Chapter 18
Lorian
I don't look back. I can't. If I see her standing there, watching me leave, I'll break.
I spread my fingers on the cool leather seat as Karanda's luxury vehicle pulls away from Maeve's cottage. I have no choice. This is something I have to do. This is the only way I can be the man Maeve deserves. I ran long enough from my past. It’s time I stood up, even if it means hurting the duchess.
Only then will I be able to come back with a clean conscience.
My hands clench into fists on my lap, knuckles white with tension. The summons scroll in my inner pocket feels heavier than it actually is, like rocks lining the fabric of my suit.
Beside me, Duchess Karanda sits with the perfect posture drilled into all noble elven children from birth.
Her face remains unreadable, eyes fixed forward as the driver navigates the sleepy roads of Saltford Bay.
Silence hangs between us, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional creak of leather as I shift my weight.
The hollow feeling in my chest expands with each minute that the car drives away from Maeve.
It's as if something vital has been torn out of my chest, leaving an emptiness that aches with every breath.
Maeve's face flashes in my memory, her green eyes wide with hurt and confusion as I turned away from her.
The pain in those eyes hurt like a hot iron, furrowing in my gut. That pain is because of me.
I mentally calculate how quickly I can return to Saltford Bay after responding to the summons.
Three days minimum, if I push for an immediate audience with the empress.
Perhaps a week if protocol is strictly observed.
Too long, either way. Too long to leave Maeve believing I abandoned her without explanation.
Still, I have little choice. I owe this to Duchess Karanda for her grief.
I realize with sudden clarity that returning to Saltford Bay might not be as simple as I hope. The empress doesn't issue summons lightly, especially not after granting me the mercy of self-imposed exile. I could be looking at months or years of service before being permitted to leave again.
Unless I refuse the summons entirely.
The thought is radical, almost blasphemous for someone raised as I was. No one refuses an Imperial summons. It’s just not done.
You don’t have to go. Maeve’s words resonate in my skull. Maybe she is right.
Yet as I consider the consequences of my defiance, they seem increasingly hollow. What good is my title without Maeve? What use is my reputation in the High Court if it means giving up the one person who makes me feel truly alive?
Duchess Karanda turns and looks at me with those ice-blue eyes all elves share. Does she sense my thoughts turning toward rebellion? The air in the car feels charged with unspoken tension and old wounds.
To my surprise, she leans forward and addresses the driver. "Pull over here, please."
The sleek vehicle glides to a smooth stop beside a stretch of pine forest. Through the window, I can see the sun beginning its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose.
We're in the middle of nowhere, just outside of town, the distant sound of ocean waves barely audible from the bay.
Confusion flickers through me as the engine quiets. I tense, unsure what this unexpected stop means.
Karanda reaches into an inner pocket of her velvet dress with deliberate slowness. Her movements are precise as always, but as her hand retrieves an object, it shakes. Her fingers still tremble as she hands me a folded piece of simple white paper.
I stare at it without words, too confused to speak. The paper is clearly old, its edges worn soft from frequent handling. Creases run deep across its surface, speaking of countless foldings and unfoldings.
"From Evander," she says simply, her voice barely above a whisper.
The name hits me like a physical blow. Evander. Her son. My patient. The boy who died.
The boy I failed to save.
I hesitate before taking the letter, my own fingers trembling slightly as I accept it. The paper feels delicate, precious, a relic from a past I've spent five years trying to atone for. I unfold it with utmost care, afraid the worn creases might tear under my touch.
The sight of the childish handwriting makes my throat tighten. Large, careful letters formed with precision blur as tears sting my eyes. I begin to read, each word hitting me like a physical blow.
This must have been written during one of Evander’s last days. Before his young life slipped between my fingers.
Each line describes a child's gratitude, his love for his mother, his father. He speaks of his happiness that he was cherished every day of his life. And of me. The doctor who cared for him day and night.
I can barely read through my tears as I reach the final paragraph, where Evander thanks me for giving him the courage to face what was coming. For helping him understand that some battles cannot be won but can still be fought with dignity.
I hand the letter back to Karanda, who presses it to her chest with trembling hands.
"He was such a courageous child," I admit, my voice hoarse with emotion. "Braver than any of us."
