Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Iknow we slept. The way our bodies twist and stretch to greet the day proves it. And yet, the burning memory of what felt like an endless night of heat lingers in such delicious detail; it’s hard to believe we didn’t greet the sun still in the throes of passion.
I roll onto my stomach, perched on my elbows, basking in the man beside me. Biting my lip, I revel in the sight of him—each stretch and flex as he yawns, highlighting the power of the man I get to call mine.
“Good morning, my flame,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
“Mmm. Good morning, husband,” I say, my voice catching, still hoarse from crying out his name through the night.
“Someone’s in a good mood,” he teases, clearly pleased.
And he should be—last night erased every shadow of the day.
I feel it, though, the slight crack in my smile when my mind begins to drift back.
I push it down as best I can. This moment is ours.
This bed, this man—my sanctuary. I will linger here in peace as long as I can.
He brushes a stray hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear with the reverence of a vow. A fullness settles in my chest—to be cared for, truly cared for, by the man I love more than anything in this world. I thank the gods I could ever be so fortunate.
I rise and move into his arms, which wrap around me without hesitation. The smell of sweat and heat still clings to our skin.
“We’re due a honeymoon,” he says softly. “I have business I must tend to, but very soon—I’d like to take you to the Jewel. Somewhere I can have you all to myself.”
I light up, the excitement in my chest mirrored in his face.
His hand slides up my arm as I rise to kiss him, spurred by his invitation.
I know I will always share him with duty, just as I will have my own obligations.
But the promise of a private retreat, just him and me…
it may be the greatest gift I’ve ever received.
He laughs at my reaction, which only spurs me further. In a moment, I’m showing him just how eager I am for that escape.
I press a damp cloth to my brow, cooling the sweat brought on by the continuation of our wedding night.
Vale begins to dress, and I’m grateful no one would dare disturb us on such a sacred morning.
Still, I sense the pull of the world returning.
Each button he fastens draws him further toward responsibility.
I almost pout, but the promise of a honeymoon keeps me eager for the world to settle.
Vale is fully dressed now, yet I still remain in my robe. He kisses me farewell, hunger still blazing in his eyes—a hunger we may never sate but never stop trying.
Soria begins readying me for the day. My first as queen. Even the day gown is more lavish now. I remind myself it is expected.
Across the room, I regard the gown but stay wrapped in my robe, ravenously picking from the plate of food brought in for me. Someday, I’d like to have a real breakfast with Vale, I think. But this morning, we spent our time far more deliciously.
Biting into a piece of fruit, its juice soothes the sting in my throat.
I am overwhelmed with gratitude for this life.
I don’t need attendants or palaces. I’d go back to the cottage, so long as Vale was with me.
But it’s more than him. It’s this kingdom, its people.
My new family of Soria and Ace. Oh gods—Ace is actually family now.
I hadn’t thought much about how marriage would truly bind me to them.
A sister by the sea, aunts and uncles across kingdoms.
I lean back, awestruck by how vast my world has become. I was once utterly alone. Now—I have roots. Deep and wide. And I must grow to fit the soil in which I’ve been planted.
I step into the finery truly fit for a queen. I measure myself in the mirror—against the girl I was, against the ruler I am becoming. How many times have I looked at my reflection and seen it change? It’s still me, though. Each and every form.
I sit at the desk in Vale’s chambers. Our chambers, I muse.
Wood, leather, linen—all solid. Grounding.
Without a fixed task for the morning, I let myself simply be.
I don’t think Ace will be in the library, and I don’t care to lose myself in maps.
I reach for parchment and begin to write.
Any and all words that come. A steady stream of thought pouring across the page.
I don’t care if it’s coherent or if the ink smears. There’s freedom in the flow.
A sharp black line cuts across the page.
The door bursts open. Vale.
He’s charged, more so than even yesterday after the attack. I stand, the desk a barrier between us. He paces near the fire, wringing his hands.
