Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Gentle pressure travels across my neck and shoulder as I wake. My body twists and stretches in greeting.
“Good morning.” The rumble of his voice sends a shiver down my spine. His mouth claims mine the moment I turn to face him.
“Good morning indeed.” I smile back; the golden sun proof he’s held me well into morning. “It would seem I’m not the only one willing to stay.” My voice drops low and sweet.
I wrap my leg around him and his smile widens.
“I love you. Whether I return to my chambers before morning light or not, it’s only a matter of time before it’s apparent to all.”
“Do you think Soria is waiting outside the door until it’s safe?” I muse with a laugh.
“If she is, then we shall fetch her a chair. I’m not going anywhere yet.” He pulls me closer, our bodies waking more at the memory of last night. It’s a call we both gladly answer.
Sunlight catches the bare lines of his shoulders as if even the day is glad we’ve both chosen to stay—he in my bed and I in this kingdom I am slowly coming to know.
As the room brightens, so too does my spirit.
As if the world, for once, is smiling back.
The joy of us both being precisely where we belong.
Breath ragged as sweat glistens, the sheets lie tangled before he kisses me farewell and sets about his day.
“What’s this nonsense about a chair?” Soria bustles in moments later, intent on readying me for the day. She stops when she finally looks at me as I cinch the robe around my waist. “Well, someone’s having a pleasant morning. You’re positively glowing.”
My cheeks flush—from the rush of morning, from being seen with such discerning eyes, but mostly from the way my heart soars. I take a seat before the mirror as Soria reaches for the brush.
I glance out the window to the blue sky beyond; everything feels full of hope and promise. “I can’t help it. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy. That I’ve ever been…” My words falter, unsure if I should reveal something so sacred as love.
She runs long, slow strokes through my hair, taking time to choose her words in that way of hers that makes each one feel measured. “I’m happy for you, I am. Both of you. I’ve known him long enough to see how changed he is with you here.” Another pause threatens to undo my bliss.
“But…” I prompt, needing to know what she holds back.
She meets my gaze in the mirror—no-nonsense, yet kind. My shoulders sink, and air leaves my lungs in a heavy sigh. “I’m mortal,” I concede, giving shape to what she would not.
The brush continues, as if the simple task lightens the weight of the moment.
“It’s hard enough, but for those whose hearts are true, they say it’s worth it.
But his isn’t just any heart, my dear.” She sets the brush on the table and places her hands on my shoulders.
“A king has certain responsibilities, expectations…”
“Duty.” I interrupt—the lone word feeling like the greatest threat I’ve ever known. She nods. I straighten, sitting tall and resolute as her fingers gather sections of my hair into a braid.
Each step as Soria helps me ready for the day, I feel the war inside me—the euphoric high of choosing to stay beside the man I love and the quiet fear of those who would fight to see anyone but me next to him.
The turmoil must show on my face as I carry books to my usual spot beside Ace in the library.
“Anyone in particular I should be prepared to face in battle, m’lady?”
I shake my head, smiling—exactly the light I need when dark thoughts tug.
“Not today,” I reply. “I guess I’m just… settling in, maybe?” Anything more would say too much, though the words are true enough.
“So it’s true.” He leans in, curiosity bright in his eyes, maybe a hint of skepticism. “You’re staying?”
“Word travels fast.” I chuff, pressing my fingertips into the rigid corner of a book, as if the sharp edge could quiet the pressure in my chest.
“Not like that,” he assures me. “Vale—he’s been… busy.”
My shoulders drop along with my walls. “He’s always busy, is he not?” I ask, slow and cautious, coaxing out what Ace isn’t telling me.
Hands raised in mock surrender, he shakes his head. “All I can say is—” His eyes meet mine. “—he’s really happy with you here.”
The words wash over me. I wish it could be that simple—just being happy. I draw a slow breath, filling my lungs and holding it with the same steadiness I’m trying to summon inside. I sit, staring down at the books.
For hours I search for that familiar ease the library once gave me. Pages blur, words lose meaning, unrest stirs. I close the heavy tome, fingers tracing its worn leather cover as I gather the courage to speak, the fear gnawing at me.