I don’t know why she’s sharing this letter with me, but I know I’m grateful I read it. This letter is an absolution I never thought I needed, but I did. Five years of guilt and exile healed in a single moment.
Karanda's perfect court mask slips, revealing the raw grief beneath. Without the elaborate backdrop of the High Court, sitting in a parked car on a rural roadside, she suddenly looks like what she truly is. A mother who lost her child.
"For five years, I rehearsed what I would say to you when I’d finally see you again," she says, her voice softer than I've ever heard it. "So many words I prepared, and now I can’t find any."
I remain silent, giving her space to continue.
"Grief blinded me," she admits, smoothing the letter with careful fingers. "I needed someone to blame. Someone to focus all my pain on so I wouldn't have to face the truth. That nothing could have saved him."
She looks up, meeting my eyes directly.
"I thought watching you suffer would ease my pain. It didn't. Nothing did." Her fingers trace the outline of the letter. "Then I found this, hidden in his favorite book. He knew, Lorian. My little boy knew he was dying, and he made peace with it better than I ever did."
I find my voice, speaking the truth I've carried for years.
"I did everything I could for Evander." I push the words through a closed-up throat. “If I could have traded places with him, I would have.”
"I know," she whispers. "I think I always did."
A tear rolls down Karanda's perfect cheek, and she closes her eyes for a long moment. When she looks at me again, she pinches her lips and nods to herself.
"I punished you because I needed someone to bear the blame," she acknowledges. "I drove you from your home, your position, your family."
"I left because staying would only make your grief worse," I admit. "Every time you saw me, you were reminded of it."
The tension between us shifts, old wounds beginning to heal in the quiet intimacy of shared pain. Silence falls again, but it's different now. All traces of hostility are gone. The setting sun casts long shadows through the car windows, painting everything in warm gold and deep purple.
After several minutes, Karanda gestures to the summons scroll still in my coat.
"I'm the one who petitioned for your reinstatement. I wanted to give back what I helped take from you. This is my way to atone."
I look at her with surprise.
"Your exile was never officially decreed," she explains. "You left voluntarily before the empress could make a ruling. I've spent the last two years working to clear your name completely."
"Why now?"
"Because it took me this long to face my own shame," she answers simply. "And because the court needs you, Lorian. Your skills as a doctor were never in question, even at the height of my anger."
I consider her words carefully. The summons was meant as atonement, not punishment. A way to restore what was lost. In another time, another life, I would have been overjoyed at this development.
But now I have Maeve.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the small wrapped package I'd intended to present to Maeve before Karanda's arrival interrupted everything. I carefully open it, revealing the Eternal White Lily, its petals glowing softly in the dimming light of sunset.
Karanda inhales sharply in recognition of what this means.
"I can't go back to Court," I say simply. "I found my True Mate."
Her eyes widen, fixing on the luminescent bloom in my palm.
"The human woman," she breathes. "She's your True Mate?"
I nod once.
"But if you don’t go, you know what will happen," Karanda warns. "Ignoring the empress’ summons is punishable by banishment. No return. No forgiveness."
"I know."
"Your family has served the court for five generations, Lorian. The position you worked your entire life to achieve. The respect of your peers. Your standing and title. You would give up everything, just to be with her?"
I look out the window toward Saltford Bay, toward Maeve. In the distance, I can just make out the glow of the town's lights beginning to sparkle against the deepening blue of early evening.
"It's the easiest decision I've ever made," I state with absolute conviction.
I open the car door, the cool evening air rushing in to replace the sandalwood-scented warmth of the vehicle's interior. The Eternal White Lily gleams in my palm, its light steady and true.
"What will you tell the empress?" I ask, pausing with one foot outside the car.
Karanda studies me for a long moment.
"The truth," she finally says. "That Lorian Reizenhart has finally found something more important than duty."
I step fully onto the roadside, the Eternal Lily clutched carefully in my hand. Karanda watches me silently, a mixture of sadness and understanding in her eyes. No more words are needed between us. We said all that matters.
I tuck the lily carefully inside my jacket, close to my heart.
Without hesitation, I turn and begin to run back toward Saltford Bay, toward home, toward my True Mate. The sun sets behind me, casting my shadow long before me as my feet carry me back to where I belong.
For the first time in my life, I know what my heart wants. And it makes all the difference.