Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Soria holds up gowns for me to approve before folding them into the trunk that will be sent ahead.
“I really don’t think I’ll need anything that formal,” I laugh when she presents the iridescent taffeta.
“You may be right,” she replies, laughing as she sets it aside.
Enough riding leathers to exhaust Bracken himself across the valley hills have already been packed, and truthfully, I’d be content with just those.
Well—and a few of the more sensual nightdresses I certainly don’t mind having crafted for the honeymoon.
A flush blooms across my cheeks as I remember that first night after the wedding…
The way sheer fabric clung like a second skin, drawing out my boldest desires.
“A few of the lighter day dresses would be lovely,” I add, my smile softening as my eyes settle on the velvet ones—green, blue, brown—the ones that have marked so many becoming moments since my arrival. “Those, too. They seem fitting, from what I’ve heard of the valley.”
Soria nods, pleased to check off another task.
She has worked tirelessly these past days to make sure I’d have anything and everything I could possibly need.
The look on her face when I reminded her I once lived off the land with little more than the clothes on my back was priceless.
I half expected her to stumble backward from the shock—though she managed only an exaggerated eye roll instead.
It feels odd to sit in the bedchamber I once called my own, now that every night belongs to the room Vale and I are making sovereign together.
The additions made there for my comfort have been beautiful—towering planters of lush greenery climbing the walls, soft tapestries, pillows, and throws making the space feel lighter and fresher.
Still, I carry a fondness for this room.
It was here I first found home… and more than that, found myself.
My fingers brush the embroidered design on the settee as I glance around, struck by a bittersweet sorrow to leave it behind—not just for the honeymoon, but for the days and nights to follow.
“What’s the manor like?” I ask Soria, hoping the promise of its serenity might make the leaving easier, even before we’ve gone.
“You’re going to love it,” she says, stepping to the open window and gazing toward the valley below.
“I was fortunate to practically grow up there. The queen—Vale’s mother—wanted Aurienne to love the hills as much as she did.
And with my mother tending to her, I was able to share in that beautiful upbringing. ”
Her voice shifts. A shadow passes through it.
“We were lucky,” she says quietly, blinking hard as if to clear away memories pressing in.
“Things were harder elsewhere, weren’t they?”
I’ve learned parts of the timeline—the Fade, the famine, the wars.
The birth of the young princess, so celebrated.
The hope of a new era. Everything I’ve heard tells me it’s been a long and arduous climb to the Caerhollan of today.
And it makes me even more proud of Vale’s efforts to continue healing this kingdom.
“For many, yes,” she says after a pause. “And for too long.”
Her fingers trail along the sill, pausing where the stone has worn smooth with time.
“That’s why I tend things. Rooms. People. The earth. I think when something survives, it deserves care.”
I cherish seeing this side of my friend. Yes, she acts as my lady’s maid, but to me she is so much more.
I’m grateful she’ll be joining us on the journey. We’re keeping the party small—at least by royal standards. With the council largely reassured that the attack during the ceremony was the isolated act of a madman, we’ve been permitted to travel with only a limited guard.
A honeymoon should be intimate. Private.
But as queen, I’m expected to have attendants.
I insisted that Soria would be more than enough.
And it wasn’t difficult to convince Ace to join us—his presence makes the group feel balanced.
Quietly, I hope his company helps Soria enjoy herself as my friend, not only in her duties.
Preparations have moved swiftly since Vale and I began to plan. Work is underway here and at the manor in the Jewel, with word already sent ahead of our arrival.
I breathe a long sigh of relief. Even with the public statement about the assailant, tension has lingered within the palace walls.
Guards shadow my steps more closely—through the halls and outside the sanctuaries I once found comfort in.
The conservatory feels less like a refuge. The library, less like a retreat.
Thankfully, no one expects me in the Solarium or other social spaces. A mercy of being newlywed.
With Soria off ensuring everything reaches the manor before us, I linger in my old chambers. The bed—our bed for so many nights—feels strangely empty now. Not lonely, just… relinquished. A chapter closed the moment I became his wife.