I gasp when I see the blood.
Rushing forward, he shifts, raising a hand as if to brush away my concern. I seize it, holding tight, inspecting the damage. His knuckles are raw. A smear of blood mars the white linen of his shirt.
“Gods, Vale. What happened?”
He turns away, rage still burning beneath the surface. “You weren’t supposed to see this. I thought you’d be—” He stops, shakes his head. “I don’t know what I thought.”
I lead him to the basin and begin to clean the wound. He doesn’t flinch—just flexes his hand as the water runs red over his skin. My own ink-stained fingers smudge the cloth. Red and black mixing. I realize —not all the blood is his.
I lift my eyes. “Vale. Tell me.”
He sighs, resigned. “I went to the dungeon. Spoke with the prisoner. It was little use.” His brow furrows. “There’s something he’s not saying. I can tell. I’ve broken men before.” His voice turns dark, chilling. “It’s only a matter of time.”
He meets my gaze, softening. “I should change. The council will meet soon. There’s much to discuss.”
He begins to unbutton his shirt, and I step forward to help, hoping my touch will calm him.
“You should be there,” he says. “This meeting concerns a threat against the crown. Against us. Yes, come with me. Let us stand together.”
He entered with fire, unbridled. Now he moves toward controlled dominion. I will not refuse that. I nod, uncertain of what awaits, but sure of this: whatever threats rise, we are stronger when we stand together.
It takes little time for the voices to crash over one another in a sea of noise—decorum thrown aside, worry and accusation flung wildly.
“Enough!” Vale’s command rips through the room, silencing all.
Men settle in their seats. Vale towers over them, arms planted into the table like a war general plotting his strategy.
“This is the second attempt against the crown,” he seethes. “I may have made too light of the attempt on my life, but I will not stand for an attack against my queen. Against this kingdom. And in my own house!”
His words ricochet off the stone walls.
“We have little outsiders within our walls.” An advisor shoots a glance toward me.
Vale responds with a look of his own, and the man wilts in his chair.
“The attacker—this vile, pathetic excuse of a man—he was a merchant, you say?” Vale tilts his head, eyes pinched shut against the corrosive fury inside him.
“Aye,” Odrin speaks up. “Comes and goes from court often but claims the road his home more than the Hold.”
Stilling himself with a steady, reclaiming breath, Vale looks at his trusted friend.
“And do we think this was a strike against Mira?” There’s a tightly restrained composure in his words, “For being an outsider?” His eyes dart across each man, searching for the slightest flinch. “Or against our reign?”
The men glance at one another. Only Odrin carries the strength to answer.
“We cannot forget the attack on you, my liege. It was targeted. Intended to kill. The blade that tried to end your life, the way you described it—it is not the same as the one recovered yesterday.”
“Whether that man was part of the attack in the woods or not, the fact remains—he got close. Too close,” a stern voice adds.
“Lord Redgrave is right. We must remain vigilant until the truth of these threats is revealed,” Vale agrees, discomfort building within me.
“We should close the gates. No one in or out. We’ve been too lax with our protection, and it shows,” a silver-bearded man at the far end of the table interjects.
“No,” Vale replies. “We can be mindful. We can be prepared. But we will not set this kingdom back two hundred years.” He stands tall now. “If that is what they want—whoever it is—they will not succeed.”
Silence reigns.
If I remain quiet, I will never be more than the outsider they already see.
“Is that reason enough,” I ask, voice steady, “for closing things off?” My gaze sweeps the room. “First a move against him, then against me?”
Eyes flick toward Vale, but I do not look at him.
“I understand I am not accepted by all,” I admit. No one argues—only averts their eyes. “But whether the attack on me was meant to frighten or worse, the truth remains: someone wanted Vale dead.”
I sit taller now. Strength steadies my voice. “I know how close that attack was. I also see how beloved he is. So I have to ask—why would someone want him dead?”
Uneasy shifts. Quiet murmurs. No answers.