“Is there a place for me here?” My brow furrows as the question escapes. “Truly? Not as a guest but…” Courage falters. His. Why can’t I say it? Why can’t I believe it?
Ace considers, not rushing to placate me but granting my fear the space it deserves.
“No.” One word—and my heart sinks. He doesn’t move to soothe me; each word that follows is deliberate. “Not yet, at least. But if anyone could make a place—for you, for what I see you two share—it’s him.”
Ace leans back in his chair, boots heavy on the empty seat between us.
“He didn’t go to war the way others did. By the time he was fighting battles, the world had already changed. Make no mistake though, he has a warrior’s heart—fierce and loyal. I’ve seen him, through diplomacy and sword alike, take up arms and always come out the winner.”
His feet find the floor again as he leans toward me, hand over mine the way he does when he wants to be sure I’m not just listening but hearing.
“Don’t underestimate him.”
I nod, eyes lowering to the table, unable to meet the moment fully.
“I won’t presume to know exactly what you two have,” he says, voice gentler now, “but I know Vale. I’ve known him centuries. And I’ve never heard him speak of anyone the way he speaks of you. You can trust him.”
The assurance means much; Ace’s friendship even more.
“It won’t be easy, will it?” I finally lift my eyes to his.
“Probably not,” he chuckles, cracking through the heaviness. “But you’re not alone in this. We’ve got you.” His elbow nudges me, the gesture grounding as laughter softens the air again.
I leave the library without summons, wandering the common halls.
Faces mill around me. I try to be just one among them, and to some, that is all I am.
Caught up in their own stories, they pay little regard to me.
It’s the few though—the ones whose eyes linger, who lean in to whisper—that unnerve me.
I lift my chin, holding my head higher than I did even in the village, where I first learned how to fortify my will.
No. Not like this.
I soften. This isn’t the village. Yes, I am an outsider here—but what of it?
My heels strike the stone floor with a new steadiness. Determined. Strong.
I smile at anyone who looks my way.
I have found something here that means too much to let fear drive me away. A long, steady breath, and my smile widens. I can do this.
I focus on the good—the smiles that return mine with genuine kindness. Each time I feel a cutting glance, I give a nod as I smile. It almost becomes a game—one I’m determined to win.
By the time I’ve traversed much of the palace, I wear a confidence that may not feel natural but is hard earned. And with it comes a price. Fatigue crashes into me. The task was successful but draining.
Color rushes back into my cheeks as I see him—Vale—rushing toward me in hurried, joyful steps after turning a corner.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he says with a wry grin that makes me forget the battlefield I just came from.
He takes me by the hand, looking much like a child convinced he’s getting away with some spirited trouble.
I bite my lip and follow his quick steps as we move farther from the crowd.
He stops and turns, pulling me close—impossibly close. For the briefest moment, I feel his breath across my lips, meeting my own quickened air. I smile at the light flashing behind his eyes, eager to learn what lit the spark so.
The answer must wait, though, as his mouth claims mine. Heat surges through me, my whole body answering. His lips part mine, our tongues finding each other, my hand drifting up the back of his neck—tethering myself to him so I don’t float away.
“I have a surprise for you,” he murmurs, his voice low and charged. Before I can ask, he’s leading me away—down corridors and up unfamiliar stairs.
Standing outside two massive doors, he insists, “Close your eyes.”
The hinges creak and thud. Warm light shifts across my face, and I have to force myself to keep my eyes cinched tight.
I feel the change in air as he moves behind me—one hand gently across my waist, the other covering my eyes.
He leads me forward in slow, assured steps.
Warmth envelops me. The air is thick, full—more akin to the valleys outside than the halls of the High Hold. There’s a rawness here that feels like home. My heart beats faster—different from the rhythm born of his touch.
In one swift movement, his hand drops, and he steps to my side. Light pierces my eyes as they flutter open.
So much light. And green. As lush as the forest I left behind. Tight buds of spring, just like those that held such hope in the glade weeks ago. Sunlight falls in white panels through panes of glass, every which way I look. Pale mosaic stone beneath my feet, and I stand at the center of it all.
“The conservatory,” he says at last, quiet pride warming his tone. He watches me as I turn in place, taking in every detail.
