Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
My hair catches the wind as we rush back to the manor. Vale laughs, unrestrained, as he pulls me along. When he looks back at me, his smile loosens something deep within my chest. I have never seen him so free.
My skirt billows wildly in our wake, the entire valley alive around us. Tall grasses glow gold in the sun, and part of me longs to stop and simply drink it all in.
But Vale is a man on a mission. He doesn’t waver as we burst through the doors, heading straight for the royal quarters at the far end of the manor.
From the parlor, Ace’s voice carries after us, indolent and knowing.
“Please at least wait until the doors are shut, Your Majesties.”
Vale doesn’t slow.
Inside the luxurious suite, he moves to two doors I paid little attention to upon our arrival.
With one sweeping motion, he pulls them both open.
A private study. No—more than that. Shelves stretch from floor to ceiling, stacked high with books and journals, a hidden trove of memory and history. A private library.
For a moment, I nearly forget why we came.
Vale moves with quiet reverence now, kneeling at the far wall and opening a cabinet packed tight with small leather-bound volumes. “Her journals,” he says softly, brushing dust from one of the covers. A hush settles over the room, and I instinctively honor it.
He sets a heavy stack upon the broad desk—carved wood and dark granite forming a formidable presence far grander than the modest writing desk in our chambers.
He pulls out a sturdy armchair, and signals for me to sit.
Once I do, he retrieves another stack and rolls up his sleeves.
“Many of these are from after the Fade,” he sighs and seems to sink back into himself for a moment.
“We need something older.” He reaches deeper into the cabinet, withdrawing volumes with brittle, cracked spines.
Vale opens one, his thumb lingering on the parchment. His eyes flicker—memory, grief, and tenderness entwined. He shakes his head slightly, dissatisfied, and reaches again. “Yes. These.”
He shifts the older set forward, the more recent volumes spilling slightly aside. I instinctively straighten them, suddenly aware of how many lifetimes rest in these stacks.
Before we open the pages, I pause to take it all in. These books are older than even my village. Reverence washes over me—not only for what I am about to read, but for this world I have stepped into. I trace a careful touch along the fragile edges.
Vale opens one and turns it toward me. “I was only a boy,” he says with a warm laugh.
“Try not to judge my choices too harshly. We’re here to understand what life was like when magic still breathed.
” He winks before lifting another journal and moving across the room.
Each of us sets out to uncover what we may.
The ink is faded, but the handwriting remains beautiful. I still myself as I slip into a day in the life of the lady of the manor. Past lady. I suppose I am now the lady of the manor.
An eerie realization.
Her words are kind. Gentle. She writes of people and places with unmistakable affection.
I sense no fear in her pages, no shadow of doubt.
It feels foreign to me—uncertainty has been my constant companion.
She writes of hosting a noble family. Of young Vale’s antics.
Of a signature dish prepared for the evening’s meal.
It all feels so… normal.
Through centuries of change and loss, the heart of this place has always been love.
Leaning back, I marvel at the endless volumes. I have always loved the written word, found solace in stories and in my own thoughts pressed to parchment. But these… these are entire lifetimes laid bare.
This may be the clearest image I have of what immortality truly means.
Immortal.
Vale’s mother is gone. His father too. As are so many others lost when magic faded. I close my eyes, carrying quiet grief for lives I will never know.
The Blessed. Is it truly a blessing to watch everyone you love slip into time?
My gaze drifts to Vale. He perches at the window seat, late sunlight casting him in gold. One muscular leg bent, the other dangling, utterly absorbed in the journal in his hands. Will he live through losing me too? Not by blade or betrayal—but by the quiet cruelty of age. Unless…
My mind has always been prone to wander. Some thoughts are softer than others. Some best left unfed. I try to not give the crueler ones breath—but this one… “Vale,” I call cautiously, taking action before I can talk myself out of it.
He looks up at once, rising the instant he senses my tone. I tap my fingers against the desk. “I hope you don’t think me mad, but—I need to do something. I think we both need this.”
His journal is forgotten as he towers beside me. Without giving him time to object, I grab the letter opener. Wrapping my free hand around the narrow steel tongue, I slice.
Pain flares sharp and bright. Vale goes deathly still. My palm opens. Scarlet blood wells fast—too fast—slick and dark against my skin.
Before his voice can find me, before his fear can take shape, the wound seals.
Closed. Gone.
Even through the blood, the truth is undeniable.
“Mira—what were you thinking?” His voice breaks, torn between fury and terror. “That was reckless. Foolish—”
“I had to know,” I insist, my voice rising. “We can search these pages forever, but no ink can answer this question.”
“What question?” His instinct to protect me clouds the simple logic he cannot yet face.
“If I’m still mortal,” I say, trembling. “If I will grow old and die. If I will leave you to do so.” The fear I have carried quietly floods free at last.
