TWENTY #2
He glances briefly between me and Thane, his gaze sharp with quiet assessment.
“And Ardyn?”
I tense.
Thane doesn’t.
The string instruments in the orchestra fill the room with intricate melodies. Servers weave through the crowd carrying trays balanced with glasses of wine and gold-rimmed pastries.
“She was . . . ” I hesitate, choosing my words carefully.
Valen hums softly, clearly unsurprised. “She was always good at making an impression.”
“She tried,” I say, more clipped than I intended.
“And?”
I exhale sharply. “And I held my own.”
Valen nods once, like that outcome was never truly in doubt. “Good girl.”
Thane’s hand glides down my back, as if in silent agreement with Valen.
The bond thrums between us, a gentle pulse against my senses. A reminder. A tether.
I feel it in the steady pressure of his hand against me. In the quiet admiration and pride threading through the bond.
The enormity of the night settles around me, the ballroom still a blur of gold light, swirling tulle and satin, and whispered conversations.
I can still feel Ardyn’s presence lingering like an aftertaste I can’t quite spit out.
Still feel the lingering eyes of the court, weighing my place in their world.
“You’re doing better than you think, Amara,” Valen says.
I turn toward him, his calm, unwavering gaze on mine.
“I don’t know if I believe that,” I admit.
“That doesn’t make it less true,” Valen says gently. “Being here requires another type of battle—the political kind. One fought in subtleties and whispers.”
His silver-blue eyes soften with understanding.
“This is not an easy world, Amara. Especially these last few decades with the Shadeheart’s forces breaking through the wards. Nearly every interaction is laced with underlying intentions. It takes a skill that must be developed. Practiced. Earned.”
He holds my gaze, calm and certain.
“You are not expected to know how to navigate these treacherous waters.” A small pause. “And yet, you are doing just fine.”
Then, he smiles. A rare, genuine smile. The kind that reaches his eyes, crinkling at the corners.
A quiet pulse moves through me, and I feel Thane’s love wrap around me.
Even now, it catches me off guard. The bond settles around the frayed edges of my thoughts, grounding me before I can drift too far into them.
I need the reminder that I am not carrying this alone. No matter how much the world changes around me, there is still one thing I can reach for without hesitation.
Him.
The pressure doesn’t disappear. The expectations don’t lessen. The unknown remains. But somehow, standing beside him, it feels a little less overwhelming.
A little less impossible.
The music shifts again, another melody threading through the air, the sound of laughter and chatter weaving between the dancers.
“I see the way they look at me,” I murmur. “Like I don’t belong.”
“Then let them look,” Valen says simply. “Let them wonder. Let them talk. It won’t change what’s already been decided.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, more vulnerable than I intend.
His gaze flickers toward Thane, who has been silent beside me, but ever-present.
“That you, my girl,” Valen says quietly, “are exactly where you are meant to be. You are the Spiritborn. There isn’t a single person in this ballroom capable of what you can do,” he adds with a wink. “And you could burn them all down.”
Before I can even fully process the weight of those words, Thane’s fingers slip through mine. A pull I feel not just in my hand, but all the way through my chest.
He leans in, his breath ghosting against the shell of my ear.
“Come with me,” he murmurs, the words meant only for me.
I barely have time to glance back at Valen, who is already watching me with something like knowing amusement.
Then I’m moving before I even fully realize it, following him instinctively.
The ballroom is alive. Twirling gowns, couples leaning close in private conversation, delicate footwork weaving across the polished floor.
But I barely notice any of it.
Because Thane spins me into him with effortless certainty, his hands settling exactly where they always seem meant to be. At my waist. On me. Holding me.
And suddenly, the rest of the night no longer matters. Whatever happened before, whatever Ardyn left lingering beneath my skin, whatever the court thinks of me—the farm girl standing in the Fire Warlord’s arms—none of it exists in this moment.
The ballroom turns around us, the chandeliers spilling light across the sea of nobles, their laughter and whispers threading between the music.
But I don’t hear any of it as Thane pulls me closer. His grip tightens slightly at my waist, his body pressing into mine as though he intends to erase the last traces of uncertainty still clinging to me. His breath skims my temple, his touch keeping me firmly in the present.
My shoulders relax, and the last of my tension melts away. Because this, this right here, is what’s real.
Not the ball. Not the stares. Not the polished nobles who were raised in this world while I still feel like an outsider in it.
This.
Him.
The bond surges again between us, through us, like it knows when to remind us of who we are to one another.
Thane exhales, his grip tightening for just a second, like he feels it too.
“You feel it too, don’t you?”
His voice is quiet, meant only for me.
I swallow hard, my fingers gripping his shoulders, trying to hold onto the certainty of him.
“Feel what?” I whisper, thinking he’s referring to the bond.
His mouth grazes the side of my head, his breath stirring loose strands of my hair.
“That you were always meant to be here,” he murmurs, “my arms around you. And yours around me.”
And gods, I forget how to breathe.
“No matter what this world expects of me, no matter what I’ve told myself . . . ”
His hand slides lower, pressing me even closer, leaving no space between us.
“I think I have been waiting for you for my whole life.” His voice softens further. “It was always going to be you, Amara.”
Gods, this man has a way with words when he finally decides to use them.