24. Chapter 23
Chapter 23
T he week in Pariseth passes too quickly. There is no war, no looming threat of Baev’kalath—only the island itself. Soft grass beneath our feet, warm sunlight on our skin, and stolen moments of peace in the garden, balanced by passion at night.
Each day follows a gentle rhythm. We spend mornings in the gardens, where I kneel in the rich soil, my hands buried in its warmth. Sometimes Daed joins me, his movements hesitant but earnest. His skin gains color with each passing day, the darkness of Baev’kalath slowly fading. Here, his sharp edges soften, laughter coming more easily, and he speaks in ways he never did before.
Afternoons take us to hidden coves along the coastline, where waves crash against rocks and the sun casts everything in a golden hue. We swim in the cool water, then lie on the shore, talking of everything and nothing. He feels lighter here, unburdened, as if the weight of his crown can’t reach him.
At night, we come together again and again. His touch, familiar yet never losing its power, feels like a discovery each time—a search for pieces of each other we hadn’t found before. We make love with the windows open, the cool breeze caressing our skin, moonlight turning everything silver. I lose count of the times I whisper his name into the darkness, his kisses as urgent as my own. The moon seems to watch over us, silent and patient, bearing witness to what we can no longer deny.
The nights leave me breathless, but it’s the days I cherish most—seeing light return to his eyes, his body at ease, his laughter unguarded, as if the shadows of our world can’t reach him here. This place holds a different kind of magic—a sanctuary where, for a few fleeting days, we are simply Daed and Amara.
But paradise never lasts.
On the seventh morning, as we sit in the courtyard, the island’s tranquility is shattered. The sound of wings fills the air, and I turn just as Arax descends, dark armor gleaming in the sun. He’s a stark reminder of the world we left behind.
He lands lightly, but his expression is grim. “Your Highness,” he says, bowing to Daed. “It’s time to return to Baev’kalath.”
I feel Daed tense beside me, the color draining from his face. Reality crashes over us. The escape is over. The ghosts are waiting, and the war looms ahead.
I slip into our chambers, the warmth of Pariseth fading as I close the door behind me. The sunlight that bathed the island feels like a distant memory. My scattered belongings barely had time to settle before we’re forced to leave again.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts, and Solena enters with a soft, reassuring smile. “Shall we pack?” she asks, moving toward the wardrobe without waiting for an answer.
I nod, the weight of the journey ahead pressing down. “Yes, let’s get it over with.”
Solena begins gathering clothes, folding them neatly, while I peel off my dress and change into pants and a tunic. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—there’s something different, as if Pariseth had shown me a glimpse of another life, now slipping away.
She approaches with a comb, gesturing for me to sit. “I’ll braid your hair for the journey.”
I settle onto the chair, and as her fingers begin to weave through my hair, I ask, “You and Orios. You’ll have to pretend not to know each other again, won’t you?”
Her hands pause briefly before resuming. “Yes,” she admits quietly. “But it doesn’t bother me.”
I raise an eyebrow, catching her eye in the mirror. “Really? It doesn’t?”
She smiles gently, a smile that holds more truth than words. “No. What we had here—these days together—it’s more than we ever hoped for. Even if it was brief, it was a gift.” She ties off the braid with a practiced flick. “It’s something I’ll carry with me, no matter what comes next.”
A pang of envy hits me, not just for their closeness but for Solena’s ability to find peace in something fleeting. I let out a small sigh. “I’m glad you had that.”
Solena gives me a knowing look. “We have you to thank for it.”
I shake my head. “You don’t need to thank me for anything.”
She places her hands on my shoulders, her gaze unwavering. “We wouldn’t have had this time together without you, Your Highness. That means more than you realize.”
I try to smile, but my thoughts drift to Daed. “I’m afraid things will go back to the way they were. That he’ll pull away again. Here, it was easy to forget everything. But out there? It’s not the same.”
Solena nods, her fingers gently smoothing the braid she’s finished. “It’s different, yes. But what you shared here doesn’t just disappear when you leave.”
I want to believe her. I want to believe that the connection Daed and I found here, away from duty’s weight, will survive beyond Pariseth. But a part of me wonders if, once we’re back in the shadows of Baev’kalath, it will all slip away like a fading dream.
