“Just making sure you left that interaction unscathed.”
“I’m fine,” I assure him, playfulness in each of our voices.
“They were… lovely.”
“You seem to be making yourself at home here. So much so I was worried you’d forgotten about me. First, I lost you to the quiet of the conservatory—that I could almost forgive. But now, losing you to gossip and tea…”
His wrist presses to his forehead.
I squeeze the hand still in mine. “Are you going to be okay, my dear friend?” Our melodrama continues as we pass through the crowd, a private stage for two, laughter bubbling in our chests as we enter the library.
The world hushes when the doors shut. The air shifts.
“Am I really changing that much?” My voice is quiet, serious, as I move deeper into the room.
Contemplation crosses his face as he weighs his words. “Yes… and no.” I feel the truth of it before he continues. “I’ll admit, I thought you might need rescuing when I first saw you in there—feared you were being held against your will. But I also see the way you’re becoming more you lately. You’ll be commanding the room in no time, m’lady.”
His head tilts—not with his usual exaggerated show, but with true respect.
“I don’t know about that,” I say. “But it’s nice to feel like I mightsomeday belong.” I clutch books tightly to my chest. A shield meant to protect me from my own hopes and dreams.
“How do you think Vale will handle this bolder version of me?” My voice lifts with the weight of my own doubts. I pray each step I take in this life brings me closer to him—to us.
Ace strokes his chin, considering. “Astonished. Impressed. Proud… and maybe a bit jealous.” The flush in my cheeks betrays me. “I may be willing to share you with the masses, but I suspect our king will want you all to himself when he returns.”
I close my eyes and inhale slowly. I haven’t let myself linger much on thoughts of Vale—not like that. Not the heat I feel when I am in his arms, which is exactly where my mind drifts now. The way he pinned me to the wall on our last night before he left.
I collect myself, a picture of composure, and sit down at the table—eager to pour through the tomes we’ve gathered. The weight of the stacked volumes in my arms draws me back to myself. Our quiet ritual begins, one of my favorite parts of the day.
Hours pass, as they so easily do in this place. Blinking, I pinch the bridge of my nose, sure I’ll go cross-eyed if I stare much longer. I lean back in my chair, connecting once more to the world beyond the ink.
Ace looks up from his lute, idly strumming. Watching me. Knowing something is brewing.
I scan the walls—not for anything in particular, just letting my eyes recalibrate. Tapestries and sigils hang high between arched windows. I never paid them much mind before. Now, they carry meaning.
I tilt my head in recognition. “Thrymir.” Each name lands with new weight.
“Someone’s been studying,” Ace says, pride written all over him.
“I’ve spent some time with Fenloris.”
“Ah.” He glances down, then away. “How is the old Master of Passes?”
“What aren’t you saying, Ace?”
He draws in breath. Still. Steady.
“I’ve never known quite what to make of the lad. It’s hard to believe he was ever meant for greatness.”
“What do you mean?”
“When magic still flowed, mapmakers didn’t just draw paths—they read them. The land whispered. They listened. Valleys shifted. Passes opened. And the cartographers knew when and why. The king never rode without one. Not until the Fade.”
He turns solemn.
“Not until that last ride. Not until Thalen and all those men lost their lives.”
My heart aches. So much loss. Even among those I once thought impervious. “What happened to them?” I ask, cautiously. I know Soria lost her husband. I never dared press. Even asking about Ace’s uncle and the late king, I fear the wound may still be raw.
