I trace the edge of his jaw, still flushed from the chase. “Then I’ll have to make sure you hear it more often.”
His reply comes in a kiss that is all warmth and mirth and unspoken promise—the kind that reminds me that even kings can crave something as simple as joy.
When he finally draws back, I am breathless from more than just the run. “You’ll ruin your reputation if anyone sees you smiling like that,” I tease, brushing a lock of hair from his brow.
He feigns offense. “I’ve endured worse. I am told I’m terrifying when I smile.”
“Only to your council,” I say, laughing softly. “The rest of us might find it… devastating.”
“Devastating?” he echoes, the smirk returning. “Should I take that as encouragement to practice?”
“By all means,” I say, lifting my chin in mock challenge. “Though I should warn you—I’m not easily impressed.”
He tilts his head, eyes glinting with mischief. “A dangerous claim, little flame.”
Then—before I can retort—he kisses me again, quick and stolen, the sort of kiss that leaves a woman grinning through her protest.
“You see?” he murmurs, voice low against my ear. “Evidence would suggest otherwise.”
I swat lightly at his chest. “You’re insufferable.”
“Ah, but happy.” His grin softens into something that isn’t just laughter but peace—rare and startlingly tender.
The sound of distant footsteps reaches us then, echoing faintly down the corridor. Vale’s expression flickers, only for a breath, as if remembering where he is meant to be. But instead of retreating, he leans forward once more and whispers,
“Let them wait just a moment longer.”
He kisses me again—slower this time, but no less full of light. And for that heartbeat between duty and desire, between laughter and legend, the world feels almost merciful.
Chapter Eighteen
Strolling the halls in search of Ace, I can’t help noticing how light I feel.
So unlike the way I once followed a breeze through the forest—unhurried, attentive—I now glide through unfamiliar corridors, carried by a joy that feels larger than solitude ever allowed.
A smile still curves my mouth; my cheeks ache faintly from it. I don’t think I have ever smiled so much.
Perhaps this joy has always lived somewhere inside me. But among Vale and Ace, it is set ablaze. The solemn hush of the portrait gallery lingers as I begin to gather myself.
I hum the ballad Ace sang in part as I draw smooth, steady strokes through my tousled hair.
The tune follows me all evening—soft as a memory, heavy as a vow.
I find Ace precisely where I expect him: just beyond the stables, the fading sun pooling gold across his shoulders as he strums his lute. The same melody I heard in the portrait hall drifts through the air, its notes as familiar as his laughter in the library.
“Play it for me?” I ask, not wishing to break the quiet. The flush on my cheeks from the stolen moment with Vale lingers, warmth meeting the chill of dusk.
Ace looks up, one brow arched. “’Tis a tale of fate and woe, dear friend. Are you sure you wish to bear it all?”
“Yes,” I say, certain. Knowing more—of this place, of him—is the closest I can come to understanding the man who carries its crown and the way my heart keeps turning toward him.
He sighs, but his smile softens. “Very well then.”
He plays.
The Ballad of Steel and Flame
Stenric wed a snowdrop fair,
