Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Soria tightens the corset around me, and I relish the tug close to my chest. Whatever he asks of me, whatever it requires, I will not falter. Not even this.
The fortitude in my spine comes not from the tightly bound bodice but from within. The breath I draw is not labored—it’s resolute. Tonight I face the battlefield, but I do it with the strength and peace I have come to know in these days of quiet and nights of passion.
My reflection in the mirror feels true. The woman who once stood dim and uncertain now rises, clad in satin and lace, ready to face what awaits—head held high.
I exhale and turn to Soria.
“This should do, no?” I say cheerily, a smile serving as my final accessory.
“Well now, who is this bold lady before me?” Pride beams from her laugh as she takes me in. “It will do quite nicely indeed.” Her hands flank my shoulders. “And if it doesn’t, I’ll be near should you need.”
“Thank you, Soria. You’ve been a dearer friend and ally than I ever wished for.”
She leads me from the room, where Vale and Ace wait to escort us. Vale lights at the sight of me, and warmth floods my cheeks as I fall into place at his side.
“Speechless? Well now—this is a first.” I lean into him playfully.
“You’re a vision,” he says softly. “They don’t know what they’re in for.”
I draw a steadier breath. He’d been so guarded when he told me we’d be dining with the most prominent members of the High Hold—councilors and courtiers, all with me at his side.
It wouldn’t be a vast banquet full of entertainment.
No—this was worse. Not the intimacy of the table just for us. Instead, all eyes would be on us.
On me.
A week ago, this walk would have felt like marching toward the executioner.
Yet somehow, in these past days, I’ve begun to feel a sense of belonging.
Vivid afternoons in the library with Ace; sanctuary in the conservatory when I needed it; nights burning in Vale’s arms…
it all feels right. If this is what home could be, then it is worth fighting for.
We enter the room, already full and waiting.
Twenty faces turn to meet us—smiling, expectant.
I remind myself to breathe. To stand as though I belong among them.
Vale places his hand over mine, resting where my fingers curl around his arm.
A small gesture of affection; a greater gesture of public declaration.
Soria and Ace drift into the room, weaving among the gathering. They do not cling to my side, but their glances toward me—checking that I am faring well—mean everything.
We mingle; introductions follow. I smile, nod, answer—each exchange a careful step across unfamiliar ground.
I stifle a smirk at a stray thread I notice on Lady Corrin’s gown, recalling Ace’s tales in the Solarium.
Her husband stands tall despite his stout middle—once a man who commanded an audience with tales spoken in lingering bravado, now fading into disinterest.
The meek man in spectacles—whom I once saw trying to collect parchments spilling from his arms after a council meeting—is introduced as Fenloris.
“Our Master of Passes,” Vale says.
“Oh, more like minstrel of maps,” Fenloris refutes lightly.
I soften at the self-deprecating jab.
“I’d love to see them sometime—the maps, I mean.” I glance at Vale. “I know so little of Caerhollan and the lands beyond. I’d like to learn, if I may.”
The exchange is cut short as we’re directed toward the table.
“You don’t need permission, flame,” Vale murmurs for my ears alone. “I meant what I said that first night—Caerhollan is your home, if you’ll have it.”
I squeeze his arm before releasing him so he may pull out my chair. As at the banquet, I sit to his left, Odrin to his right, Ace and Soria farther down. But rather than the grand head table of the banquet hall, Vale takes the lone commanding seat at this long mahogany table.
I am grateful for the familiar faces near me, especially as voices from farther down call for my attention.
“Dear Mira,” someone calls—a man I scarcely recognize from passing glimpses outside Vale’s meetings—“how are you finding Caerhollan?” Vale introduces him as Commander Rhalin. Weathered as the cliffs beyond these walls, he offers me a nod, more respectful than curious.
The smile I wear is part facade, part truth. “Lovely is too small a word. It is truly a treasure.”
“She should see the Jewel,” another voice adds.
I lean forward to locate the speaker—an ageless woman whose beauty hides her history well. She seems to catch my unspoken question.
“The Jewel of Caerhollan—our southern hills,” she explains.
Ace leans toward me. “The manor, as we like to call it,” he says, lifting his goblet toward Vale. “His family home, high in a hidden valley.”
