”
Ever an outsider, I’m learning how often my steps turn toward Vale, as if nearness might make a place feel less foreign.
Ace leans forward suddenly, seizing a rolled parchment as though it were a hilted sword.
“Then dare I say, we face it head on!” He leaps to his feet in mock triumph, the scroll raised high. “Ready the steed! I’ll strike down any shadow that dares disturb your sleep. A single stroke—” he brandishes the parchment, nearly toppling an ink pot “—and the lady shall rest untroubled!”
I laugh despite myself, shaking my head at his dramatics. Yet beneath the jest, the promise is there yet again. Vale’s vow had been born of fire and fury, a king who would raze the world rather than see me harmed. Ace’s, though wrapped in exaggeration, carries its own weight.
Two different blades, but both drawn for me.
Warmth envelopes me, a safety from others that is both new and familiar. Something my heart always longed for but never held. Until now.
It’s easy. Here in the library with Ace, in the stolen moments withVale, even in the quiet routines I’m learning with Soria—life feels bearable again.
For all the ways my world has upended, they help make sense of it again.
There is comfort in the scrape of parchment beneath my fingers as Ace strums softly on his lute. The air smells faintly of vellum and dust, sunlight spilling in narrow columns through high arched windows, catching in the motes that drift lazily above us. For once, peace feels within reach.
Well—almost peace.
Ace is far too good at keeping me entertained.
“So,” he begins, a wicked grin tugging at his mouth, “is our tall, dark, and brooding king making sure you’re being properly looked after, or must I have words with him? He may carry a crown, but I’ve no qualms about standing up to him if need be.”
“Yes, my valiant defender,” I say with a smile, though the words sit heavier than I mean them to. “Though duty seems to press on him more and each day.”
The shape of that duty fills the space he leaves behind when he is gone. The distance reminds me, quietly, that my world is not the same without him in it. Perhaps it is because everything shifts when he is near—like stepping into warm, brilliant daylight after years spent in shadow.
“He’s a good man,” Ace says, the humor softening into something almost reverent. “A great one, really. He never wanted this—but when fate put him in line for the crown…” His gaze drifts, unfocused, as if watching something that lives only in memory. “We were boys before the Fade—two fools chasing mischief through the city. The years that followed would have changed anyone. But knowing he’d one day have to lead what was left of the world after it burned?” A slow shake of his head. “He carries that weight for them. For the ones who remained.”
I nod, quiet. Of course his duties are important—who was I to be selfish with the time of a king?
“Mira, make no mistake.” Ace leans in, shedding the performer’s lilt for something steady and certain. “Duty may call. Prophecy may whisper. But I see him with you. I hear how he speaks your name.” Hiswords wrap around me like warmth—until the turn comes. “Most of the court think they know what’s proper for their king. Few ever ask what he wants. Fewer still will forgive him for wanting you.”
The words land harsh and cold. A warning.
Ice seems to steel my spine, and I feel a tremor—subtle, but there. A chill that doesn’t belong to the air. It comes from deep within the stacks, a pulse beneath the marble floors. The kind of stillness that hums before a storm.
I turn slightly, glancing toward the far end of the library where the torches are burning lower. That strange, breathless dark calls to me again, the way the sea calls the shore. Steady, unrelenting. Safety and threat, bound together in one impossible tether.
Then comes the sound of boots on stone—measured, deliberate.
A messenger bows low. “My lady, His Majesty requests your presence.”
Relief sweeps through me like the break of a wave. Whatever is stirring in the depths can wait. The promise of Vale’s voice—his presence—is enough to pull me back to shore.
That return to him was delayed only briefly. Soria is waiting in my chamber, greeting me with that knowing smile that says she’d already been told. The garments laid out upon the bed steals the air from my lungs—riding clothes, not silk or lace. The supple leather of the trousers finer than any I’d worn before, deep amber and soft as dusk beneath my fingers. The linen shirt, crisp and cool, paired with a fitted jacket whose embossing take shape faintly in the low light. Opulent, yes—but somehow utterly me.
As Soria braids the top of my hair, leaving the rest loose down my back, she hums quietly, her hands deft and sure. When she steps back, I barely recognize the woman in the mirror. No forced smile or mental guard. No pretense. Just someone who belongs.
By the time I reach Vale in the vaulted corridor that opens onto the western gate, excitement has already taken hold. Midday light pours through the open archway, glinting off the stone like molten gold. The scent of the mountain’s breath—pine and earth and wind—rush in through the gate.
Vale stands waiting near the stables, sunlight tracing the edges of his form. The near-black leather of his coat catches the light like tempered metal, the sword at his hip gleaming beside him—a quiet reminder of the vow he’d sworn in the dark, fierce as fire and absolute.
For a heartbeat, Ace’s mock chivalry in the library flickers through my mind, his parchment brandished like a blade. Two promises, worlds apart. One wrapped in laughter. One sharp enough to draw blood.
Vale turns at the sound of my steps, the faintest curve breaking through his solemn composure.
