Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
My fingertips trace lazy lines across my lips, the reminder of his kiss lingering the next morning. The morning moves in a haze—not the dizzying rush of the day before, but something different. Stillness. I never want to let go of it.
Under the starlight, looking down over the mountain palace, nothing else had mattered.
Not the fear, not the questions—only him.
In Vale’s arms, the world vanished, leaving only breath and warmth.
That first kiss was a tempest; last night an arrival.
The memory wraps around me now as the tailor works, pins biting cloth into shape.
Soria bustles nearby, steady as ever. Her presence is never jarring; it carries a quiet rhythm, its authority softened by compassion. Something about her makes it easy to feel safe, even in this strange place.
Safe. The thought catches me. After everything that drove us here, the blood, the chase through the woods, it feels foreign on my tongue.
Fear should come from the threat that pushed us from the forest. And yet it’s the thought of being seen again, of standing among others, that unsettles me.
How rarely I have known peace before. My mind wanders where I do not mean for it to go: back to faces in the village, to smiles half-earned.
The baker setting aside a loaf of my father’s favorite when stock was low, the butcher nodding gratitude for the herbs I gathered that healed his hand.
Fleeting kindnesses that almost make me fond of those days. Almost.
The other moments outweigh them. Sneers muttered behind my back.
Rumors that spread like rot. And worse—the sting of hands shoving me down into the muck.
I can still feel the cold slap of mud soaking my dress and the laughter of those my age ringing like stones.
The memory makes my shoulders tense as the tailor tugs at the fabric on my body.
“Are you alright, dear?” Soria’s voice breaks in, warm enough to scatter the shadows of the past. I blink, pulling myself back into the present, her eyes steady on me.
I nod yes, shaking the memories from the forefront of my mind. Memories are fickle things. They burn—the sting of those in the village, the searing heat of being in Vale’s arms.
I resign myself to the moment. Just as the past is like walking through a field of unseen snares, thinking on the future feels just as perilous. How long I might be here, what the days ahead may hold—I cannot allow myself to linger there. Each thought is a briar clinging to me.
I fought enough about whether to allow closeness with Vale when I knew eventually he would leave, and now I live swept away by his nearness alone any time we come close—a current I long to get lost in once more.
One day at a time. One foot in front of the other. Anything else would be futile.
“How does that feel, miss?” The ancient voice of the tailor comes as his bony fingers place the last pin.
“Oh, yes. It fits wonderfully.”
“Well then, just a bit longer now. We’ll get this one fitted for you, and I’ll set out to make something dazzling for tonight—just for you.”
Tonight. The banquet. Where I will stand in front of the entire court as the girl who brought their king home.
I cling to the air in my lungs as if I might lose myself if I exhale too soon.
Focus on the next thing—where I am, what’s in front of me. One at a time. I can do this.
“It’ll be lovely, dear.” Soria seems to read my mind, though it’s likely the way my hands turn to fists at my sides. I let my grip go. She really does have a gift, easing me with a word.
Now fitted in what some may call casual dress, though still the finest thing I have ever worn, Soria leads me down new hallways, finally stopping at a small chamber once again flanked by a pair of guards. A sign I am quickly realizing means Vale will be waiting on the other side of the door.
My eyes lock on his as soon as the door opens—though he is not alone. A small, mixed group of figures waits inside.
“Soria, please, stay.” The gentle command in his voice stirs and quiets so much within me all at once.
We move side by side, my companion and I, into the room. A table sits centrally, a place for meetings, yet each man is already on his feet.
“Mira, there are a few people I’d like you to meet.” His hand reaches for me in invitation, assuring me this is a place I can feel safe.
“You may remember the head of my King’s Guard, Odrin.” The stout man with the ginger beard dips in a small, respectful bow.
“Daerin here is often a face among many. An unassuming worker, easily overlooked—or at least, that is what we would have others believe. Few men I would call indispensable. He is one.”
There’s a weight to Vale’s words, heavier than mere introduction. Indispensable. He says it with gravity that presses into the room, making me aware this man is no clerk shuffled in by chance.
I study Daerin as Vale speaks. He bears the look of a man meant to be forgotten: narrow shoulders, a lithe frame, hair the color of plain earth.