Wife.
The word still catches me off guard. I never imagined my life bending toward marriage—let alone marriage to a king. A flutter rises in my stomach, a blend of awe and nerves and something impossibly tender.
I trail my hand across the coverlet, remembering the nights Vale and I claimed each other here—the quiet between us, the heat, the belonging.
It should be simple joy. But the world hasn’t stilled.
Not really.
The happiness is real—exquisitely real.
So is the fear that shadows it.
Before the feeling can settle, I rise. Resolve has carried me through every change in my life; it carries me now.
I move through the rest of the day with purpose, letting each task fall neatly into place.
The worry never quite fades—but it softens at the edges, held at bay by the promise of tomorrow.
When evening comes and Vale returns, his arms enveloping me, the tightness in my chest eases. He doesn’t even need to speak.
He is the quiet in the storm, and I anchor myself to that truth.
Tomorrow, we ride.
Tomorrow, we breathe again.
Whatever awaits at the manor—joy, fear, answers, danger—I will face it with him. That is the truth I hold onto as night gives way to dawn and tomorrow becomes this very moment.
Horses neighing, the scent of hay and fresh-cut wood—I latch onto it all. Let it anchor me. Let it pull me out of the tangle of nerves coiled beneath my ribs.
This is our honeymoon. I remind myself of that fact like a prayer.
Vale murmurs to Bracken, stroking the stallion’s neck, and the sight steadies me more than I expect.
It still feels unreal—precious in a way that almost aches.
I pushed and fought and clawed my way through fear and prophecy and blood to reach this life…
and now that I am here, truly here, married to a man I love beyond measure, a quiet terror whispers that it could all slip away.
My thumb slides over the smooth band of the rings on my finger.
Cold metal. Polished stone.
Real. He is real. We are real.
But my thoughts circle—bright ones, dark ones, grounded ones, messy ones. Someone attacked me. Someone sits rotting in a cell because of it.
Vale loves me.
I have a family now. A home.
New mysteries rise like fog over the valley of my future. For every steady thought, two more shift and blur. I don’t reach for any of them.
I can’t. They’re too loud, too tangled—
“Ow.”
A sharp slice tears across my palm where I leaned against a beam.
I jerk back. A nail juts from the wood, rusted and jagged.
Vale is at my side before the breath leaves my lungs.
He presses a handkerchief into my hand, eyes dark with worry.
I clamp the cloth over the wound. The sting pulses, throbbing deep.
“Are you two lovebirds ready to fly the coop?” Ace calls, already astride his horse. Soria sits ready as well, reins loose in her hands and patience thinning.
A pair of guards cross to Vale—final checks, last-minute words. He gives a curt nod, irritated at the interruption, then turns back to me. His hands close around mine, gentle but insistent. He peels the cloth away. We lean in. And then—
Nothing.
Not a mark. Not a scratch. Just a smear of blood on the linen.
“Huh.” The sound escapes me, brittle and too high. “It must not have been as bad as it felt.” But the air around me tightens. That… isn’t possible.
“We’re ready for you, my lord,” a guard calls.
Vale examines my hand once more, frowning. “Are you sure you’re alright, love?” The concern in his voice could stop the world. He’d abandon the Jewel, the council, the throne itself if he thought I needed him.
“I’m fine,” I insist gently. “Just a small nick, that’s all.” I reach for him as I mount the white mare they’ve prepared for me.
His hand stays on my leg a beat too long. His eyes never leave me—not as he swings onto Bracken, not as the gates open, not as guards form around us like armor.
We ride out of Caerhollan with protection flanking us, more shadowed strength hidden in the hills beyond.
And still—the phantom sting lingers in my palm. As if something beneath my skin is waking.
Hands gloved and the ride well underway, my thoughts drift despite my best efforts to savor the beauty around us. The morning air is crisp against my cheeks, the summer sun not yet warm enough to chase away the cool.
I breathe it in.
Up here in the high passes, the stillness feels pure in a way nothing in the palace ever could.