Solena steps back, gathering my packed belongings and placing them at the foot of the bed. “Whatever happens, Your Highness, you’re stronger than you think.”
I nod, though the uncertainty still gnaws at me. “Thank you, Solena. But I have one last thing to ask.”
“Anything,” she says.
“Call me Amara.”
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, and she bows slightly. “Very well. Amara.”
As Solena leaves, I’m left alone with my thoughts. The peace of Pariseth is already slipping away, replaced by the cold reality of what waits beyond.
I crouch beside the serpentine vine, my fingers tracing the edge of its newest leaf. The green is vibrant against the dark soil, soft and alive, like a whisper of The Grove transplanted here. The vine has been quietly speaking to me since we planted it—small, nonsensical exchanges that somehow bring me closer to home. Even on this unfamiliar island, it thrives, unfurling new life. It’s a simple comfort, proof that something good can take root even in strange soil.
“Wife.”
Daed’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I look up to see him approaching. He’s strong and commanding as always, but his steps are slower, as if he’s wary of disturbing this moment. His dark hair is tousled, his gray eyes focused on mine, their softness almost making me forget the storm that awaits us beyond Pariseth.
He crouches beside me, his hand brushing lightly against my knee as he studies the vine. “It’s grown already,” he observes, his voice low.
I nod, tracing the vine’s twisting shape. “It has. It’s been talking to me,” I say with a small smile, despite the ache building in my chest. “It feels... happy.”
A faint smile touches his lips, though a heaviness lingers in his eyes. “I’m sorry we have to leave,” he murmurs, regret clear in his voice. “But you understand why.”
I do. I wish we could stay here, where everything feels lighter, where the weight of Baev’kalath doesn’t press down on us. But I understand the duty that calls us back—the war that looms on the horizon.
“I understand,” I say softly, fingers continuing to trace the vine’s delicate stem. “We can’t hide here forever.”
He exhales, broad shoulders shifting as he glances toward the distant sea. “Half the houses have committed their armies, but we still need to negotiate with Mor’Thravar and Gryn’Velcor,” he says, his voice tightening. “Modok remains a problem, and Sarberos is... hesitant.”
“Modok will always be a problem,” I reply, my tone sharp. “He’s dangerous. I don’t trust him.”
Daed’s expression hardens. “I don’t trust him either. That’s why I need to return—to ensure we have the strength we need when the time comes.”
I study him, noting the familiar furrow in his brow. Even here, in this fleeting peace, I can sense the storm brewing within him—the same one we’ll soon face outside these walls. I want to offer comfort, to say something that eases the burden on his shoulders, but words feel empty.
So I simply nod, knowing that nothing I say will change what’s coming.
I take one last look at the horizon before turning toward the courtyard, where our small group is preparing to leave Pariseth behind. Solena and Orios stand close, their heads bowed together in a quiet exchange of words and soft touches—a final kiss before reality pulls them apart. Their smiles hold a hint of sadness, but also a tender resolve, as if they’re trying to imprint the memory of this place on their hearts.
Arax steps forward and bows, his dark eyes steady but softer than usual.
“Your Highness,” he asks, “have you enjoyed your time here?”
I nod, feeling the weight of his question. “Yes, I have. More than I expected.”
A small, knowing smile touches his lips. “I’ve never seen the prince so content. It seems you’ve brought that out in him.”
I glance over at Daed, standing at the edge of the courtyard, his gaze lost in the direction of the storm wall we’ll soon cross. It’s true—he’s been different here, lighter, more at ease. A part of me is proud to have been a part of that change, but another part wonders if it will crumble when we return to Baev’kalath.
Solena and Orios begin to pull away from each other, their hands lingering as if reluctant to let go.
Arax watches them too, a faint nod almost to himself. “The Reaper’s oath is a hard one to keep,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with unspoken meaning. There’s an edge of confession in his words, a hint of struggle behind his unwavering loyalty. I don’t pry—duty, love, and loyalty often conflict in ways words can’t fix.
For a moment, I glimpse the cracks in Arax’s facade, the part of him that feels deeply, just like anyone else. It makes me wonder if, like Orios, he too has struggled to keep his oath. And maybe, at times, he hasn’t succeeded.