Only the scar that carves its way from ear to collar marks him apart, as though fate left a single reminder of battles survived.
But his eyes—keen, assessing—belie his plainness.
He inclines his head toward me, not with courtly polish but with the ease of someone used to slipping past notice.
There’s something unsettling in the contrast. His posture is humble, but I cannot shake the sense of sharpness beneath it, as though the plain mask hides a blade.
I think, fleetingly, of whispers in village markets—the kind of men who can charm a loaf from the baker’s hand or the truth from a servant’s tongue.
His scar says soldier, but his bearing says something else.
Someone accustomed to living by his wits.
Vale’s tone shifts then, easing from steel to a warmth touched with exasperation. “And this sly wretch is none other than—”
“Ace, m’lady,” comes the interruption before he can finish. He sweeps into a bow so exaggerated it might be mocking if not for the irrepressible smile that pulls at his mouth.
“The one and only. At your service.”
The bow ends with a flourish so dramatic I half expect him to tumble forward. The sheer absurdity startles a laugh from my lips before I can stop it.
Vale only rolls his eyes, though the corner of his mouth betrays a reluctant smile. This is an old dance between them, Vale’s steadiness set against Ace’s theatrics.
Ace straightens, and in the firelight I catch him fully: dark hair, slightly disheveled as though he never quite cares to tame it, and a smile that carries a dangerous sort of charm—the kind that can talk its way out of trouble or straight into it.
His eyes gleam with mischief, but there’s something magnetic beneath, a charisma that draws people in before they think to guard themselves.
It’s effective. His friendly charm disarms me, and I feel a casual comfort in his presence.
“Don’t let the bow fool you,” Vale says dryly, though the fondness beneath his tone is plain. “He thrives on spectacle. If you laugh, he’ll only grow worse.”
“Then it seems I’ve doomed myself already,” I murmur, still smiling.
Ace’s grin widens, brighter still, as if I’ve just given him leave to continue forever.
Vale takes my hands in his now, eyes focusing on me.
“These are my most trusted inner circle. Along with Soria, who I trust with you more than any other, they are those you can turn to if ever you need anything. Ever.”
With a nod their way, the others disperse, warm smiles a reminder that they remain my allies. A foreigner in this palace, I need all I can get.
Four faces among a sea of ever-moving parts. I have barely seen much of the castle in my short time here, but already it’s overwhelming—the scale of it, the polish, the way everything feels so ordered and distant from the life I had only days ago.
I turn inward to Vale—his broad frame my sanctuary in a world that feels as though it might spin off its axis at any moment.
Now alone, in another stolen moment, he pulls me close. I close my eyes and rest against him, his warmth a blanket I want to wrap myself in.
“As much as I want you safe, I don’t ever want you to feel uneasy here. Among the few I trust implicitly with you, there are also a few places that can provide you comfort. Unfortunately, I have much to attend to—diplomacy, threats, the very peace of Caerhollan. It rests on my shoulders.
Any time you need me, I am here. Do not ever hesitate. But come—let me show you where you can claim something all your own.”
I begin to notice my own shakiness by the contrast I feel as I start to settle near him. I had gone months without crossing paths with another soul, yet I am now faced with an ever-expanding world.
Coming off the meeting room where he made introductions, he points down a narrow passageway.
“There’s an alcove there. Not large enough to serve any purpose other than a place for me to step away from it all when I need to.
Some days the meetings never end. In times of war, it feels like the one place I can breathe.
In times of peace, it’s where I remind myself what I’m working toward each day. ”
The smile on his face cannot hide the weight of all the years he carries.
I don’t draw attention to it. His scars are his to show when he wants to—his choice alone.
It’s a quiet comfort knowing even the mighty warrior needs respite from time to time.
I find myself ever so slightly less out of place in this kinship.
He leads me through the palace. He doesn’t bother explaining all the rooms as we pass—just vague comments here and there—but a select few he makes sure I have a chance to know.
We pass a hall lined with carved doors, each marked with discreet sigils. When Vale slows before one, my heart sinks—it’s my chamber door. I think he means to part from me here, leaving me to the quiet of a room that still feels foreign.