“Gods, Mira,” he murmurs, wrapping me in his arms as I cry against his chest.
As the trembling subsides, Vale gently guides me back into the bedchamber and to the small basin to wash up.
We remain silent as he lifts the pitcher and pours water over my blood-smeared hand.
No less intimate than the night I washed his hair, I find us bonded now in a new way.
What we have witnessed together just now—it changes everything.
One more vicious thought breaks free past my lips before I can leash it.
“Will you still want me?”
I cannot even give the fear its full shape through words. Vale pauses from rubbing the blood from my skin, his brow furrowing at my question.
I go on. “You chose me. Vowed to spend a lifetime with me. A mortal lifetime. If I’m not—”
“Mira.” His arms wrap around me. Wet hands press into my hair as he cradles my head.
I feel the cool, damp touch as he raises my chin and looks into my eyes.
“I meant what I said. One lifetime would never be enough. However long I am lucky enough to call you my own—yes, I will still want you, Mira. Always.”
I press a half-hearted kiss to his lips, then move away, taking a linen towel with me to dry my hands.
He leans against the wall, arms crossed.
He does not reach for me again. Not yet.
His mouth twists as thoughts take shape in his mind.
His eyes dart slightly as he searches for sense in them.
The corners of his lips begin to crack. Looking up, dark lashes fluttering as he fights back a tear, he mutters, “Gods above…”
Rushing to me this time, he lifts me high into the air, turning as my dress catches flight.
“Gods above, Mira!” He lowers me again, and I witness the purest light and joy behind his eyes.
He softens just so as he lowers me. “This is the greatest blessing of all.” I steady my feet, my heart still soaring alongside his.
“I remember stories.” His palms cast wide, excited energy rippling through him.
“Stories older than the Fade. From a time when my kind and your own lived together. I thought they were just myth!”
He runs his fingers through his hair, then leads me to the bench at the foot of the bed—the one we claimed when we first arrived—and speaks with even greater passion.
“Legend said the Gods themselves might, on the rarest of occasions, bless a mortal with the gift of eternal life. I always thought it was a story the priest used to unite our kinds in the church. I don’t know that I ever heard a first-hand account.
But Mira… maybe—just maybe—you have been blessed in such a way. ”
He kisses my hands as if they are the greatest treasure ever discovered.
My heart leaps for a moment. It is not the thought of evading death that ignites something in me, but the feeling of being so loved and cherished by this man.
Then the blood drains from my face as it begins to sink in that I… I may well live hundreds of years.
So many thoughts whirl through my mind. How will I age?
Will I age? I have seen enough silver hair and deep creases in skin to know even The Blessed are not wholly untouched by time.
But Vale—he looks much the same as in the portraits I’ve seen standing beside his parents.
Clearly, time works differently for them.
For us? Could it really be?
“The tree, though,” I say softly. “Even if I am blessed as you say, what about the tree?” So many questions.
“We may not know the truth of your nature for some time,” he answers gently. “As I said, we are dealing with myth here. But things of a more elemental nature—those we can uncover.” He quiets his excitement just enough to meet me in the moment, in this vast, overwhelming truth.
Leaving me with the only word that matters among them all.
“Together.”
He gently brushes my cheek with his thumb, the delicate turn grounding me in him. Those remarkable deep brown eyes look back at me, holding far more truth than secrets. The emotions give way to something new. Need.
Our bodies inch closer, each of us caught in the fundamental force of choosing each other over and over again.
Our lips hover, barely a breath between us, the charge in the air hanging just before the storm breaks.
Through everything that has built between us, we both feel it—the raw urge for release. To break into ruin—together.
In little more than a flash, clothes are discarded.
Our mouths and bodies find one another tangled in the bed.
Heat ebbs and flows between passion and tenderness.
From delicate touch to primal grip, I give in to it all.
I want to be consumed by it. With no room for questions or mysteries, I answer the call that roars through us both.
“Vale.” His name breaks on my tongue like a prayer answered.
As his mouth claims my throat and my leg wraps around him, I feel whole.
We stay like this for what feels like hours.
Journals are left forgotten. We forgo the dining table in favor of a tray of meats and cheese that we pick our way through right there on the bed.
A blanket low around his waist, clutched to my chest, neither of us bother with clothes we know will only get in the way soon enough.
After the emotional highs and lows—not only of today, but of every day before—it just feels right.
Long after the fire, not only in the hearth but also in our veins, finally begins to subside, I realize how much peace it has brought me.
This was not merely giving way to carnal desire—though there was plenty of that. It was something far more powerful. It was union. True, honest union. Of bodies. Of hearts. Of souls.
Lying in the soft light of the pale moon, my back resting against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around me—I echo the word that stitches my whole life together in the only way that makes sense before drifting off to sleep.
“Together.”