Then a scoff—Ace. “Certainly not to see me on the throne,” he mutters. “Gods help us all.”
Uncomfortable chuckles ripple through the room. The storm breaks just enough to breathe.
Theories return—grievances with neighboring lands, dissenters within. Talk turns in circles, as politics always does. By the time the meeting adjourns, no one is satisfied. Least of all me.
At the door, Ace lingers. “You know I’ve never wanted it, right?” he says to Vale. “The crown, I mean.”
“I know, cousin. You’re a far better bard than diplomat.”
“You have never seen Ace navigate the perils of courtiers clamoring for his attention if you think he isn’t well versed in the art of compromise,” I add.
Ace’s laugh warms the air, and then he’s gone.
The doors close. Only Vale and I remain.
Despite the empty room, the weight still lingers. Why would someone move against a king if not to take his place? Was the attack on me because of who and what I am—or simply another way to wound Caerhollan?
More questions than answers, we do our best to find solace with one another.
The mood stays heavy into the next day. When Vale leaves in the morning, dread clings to me. Trying to calm my nerves proves futile, so I take myself to a place that holds no comfort.
The library is quiet, near-dark, with few torches lit and even less daylight breaking through the storm clouds outside. It doesn’t matter—not where I am going.
Lantern in hand, I walk to the Sanctum with more conviction than ever before. I am not being summoned. I am not desperate. Not by it. Not when dangers outside this room feel far more real than anything written on forgotten pages.
I do not expect answers here. I know there is no peace. And somehow, that makes this the only place that feels right.
Two guards follow my every step. Two more wait outside the library doors. Their presence is no more looming than the fears I push through.
They respect my command enough to stand within the heart of the library after securing the perimeter, confident we are alone.
I am no longer surprised when the lock releases to my touch. To whatever ancient power yields to me now. I set the lock on the table and remove the chains in quiet, fluid motions. I do not want the guards to question.
Fire burns in my chest despite the chill in my limbs as I press into the darkness. The lantern light reveals only what I direct it toward. I do not know what I seek. I have no aim. But if I must live with this unease, let it be useful.
Walking in by choice feels different. The charge in the air hums reverently. I do not tremble.
I search the shelves—intricate bindings, worn edges, thick with dust. No one has touched them in years.
Deeper still, I see the dagger—rough-hewn, primal. The memory of the solstice is still hazy. I wonder how something so raw could have pierced me.
Reaching behind the stone plinth, I find a warped leather-bound book. Its spine twisted, its cover distorted. I brush off the dust when a voice calls out.
“Your Majesty?”
Reluctantly, I move toward the gate. “Yes?” I ask, bracing.
“We’ve been ordered to return you to the king,” he gulps, “at once.”
The urgency unsettles me. They escort me swiftly up the private stairs and back to our chambers. I set the book on the desk and begin pacing, tension coiling with each step.
Vale arrives in a surge, shaking his head. “He’s mad. The man has gone mad,” he mutters.
We rush into one another’s arms, and he slows. “Maybe they’re all mad,” he exhales before fully turning to me. “The council seems relieved, though.” He tips his head back slightly in exasperation before forcing the tension down.
We sit together before the hearth, radiant heat thawing the chill brought in by midday storms.
“I tried speaking with our guest in the cell,” he says. “Let’s just say he was far from amiable. Prattling on about time. About power. But when I pressed him…” Vale’s fists twist into knots. “He descends into drivel. A muttering trance. Words that aren’t his. Unnatural.”
He drags a hand through his hair and turns to me. “The council believes he is a madman acting alone. I don’t know. And with you—I won’t take risks.”
I reach for him and for the thought rising inside me. “No. Let’s take the risk.”
Concern flickers in his eyes.
“Let’s take a careful one,” I say steadily. “You have eyes and ears you trust. Let them watch. Let them listen. And let us see who moves when they think we are no longer afraid.”
From there, we begin to shape our plan.