Almost.
Because the nights belong to something else.
Even when I sleep in Vale’s arms, his warmth steady against my back, dreams find me. They come like storms—heat and shadow and half-remembered voices. I wake with my heart racing and his hand at my cheek, whispering comforts I can barely hear.
By day I learn to smile again.
By night, the dark learns my name.
I wake gasping, the remnants of another dream clawing at my throat. The world is half-light and heartbeat—the fire in the hearth long dead, the air chilled to its bones. Vale’s arms are already around me, holding me upright before I can flee the echo of it. A storm rages, rain pelting the windowpane to match the tempest within me.
“Mira,” his voice is rough with sleep, but his hands are steady as they frame my face. “It’s the third time this week.”
“I’m fine,” I try to say, though the tremor in my breath betrays me.
He shakes his head, the gold of his eyes catching what little light the embers give. “No, you’re not. You wake as if something’s chasing you, and I—” His words break, quieter now—“I don’t know how to fight what I can’t see.”
The raw honesty in his tone undoes me. For all the strength he bears in daylight, here he is simply a man desperate to understand.
I lean my forehead against his chest, letting the steady rhythm there anchor me. “It’s the same dream,” I whisper. “Always the same.”
“What do you see?”
“Not see,” I breathe, eyes unfocused. “Feel. A pull—like a voice calling from beneath the mountain. It doesn’t speak words I know, but I understand them all the same.”
He goes still, every muscle beneath my touch tightening.
“The Sanctum?” he asks at last, the word barely more than breath.
I nod.
For a long time neither of us moves. The quiet between us is thick with unspoken fears—the weight of prophecy, of history, of things older than love or duty.
When he finally speaks, it is a plea wrapped in resolve. “Then let me face it with you. Whatever’s calling… I won’t have it take you alone.”
His thumb brushes the fallen tears I hadn’t realized I’d cried. He presses a kiss to my temple—a vow more sacred than any crown.
“Rest now, little flame. And when morning comes, we face it together. Shadows will not chase you—I’ll be at your side.”
True to his word, he tells me to seek him out in his chambers as soon as Soria has readied me for the day.
I don’t have to knock. The enormous doors stand slightly ajar, waiting.
Vale sits at his desk across the room. His chambers mirror my own in design, yet where mine curve with softness and light, his hold the clean strength of command. Power lives here, quiet but undeniable. He sets his work aside the moment I enter, rising to meet me.
Safe within his arms, my eyes wander the room.
“What do you think?”
I hesitate.
“It lacks a certain charm, I know,” he teases.
“No, not that… but warmth, perhaps.”
“Well, then you’ll have to help me add some.”
He kisses me—heat rather than mere warmth—and with that, the day begins.