Before I can respond, he straightens, his expression shifting back to one of calm duty.
“We’re ready to leave,” he announces.
Daed strides over to me, his arms sweeping me into a strong yet hesitant embrace. He exhales, a sound that carries the weight of everything left unsaid. His lips part, as if he’s on the verge of speaking, but the words remain suspended between us—a fragile thread, taut and ready to snap. Instead, there’s only the rise and fall of his chest against mine, the silent promise of what might have been and what still waits beyond Pariseth’s fading peace.
Daed’s wings burst from his back, black feathers shimmering in the sun, casting long shadows over the grass. We rise into the sky, the beauty of Pariseth shrinking below, warmth and light fading into a fleeting memory.
Ahead looms the storm wall—a twisting mass of dark clouds and roaring winds, a boundary separating two worlds. The shift is instant and unforgiving as we break through. The sun’s warmth is snatched away, replaced by icy rain and howling winds that tear at us, pulling us deeper into the storm’s violent grasp. The air grows thick with cold and wet, and I cling to Daed, his wings straining against the turbulent gusts.
Arax flies beside us, Solena and Orios close behind, but the storm’s fury tries to rip us apart, relentless in its wrath. Rain lashes against my skin, cold and biting, and I bury my face against Daed’s chest, seeking shelter from the wind’s sharp edge.
For a heartbeat, I wonder if the storm is a warning—a reminder that Pariseth’s warmth was temporary, a brief escape from the darkness that waits beyond. I wonder if, like the sun, Daed’s affection will fade as we return to the harsh reality of Baev’kalath.
But then he looks down at me, and in his eyes, I see something new. It’s not a promise, but it’s real—raw. It’s enough to make me believe, even if just for a moment, that maybe he won’t let the storm take us.
Baev’kalath soon stretches below, a fortress of stone and shadow, rain pouring in relentless sheets. The warmth of the sun has been replaced by cold gray skies, sending a familiar chill down my spine.
Daed’s wings beat harder as we descend into the courtyard, where King Kaelus and Queen Lanneth stand waiting. The moment Daed touches the ground, his arms tighten around me briefly before releasing. His expression is unreadable, jaw set and eyes averted as he steps back, folding his wings and straightening.
Queen Lanneth’s face brightens when she sees me. Her cold, elegant features soften, and her hands flutter toward me uncertainly, as if unsure whether to embrace or hold back.
“Amara,” she says, her voice filled with a warmth that catches me off guard. “You’ve returned safely. Are you harmed in any way?”
Her concern always surprises me.
“I’m fine, Your Majesty,” I say, dipping my head slightly.
She studies me, her eyes sweeping over me as if to be sure for herself. “Good. But you are soaked to the bone. Let us get you to your chambers and into some dry clothes. I will not allow you to remain in such a state after that journey.”
“That’s not necessary,” I begin, but Lanneth raises a hand, silencing me with a single look.
“It is necessary,” she says firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I will not take no for an answer.”
I glance toward Daed, hoping for some kind of rescue, but he’s already turned his back to me, talking quietly with Kaelus. With a sigh, I follow Lanneth into the castle, my reluctance clear with every step.
When we reach my chambers, Solena tries to follow, but Lanneth is quick to cut her off. “That will be all, girl. Leave us.”
Solena hesitates, her gaze flickering to mine, but I nod, letting her know it’s alright. She bows and exits, leaving me alone with the queen.
The tension in the room thickens as Lanneth steps closer, her eyes soft but her posture commanding.
“You poor thing,” she says, sitting me on the edge of the bed. She collects my robe from the other room, then returns and uses it to squeeze the rain from my hair. “Flying through the storm can be so bothersome, but we’ll get you nice and dry.”
Once my hair is less drenched, she drapes the robe over my shoulders, a comforting warmth against my skin. Then, she settles beside me, her very presence a weight pressing down on my chest. Yet all I can think about is how quickly Daed turned his back on me when we returned, as if I hadn’t just given him all of myself.
“So, daughter,” Lanneth begins, her voice smooth and inviting, and once again I wonder if she has somehow read my mind. “Tell me everything .”