“It’s amazing,” I breathe, awe coating every word. I swat his arm with a playful laugh. “Why didn’t you bring me here before?”
He looks at me incredulously, rubbing his arm as if I’d done real harm.
“It wasn’t ready!” He laughs through the words. “It still isn’t, if I say so myself.”
My eyes scan the room for whatever flaw he could see. Every edge is lined with plants—forest and valley alike—a sea of green lying in wait. I shake my head at him.
“This place used to be in bloom, even long before summer called the buds to open.” He takes my hands in his. “My father built it for my mother—so she would always have a piece of the valley here with her. With them both gone…”
I wrap my arms around him tightly. “Thank you,” I whisper into his chest.
“It’s taken time to bring it back to life.” I can feel the warmth of his smile without even looking up. “I’d hoped to share it once the flowers came in, but I couldn’t wait any longer.”
His fingers tilt my chin until I meet his gaze. “I want this to be your home. Here in Caerhollan. Here with me.”
I press my lips to his cheek, tender. “I love you.”
His eyes drift closed, shoulders easing as he exhales. “I love you, little flame.”
Hand in hand, he shows me around—lilac and daisies, even my cherished jasmine from the glade. Asters that won’t bloom until summer fades into fall. All still green, each holding the promise of a new day with him.
“This place is yours. Tell me—how can we make it your own?”
My eyes light with new energy. Standing in the center of the room, I finally feel I could belong.
“A chair,” I say, gesturing to the open space, “and perhaps a table or a desk. Somewhere I can write—or maybe even sketch.” I feel myself come alive again.
I close my eyes and tilt my head toward the daylight that washes over me.
“Anything that will help me find comfort.” A soft laugh escapes.
“I suspect I may lose track of time in here.”
“Consider it done!”
He scoops me up and spins me around, my skirts flaring as laughter escapes us both in perfect harmony.
I feel lighter as we move toward dinner, but before we reach the room with a table set for two, Odrin catches us in the hall.
Vale steps aside, both men speaking in hushed tones, though their mannerisms tell much.
It almost appears as though Vale is being scolded by the stout commander at his side—until he gives a curt nod and leans forward, saying something that seems to appease Odrin.
The two shake hands and pat each other’s backs with the strength of warriors before Vale returns to me.
Odrin sends a smile my way. He does not see me as the enemy here.
“Is all well?” I ask quietly as Vale leads me to supper.
“Yes,” his tone light. “I may have shirked a few responsibilities this afternoon,” he admits with a grin. “Nothing pressing. It may just take time for them to realize I have more concerning me than matters of state alone.”
His hand finds the small of my back as he ushers me into the room, pulling out my chair so we can sit across from one another and share the meal.
That night, he takes me to bed. By morning, he lingers. And each that follows. We fall into a rhythm together—when he meets with council, I banter with Ace; when he plots diplomacy, I write in my journal surrounded by nature.
As much as the library calls to me from its depths, the conservatory envelops me. The warm, humid air wraps around me, and I find my greatest peace there.
Days later, he comes to me.
My hands are smudged with charcoal as I sketch the familiar curves of leaves onto parchment. I reach for a linen to wipe my palms, but the look on his face stills me mid-motion.
He sits beside me on the chaise, his thumb brushing an onyx line from my skin as if memorizing it.
“I have to ask something of you,” he says softly—reluctant.
Not of my time.
Not of my company.
Of my courage.
I lift my eyes to his, searching.
Whatever he sees there makes him cup my cheek, his thumb catching another streak of charcoal I hadn’t noticed.
“It would mean stepping into the light,” he adds quietly. “Where everyone can see you.”
My breath catches.
What he asks of me is not unexpected—yet it still unsettles something deep in my chest.
I don’t answer right away. I can’t.
The weight of his request follows me long after he’s gone, threading through my thoughts until it’s all I can hear.
He once asked me to stay—and I did.
How could I deny him now?
I turn the question over and over, but the truth was always there beneath it: I would walk through fire if it meant I stayed at his side.
Before either of us ever spoke the words aloud, I already knew: I belong with him. Whatever awaits us… I will not turn away.