Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Asplintering sting rips through my ribs as I fight to draw in breath. Gods, this may well be the end of me.
“…and that’s when the Duke realized he’d been arguing with his own reflection for half the night.”
Ace slapped the table with a triumphant grin, utterly unrepentant for the way he’d undone me. My laugh breaks free, sharp and helpless, stealing the air from my lungs until I clutch my side. Dust spins madly in the shaft of morning light as if even the library itself had joined his revelry.
“Please—stop me before I ever drink that much wine!” I plead through the remnants of laughter, pressing a hand to my chest as though I could cage the breath it has stolen.
I needed this. Even with the ache in my ribs, it was a breath of fresh air—enough to drown out the murmurs that seemed to coil my name from the shadows.
Well… almost enough.
“Now that would be a sight. But of course, m’lady, I vow to protect you—even from your own merriment.” His mock formality cracks into warmth, and yet the sudden thread of concern is real. “I won’t let you get into such a state. But tell me—have you been sleeping?”
“Just what every maiden longs to hear: you look tired.” I gasp in mock injury. Attempting to mirror his dramatics, I let my wrist fall to my brow and collapse against the chair back. “Sir, you wound me.”
He chuckles, the sound low and knowing. Somehow he always finds the knife’s edge between jest and sincerity, teasing without losing the gravity that lingers beneath. His brow arches as if daring me to answer honestly, coaxing truth even from behind a veil of play.
I measure my words, searching for the truth for my own sake as much as his. “I would have thought so, but the disordered state of the bedding would suggest otherwise.”
I didn’t know his brow could arch higher, but yet it does.
“I do not know what you are implying with that look, Sir Ace, but my bed was my own last night. Merely my thoughts keeping me company in the dark, defending an honor I know in secret was far from pure in recent nights.”
Then shielding myself with brevity, “It’s overwhelming. Being here.”
Ever an outsider, I’m learning how often my steps turn toward Vale, as if nearness might make a place feel less foreign.
Ace leans forward suddenly, seizing a rolled parchment as though it were a hilted sword.
“Then dare I say, we face it head on!” He leaps to his feet in mock triumph, the scroll raised high. “Ready the steed! I’ll strike down any shadow that dares disturb your sleep. A single stroke—” he brandishes the parchment, nearly toppling an ink pot “—and the lady shall rest untroubled!”
I laugh despite myself, shaking my head at his dramatics. Yet beneath the jest, the promise is there yet again. Vale’s vow had been born of fire and fury, a king who would raze the world rather than see me harmed. Ace’s, though wrapped in exaggeration, carries its own weight.
Two different blades, but both drawn for me.
Warmth envelopes me, a safety from others that is both new and familiar. Something my heart always longed for but never held. Until now.
It’s easy. Here in the library with Ace, in the stolen moments with Vale, even in the quiet routines I’m learning with Soria—life feels bearable again.
For all the ways my world has upended, they help make sense of it again.
There is comfort in the scrape of parchment beneath my fingers as Ace strums softly on his lute. The air smells faintly of vellum and dust, sunlight spilling in narrow columns through high arched windows, catching in the motes that drift lazily above us. For once, peace feels within reach.
Well—almost peace.
Ace is far too good at keeping me entertained.
“So,” he begins, a wicked grin tugging at his mouth, “is our tall, dark, and brooding king making sure you’re being properly looked after, or must I have words with him? He may carry a crown, but I’ve no qualms about standing up to him if need be.”
“Yes, my valiant defender,” I say with a smile, though the words sit heavier than I mean them to. “Though duty seems to press on him more and each day.”
The shape of that duty fills the space he leaves behind when he is gone. The distance reminds me, quietly, that my world is not the same without him in it. Perhaps it is because everything shifts when he is near—like stepping into warm, brilliant daylight after years spent in shadow.
“He’s a good man,” Ace says, the humor softening into something almost reverent.
“A great one, really. He never wanted this—but when fate put him in line for the crown…” His gaze drifts, unfocused, as if watching something that lives only in memory.
“We were boys before the Fade—two fools chasing mischief through the city. The years that followed would have changed anyone. But knowing he’d one day have to lead what was left of the world after it burned?