A soft light kindles in Vale’s eyes as he thinks on it.
“There are many treasures in Caerhollan,” Vale says, reaching across the table for my hand.
“There used to be more.”
A shrewder voice cuts through. All eyes follow the sound to its owner—a woman who shrugs off the attention as though accustomed to every gaze upon her.
“I’m merely saying… it’s nothing like it was before… well… everything.” She waves away those painful memories as though swatting a fly.
“True,” Vale answers—gentle, commanding. “We lost much. But we’re still here—strong, finding our way, forging a new era.”
He raises his glass. “To Caerhollan.”
“To Caerhollan,” voices echo—some lifted proudly, others half-hearted. Unease stirs in me. I cannot imagine witnessing the rise, fall, and rebirth of a kingdom.
I lift my glass with the others, wondering how many of them see a woman—and how many only see a question.
I breathe as deeply as the corset allows and let my shoulders ease. I cling to bright conversations among the fray—small lifelines through each course. Drinks are poured, plates cleared, music softens conversation to a hush. I am grateful for the gentler rhythm.
By the time we depart, I cling to Vale’s arm—only then realizing how much the evening took from me.
“You held court better than half the nobles,” Ace declares with a dramatic bow that loosens the tension I didn’t realize held me so tight.
Soria gives her subtler nod of approval.
I exhale, releasing what was coiled within.
I made it through the night.
Yes, I went in determined—but the only reason I didn’t falter was stubbornness and Vale’s steady presence. For a moment, I wonder who I am becoming.
Ace and Soria walk ahead. The wine must have been good, for Soria follows Ace into a cheerful, underhanded twirl. I press my head to Vale’s arm and let peace wash over me.
“You did it,” he murmurs, quiet awe in his tone. “Not that I had any doubt.” Pride colors his teasing, as though expecting a rebuttal.
I laugh softly. “I did, didn’t I?” I tip my head up at him, nose scrunched, shocked that I seemed to have gotten away with something.
Vale dismisses Ace and Soria with a warm goodnight, our moment unbroken.
The weight of the evening slips from me.
I cannot say with certainty that this was a test—some measure of whether I could withstand the scrutiny of standing at his side.
But if it were, I would fight with every fiber of myself for that place.
I’ve passed the point of no return. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
We reach my chambers at a slow, unhurried pace. I lean against the inside of the door as it shuts behind us, falling into it rather than moving deeper into the room.
He steps close, placing his palm high above my head, leaning into my space.
“Flame,” he says low, “you were remarkable tonight. I dare think you could charm my enemies, given half the chance.”
I bite my lip, shaking my head, the heat of his nearness muddling my response to his bold statement.
Before I can speak or even think of a quip, his other arm sweeps behind the small of my back and lifts me to him.
My chest rises to meet his, my shoulders still arched back against the door.
His mouth meets my own, hot and encompassing.
“I knew they’d love you,” he says into my ear as the heat of his breath stirs something awake inside me.
His lips blaze a trail of heat across my neck. “I love you,” he whispers.
My arms wrap around his neck as I kiss him once more. “I love you,” I reply.
My words seem to spur him on even more. I arch again, my back curving like the first spark of flame catching dry wood, his name waiting on my tongue, balancing on the edge of a blade.
“Vale,” I moan breathlessly as his mouth claims my neck, My hands collapse back against the door.
Bracing myself for the fire he means to bring.
Can he sense the way I quake beneath him?
My head tilts back, exposing my throat; his hand makes its way up gently, claiming me. His thumb brushes my chin.
“You are a force,” he murmurs, his lips still marking my neck.
“And you are mine.” He says it like it’s the only truth he’s ever longed to know.
A moan is my only reply. He pulls down the sleeve of my gown, exposing more tender skin to his kiss.
One hand reaches down and gathers my skirt.
In a swift movement he lifts me, and my legs wrap around him on instinct alone.
At first he pins me there. His body leaning into me.
My shoulders push hard into the door as my hips arc to meet him.
I feel him, all of him, pressed against me, and a heat that threatens to consume me takes over.
He carries me, propping me on the table, various items crashing to the floor. A moment later a guard’s voice bellows from beyond the door “Lord Vale?”