Chapter 44
VIVIENNE
By the time the healer lifts her hands from my ribs, I realize I’ve taken three full breaths without flinching. I draw in another, slower this time, waiting for the sharp bite of pain that has followed me for days. Thankfully, it doesn’t come.
“How do you feel?” she asks.
I press my fingers lightly against my side, testing, but the only thing I feel is the lingering warmth of her magic, like heat still trapped beneath my skin. I smile at her. “So much better.” I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“Of course, my Queen,” she says warmly. “If you need anything else, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll be by to check on you again in the morning.”
When she leaves, I decide to take a bath.
The cleansing room is carved entirely from the mountain. The pale stone is smooth and warm beneath my bare feet as I step inside. It smells of mineral-rich water and something clean, almost sweet.
At the center of the chamber, a wide, sunken pool is set into the floor, its edges curved and seamless as though the stone simply dipped away rather than having been shaped by hand. The water within it moves constantly, circling in slow, endless motion.
It spills in from a narrow opening in the rock wall, then disappears again along the opposite edge, feeding back into the mountain.
Along one side of the room, a shallow basin has been carved into the stone, fed by a thinner stream of water that trickles steadily into it. Beyond that, set discreetly toward the back, is a tucked alcove with a toilet.
My father’s palace was designed to feel luxurious, with gold and excess on display. But everything here feels natural and intentional. As though every part of it was shaped with purpose, meant to serve rather than impress.
When I lower myself into the water, heat closes around me, seeping into muscles I didn’t realize were still tight, and my entire body begins to relax.
When I’m finished, I use one of the soft plush towels to dry my body and my hair. There’s a silken sleep gown laid out for me. One of the servants must have left it here. After I change into the nightshift, I pull on the heavier robe beside it, tying it closed at my waist.
A second set of doors along the far wall leads into the bedroom, and I step inside.
A large bed is carved directly into the stone along the far wall.
It’s layered with a deep blue comforter and plush furs.
A fire burns low beside it, in a wide hearth carved into the mountain, the flames casting a steady glow that dances across the stone, warming the entire space.
A thick fur rug lies before it, and a pair of chairs sit angled toward the fire.
As I take another step into the room, an unbidden thought enters my mind. I shouldn’t be here. Not because I’m unwelcome. But because this is where Auren sleeps. Where he comes when the weight of the crown is set aside, if only for a few hours.
Every detail of this room is shaped for his comfort, his rest, and the quiet moments when no one is watching. And now I’m standing in the center of it.
My gaze drifts over the bed again, over the furs and the faint imprint of use in the pillows, and a warmth creeps up the back of my neck before I can stop it as I imagine him here. Not as a king, but as the man who slept on the floor rather than take the bed from me.
The one who helped soothe my wounds with careful hands, who held me through pain as though I was something fragile and not the sharp-tongued person I have always presented to the world.
The thought makes my breath catch, because it reminds me, with quiet certainty, that both versions of him have always been the same person.
My gaze drifts past the bed, drawn toward the open archway at the far end of the room. A balcony stretches out beyond it, overlooking the vast cavern of the city. I step closer without thinking. It’s cooler here, touched by the faint currents that move through the mountain.
Elyrith spreads out below me. The great mushrooms rise like towering lanterns, their caps casting soft hues of color across the structures below, while the embedded crystals in the cavern walls shimmer like brilliant stars. The river winds through it all, reflecting the beautiful light.
As I gaze out at the city, I remember Tarin’s words about the Goblin King. This is Auren’s kingdom… the one he protects. And all of it could be in danger because of me.
I walk back into the main room, take a seat on the sofa, and stare at the room around me. This is Auren’s study. The desk is covered with scrolls and maps and documents weighted at their corners with stones.
Bookshelves line the walls. Near the window, a candle has burned nearly to its base, as though someone sat here working long into the night not so many days ago.
I think of the man I believed I married—a common soldier with a soldier's wage and a soldier's life—and I understand now that he never existed.
A book lies open on the desk. Curiosity pulls me toward it before I can stop myself. Crossing the room, I pick up the book and gaze down at the page. It's a history. Old, by the look of the binding.
There are notes crowding the margins in Auren’s handwriting.
Some are brief observations, others argue with the text.
One long annotation near the bottom of the page reads: This account omits the famine entirely.
The people suffered for three winters before the court acknowledged it.
History that serves only the powerful is not history. It is flattery.
I read it twice, then set the book down carefully, exactly as I found it.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. “Enter!” I call out.
One of the servants walks in with a tray. "Forgive the interruption, my Queen." He sets the tray on the low table before the fire. "His Majesty asked that food be brought to you."
