Ace grins. “Oh, we were. Still are, some of us.”
That laughter fades as I turn toward the last painting.
“That is the final one with Grandfather,” Ace says. “Just before he abdicated to Thalen.”
Ever the warrior, Stenric stands tall—but grief has hollowed his eyes. Beside him, Vale bears the stiff posture of duty already settling on his shoulders. At his side, a wisp of a girl with sunlit auburn hair and eyes green as the valley itself.
“Vale’s sister…” I breathe, reaching out but stopping short of the canvas.
“Aurienne,” Ace says softly. “She was the beacon of hope when we needed one most. Too bright, maybe, for a world gone dim. She was also a sign of how much we lost. For a time she seemed as frail as our kingdoms were after so much heartache. She’s well now—by the southern shore with her husband. A scholar, of all things. The sea air suits her.”
His voice shifts again—lighter, teasing, as though refusing to linger on sorrow. “You know, if we stay here much longer, I’ll end up weeping in front of my own ancestors. And that would be quite the scandal.”
I smile faintly. “I wouldn’t want to endanger the crown.”
He presses a hand to his heart. “You wound me, my lady. Come, then—let me show you where we cause the most trouble. If you’re to know Caerhollan, you ought to see the places we are explicitly told to avoid.”
I arch a brow, feigning caution. “This doesn’t end with me in the dungeon, does it?”
“Only if we get caught.” His grin is pure mischief as he offershis arm. “And between you and me, I’ve always been remarkably fast when fleeing consequences.”
Laughter escapes before I can stop it, echoing down the marble corridor. The sound startles me—too alive for these halls—and I don’t try to swallow it. We disappear toward the armory, where history gives way to living joy.
We tumble into the hall with an unholy racket, the clang of steel and our laughter chasing each other through the air.
Ace clutches dramatically at his side, staggering backward as though struck by fate itself. “That very well may leave a mark, m’lady!”
“You told me to strike as hard as I could!”
“I did, and I’m positively delighted to survive it.” He groans theatrically, straightening with a wince. “I should know you are a force to be reckoned with. Remind me never to test you again—unless there’s proper padding and a healer on standby.”
Our laughter echoes through the vaulted corridor—real, reckless, unrestrained. It feels like sunlight breaking through stone.
The merriment is cut short at the sound of a heavy door swinging open.
Ace freezes mid-bow. I half-expect a reprimand, but the pit in my stomach dissolves the instant I see who emerges.
Vale stands there, arms crossed, an unreadable look shadowing the curve of his mouth. Not anger—curiosity. Amusement, even.
“How am I supposed to get anything done with you two stirring up chaos outside my council chamber?”
I blink, realizing too late that we’ve wandered right up to the door. “We didn’t mean to?—”
He moves toward me in long, sure strides that steal the rest of my breath. In one motion I am in his arms, skirts catching air as he spins me, my laughter reborn in a startled gasp.
“Vale!” I squeal, half scolding, half bliss.
He sets me down gently, glancing both ways down the hall as though the walls themselves might tattle.
“Ace,” he says without looking away from me, “I may have to steal her for a moment.”
“By all means, my king.” Ace’s grin is nothing short of conspiratorial. “I’ll be just outside—licking my wounds and my pride.”
Vale takes my hand, already leading me down the corridor. We run, laughing under our breath like children escaping their tutors, until he pulls me into the small alcove I remember from my first day in the High Hold—the one where the light always seems to find us.
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. His lips meet mine, and the laughter that carries us here melts into something softer, slower. He draws me close, his forehead resting against mine, his breath still uneven from the run.
“Your laughter,” he murmurs, smiling against my mouth, “is precisely what I need.”