” A slow shake of his head. “He carries that weight for them. For the ones who remained.”
I nod, quiet. Of course his duties are important—who was I to be selfish with the time of a king?
“Mira, make no mistake.” Ace leans in, shedding the performer’s lilt for something steady and certain.
“Duty may call. Prophecy may whisper. But I see him with you. I hear how he speaks your name.” His words wrap around me like warmth—until the turn comes.
“Most of the court think they know what’s proper for their king.
Few ever ask what he wants. Fewer still will forgive him for wanting you. ”
The words land harsh and cold. A warning.
Ice seems to steel my spine, and I feel a tremor—subtle, but there. A chill that doesn’t belong to the air. It comes from deep within the stacks, a pulse beneath the marble floors. The kind of stillness that hums before a storm.
I turn slightly, glancing toward the far end of the library where the torches are burning lower. That strange, breathless dark calls to me again, the way the sea calls the shore. Steady, unrelenting. Safety and threat, bound together in one impossible tether.
Then comes the sound of boots on stone—measured, deliberate.
A messenger bows low. “My lady, His Majesty requests your presence.”
Relief sweeps through me like the break of a wave. Whatever is stirring in the depths can wait. The promise of Vale’s voice—his presence—is enough to pull me back to shore.
That return to him was delayed only briefly.
Soria is waiting in my chamber, greeting me with that knowing smile that says she’d already been told.
The garments laid out upon the bed steals the air from my lungs—riding clothes, not silk or lace.
The supple leather of the trousers finer than any I’d worn before, deep amber and soft as dusk beneath my fingers.
The linen shirt, crisp and cool, paired with a fitted jacket whose embossing take shape faintly in the low light. Opulent, yes—but somehow utterly me.
As Soria braids the top of my hair, leaving the rest loose down my back, she hums quietly, her hands deft and sure. When she steps back, I barely recognize the woman in the mirror. No forced smile or mental guard. No pretense. Just someone who belongs.
By the time I reach Vale in the vaulted corridor that opens onto the western gate, excitement has already taken hold. Midday light pours through the open archway, glinting off the stone like molten gold. The scent of the mountain’s breath—pine and earth and wind—rush in through the gate.
Vale stands waiting near the stables, sunlight tracing the edges of his form. The near-black leather of his coat catches the light like tempered metal, the sword at his hip gleaming beside him—a quiet reminder of the vow he’d sworn in the dark, fierce as fire and absolute.
For a heartbeat, Ace’s mock chivalry in the library flickers through my mind, his parchment brandished like a blade. Two promises, worlds apart. One wrapped in laughter. One sharp enough to draw blood.
Vale turns at the sound of my steps, the faintest curve breaking through his solemn composure.
“Little flame,” he greets, his voice rich with warmth.
When I reach him, his arms are already open.
I press my head to his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of smoke and leather.
His hand cradles the back of my head, the other at my waist keeping me anchored to him as if the world itself might try to steal me away.
“You look at peace,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw.
“For the moment,” I say softly. “Though I think you’re to blame for that.”
His laugh is low, gravel-soft. “Then I should commit such crimes more often.”
Bracken approaches with a snort, his coat catching the light like burnished bronze.
The great horse barely needing a lead to find his master.
Vale’s hand lingers at the small of my back as he lifts me easily into the saddle.
I can tell the healers have done their work—his movements are steady and strong, free of the pain that had shadowed him before.
He mounts behind me, and when his arm slides around my waist, the breath leaves me in a rush.
It is different this time. When we’d ridden through the danger that gripped that first night, I’d clung to his back, terrified, blinded by fear and darkness.
Now, sunlight crowns the mountain peaks, and I sit before him—his strength surrounding me, but no fear pressing between us. Only warmth. Only trust.
“Ready?” he asks near my ear, his breath stirring the loose strands of my hair.
I nod, though my voice barely rises above a whisper. “Always.”
Bracken steps forward with a sure-footed grace, the sound of hooves ringing against the stone as the gate gives way to open air and light.
The road unfurls ahead—broad and steady, winding down the mountainside. The air smells of moss and river spray, touched with the faint sweetness of blooming heather. As we descend, the view opens like a revelation. For a moment I forget to breathe.