He pours tea into a cup and carefully arranges a platter of food. "He said you had not eaten since this morning." He gestures to the food. "Cook has sent her best soup. She said to tell you she will make lemon cakes for you tomorrow, once she's had time to gather the proper ingredients."
My heart squeezes. He thought of my needs even when dealing with everything else.
"Thank you," I say, voice tight.
After he leaves, I eat because I have to.
Because my body is still healing and I know it, even when everything inside me would rather simply sit with the ache.
When I'm finished, I stare into the fire.
The flames blur slightly before I realize my eyes have filled with tears. I blink them back, irritated at myself.
I’ve already cried more in the past few days than I have in years. I have nothing left to cry about that I haven't already wept over, and yet here it is again… that aching sadness that doesn't have the decency to leave me alone.
I press my hand to my chest as if that will dull the pain deep within.
He lied to me, I remind myself. But then, I realize the other truth: He sent me dinner.
I don't know what to do with a man who has broken my trust and still, without ceremony or witness, makes certain I have eaten.
Who writes annotations in the margins of history books on behalf of people who can't write their own.
Who sleeps on the floor or outside the tent of a woman who won't share a bed with him, just so she’ll feel safe.
I’m still angry, and I think I may be upset for some time yet. But I am also desperately, inconveniently in love with him.
The fire crackles in the hearth as I lean back against the cushions and close my eyes. I don't know yet what I will do… or if the hurt will ever fully fade. But I think, perhaps, I’m beginning to understand the shape of who Auren is beneath it.
Another knock at the door pulls me from my thought, and I wonder if it’s the healer again or perhaps another servant as I call for them to enter.
Instead, Tarin steps inside.
“Forgive the intrusion,” he says. “I had hoped to speak with you.”
I nod. “Of course.”
He inclines his head and crosses the room, but instead of sitting beside me, he lowers himself into the chair opposite the sofa.
He studies me a moment before speaking. “When our parents died, Auren took the throne far younger than any king before him. He was not meant to rule so soon.” He pauses.
“There were those who believed he would falter. Others who believed they should guide him. Some even tried to control him. But he proved them wrong.”
I wait patiently as he continues. “He has carried this kingdom through challenges that would have broken lesser men, choosing restraint where others would have chosen blood.”
His gaze lifts to mine. “He is a good king.”
Emotions swell in my chest. “Yes,” I say quietly. “I can see that.”
I think of the city and the way the people bowed. Of the way they looked at him, not with fear, but with certainty.
“I heard of what happened at the border, with the Ogres,” he says. “And Auren told me how you saved him and his warriors from the Mountain Goblins.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “I did what anyone would have done.”
His brows lift. “No. Not just anyone would have placed themselves between an Ogre and a child. Nor would they have walked into a Goblin camp knowing how easily they could be killed. And there are many who would hesitate to risk placing their hands on a rune stone after being told what it would do.”
I wince inwardly as I recall the lightning shock of the rune magic. “I didn’t think it would be that painful,” I mutter.
“Perhaps not. But that does not lessen what you did.” He leans in, studying me intently. “Auren told me what happened between you. And I want to know: Do you love him?”
I’m shocked by his blunt question. Before I can answer, he adds, “Because I know he loves you. So much so that there is nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice for you, including himself.”
A hollow ache opens inside me.
“So if you do not feel the same,” Tarin says, “let him go before you break him.”
His words are an arrow straight to my chest. I look down at my hands, twisting the fabric of my robe between my fingers. “When I met him, I thought he was a soldier.”
The memory rises, sharp and clear. “I fell in love with that man. The man who gave away his coin, slept on the floor, and kept saving me without ever making me feel small for needing it.”
My throat burns. “And when I learned the truth… it hurt.” Because it wasn’t just the crown. It was the trust. “I’m still hurt, but that isn’t the worst part.”
His brow furrows deeply as he waits patiently for me to continue.
“The worst part,” I whisper, admitting the truth that my heart cannot deny, “is that I love him still. And I know he wants to protect me, but I won’t let him sacrifice himself for me nor draw your people into a war just to keep me from the Goblin King.”
As Tarin’s gaze holds mine, I understand the path I must take. I will go to the Goblin King as he demands. Perhaps he can be reasoned with. If not, then at least I’ll know I’ve spared Auren and his people from fighting a war on my behalf.
I’ll have to find a way to do this without Auren knowing, however. Because if he discovered my intent, he’d surely try to stop me. I’ll send a raven discreetly to the Goblin King in the morning.
Something shifts in Tarin’s expression. He opens his mouth to speak, but Auren walks in, interrupting.
He looks at his brother. “If you’ll please excuse us. I would like to speak with Vivienne alone.”
Tarin dips his chin. When he turns back to me, I notice his gaze is no longer full of disapproval. “I will see you both in the morning. Goodnight.”