“But Vale?—”
He stops me before I can finish.
“Mira, I have never known someone so fierce. So…”
“Mortal,” I say quietly. “Vale, I will grow old. I will die. You?—”
“One lifetime would never be enough,” he says, voice rough with certainty, “but anything less would not be life at all.”
He pulls me close, and I let myself fall into the steadiness of his hold. How can he carry so much duty and still love with such abandon?
“Come,” he says at last, dimming the lanterns. “That’s enough shadows and ghosts for one day. Let’s go for a ride.”
Bracken’s hooves tear at the earth as we ride beyond the valley, climbing the high ridges where the wind carries the scent of snow and freedom. The air grows thinner, sharper—the kind that burns the lungs but leaves the spirit lighter for it. Ice clings to the stone where spring’s thaw cannot reach, catching the light like glass.
As we climb higher, the rhythm of hooves slows to a steady echo between the peaks. When we reach the crest, Bracken stops without command, snorting mist into the wind as though even he understands the reverence of the view.
All of Caerhollan sprawls below—terraces and towers carved from mountain bone, a kingdom of frost and fire both. The rivers catch the sun like molten silver, winding down into the valley where clouds drift like ghosts of ancient kings.
Vale leans closer, his breath a low warmth against my ear.
“Prophecy, duty—none of that matters here. It’s just us.”
I want to believe him. I want those words to melt the ache lodged beneath my ribs. But with the kingdom stretched below us, every tower and terrace a testament to the burdens he bears, duty feels closer than ever—looming, patient, inescapable.
Even his arms around me can’t keep out the chill that rises from within.
Bracken shifts, and the sound of his hooves on stone feels like a heartbeat too loud. Vale’s gloved hand covers mine where it grips the reins, steady and sure.
“For one breath,” he murmurs, “let the world turn without us.”
So I do. I close my eyes, letting the wind sting and the scent of pine and snow fill me whole. For a fleeting moment, I feel what he means—what it might be to belong only to ourselves.
But when I open my eyes, Caerhollan is still there. Waiting.
I have always cherished my time spent in nature, but here—high atop the mountain—the change within me is palpable. I reach for that old communion with the world: the way wind once whispered tomy soul, how branches bent as if to greet me. For a moment, it returns.
The air, sharp and clean, fills my lungs until it hurts, and then it heals. I close my eyes and let it carry me. The world below is a hush of silver and green, and Vale’s warmth presses steady at my back, grounding me in a way no root ever has.
For the first time in longer than I can name, I feel whole.
Perhaps I can have it all—the quiet peace I’ve built and the man who makes me feel alive within it.
A stillness takes root in me, the kind that feels like a prayer answered before it’s spoken. I cling to that peace as the western gates of Caerhollan come into view and, with them, all the weight those halls hold.
“Where has it taken you?” Soria asks as she draws my hair back, the soft tug of her fingers pulling me back to the present.
“Hmm?” I blink, realizing I haven’t heard a word she has said. My eyes linger not on my reflection but through it.
“I know that look,” she says knowingly. “That’s someone walking beside her own thoughts.”
Her palms rest gently on my shoulders, warm through the fabric of my gown.
“The past, the future—all of it and none of it,” I confess.
“That serves, for a time,” she says, her voice a blend of care and caution. “Just don’t let it steal what’s right in front of you.”
I meet her gaze in the mirror and nod, drawing a deep breath as if I can inhale the steadiness in her tone. I smooth the lines of my gown—pointless, it is already perfect—just to calm the tremor within myself.