The tight rocky trails, the open meadows, the song of the stream running beside us—each sound, each scent, feels like the truest home I’ve ever known.
As the water rushes over stone, I pray the current might carry the lingering heaviness with it.
But something inside me refuses to be washed away.
I’ve felt it for some time now—quiet but growing clearer, like a voice learning how to speak. The old call, the one that used to tug at me restlessly through sleepless nights, is gone. What remains feels… rooted.
Stirring. Neither loud nor frightening, but inevitable.
My nerves may jostle with leftover fear, and my stomach may flutter with unease, but this is something else entirely. It feels as though it is weaving itself into me, stitching into the very marrow of who I am.
Strange, yes—but not unwelcome. There is a familiarity to it, the same way the forest once felt like an extension of my own skin.
I know I’ve changed.
From the girl who wilted under a hard stare to the woman who walks into a room with her chin lifted, a steadying force beside her mate.
Even having lived it, the transformation is hard to believe.
But this…
This is different.
This change feels older. Truer. A power long dormant now waking—aware, restless, unwilling to stay hidden any longer. My chest tightens as a question rises, unbidden—
Which of us is guiding the other? Me… or this thing stirring awake inside me? I’m so lost in thought that I barely notice my right thumb moving over the rich leather of my glove, rubbing the place on my left hand where I felt the piercing cut.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Vale’s voice startles me despite its low, steady calm. “We can stop if we need to. Take a look at it, or just—”
“No.”
The single word comes out too sharp, too fast. I immediately soften my grip, settling both hands around the reins. I look ahead at the winding path, then back to him.
Reassurances rise to my lips, but they feel hollow before they can form.
In my heart, I know I cannot truthfully say it was nothing.
Questions scrape through my mind—rough, restless, demanding.
I bury them instead, anchoring myself in the sweep of the mountains, in the quiet care of the man riding beside me, in the fragile peace of this small family we’ve formed.
So I shift. I deflect. Not to avoid him—but to protect this moment.
“Tell me,” I ask softly, “what are you most looking forward to on this trip?”
We both know this journey is layered with purpose. Still, I refuse to let it be consumed by looming shadows. This is our honeymoon. And I feel the thrill of stepping into the place I’ve heard so much about.
Vale leans back in his saddle, settling into memory. “Honestly? The sound. I would call it the quiet, but that wouldn’t do it justice. There, without the court, without the echo of stone, you can hear everything. The way the mountain breathes.”
He smiles faintly, gaze distant. “My mother called it Caerhollan’s song. The wind through the trees. The birds without interruption. Even the grass has its own melody.”
I close my eyes as we ride. “It all feels so alive,” I murmur, sunlight warm on my face, my smile answering it.
“I saw that in you,” he says. “Back in the cottage. The way you moved. The way you listened.” His eyes find mine, full of quiet reverence. “You already knew the song by heart.”
He reaches for me, and I meet his hand. Our fingers brush—only for a breath before the distance between our horses pulls us apart—but the connection remains taut and living between us.
The half day’s ride unfurls without haste. Ace strums softly as we pass through a wide meadow. Soria remains quiet, yet I watch the tension ease from her frame with every mile. Duty seems to slip from her shoulders grain by grain, and the sight fills me with a quiet joy.
By late afternoon, the trail narrows and our pace tightens as jagged stone rises around us. My gaze lifts to the high ridge above, where I catch the faintest glimmer of reflected light—only the briefest sign of a hidden guard.
The Jewel is protected. One way in. One way out. We will be safe here. At least from men.
Unease coils beneath my ribs.
We’ve prepared for attack—but not for this thing stirring inside me. I flex my fingers, breathing in the scent of dust and cold stone, summer dimmed beneath mountain shadow.
You’ve felt it. It’s there. Whatever it is. But you also feel the truth—it’s not wrong. It may be dangerous, but it’s not wrong.
There’s something about breaking a thought down to its most fundamental truth. Whatever it is, I know I cannot call it safe. Not yet. But it isn’t wrong. I think the words and feel their certainty settle in my bones.
Is that enough to take comfort in?