19. Claire
Claire
The further south we traveled, the more the land changed.
The sharp, jagged edges of the mountains had softened behind us, their looming silhouettes giving way to rolling stretches of green.
The air felt different here too, warmer, gentler, carrying the faint sweetness of things blooming instead of the cold bite of stone and wind.
And the flowers. Gods, the flowers.
They spread across the meadows in unapologetic color—violets and golds and soft blush pinks I had never seen before, some delicate and pastel, others bold and bursting open as if they had something to prove.
I found myself staring far too often, asking Ash and Caspian to slow their horses just so I could take them in, as if I could somehow memorize them and carry them with me.
Waking before the others, I slipped from my blankets and wrapped a shawl around my shoulders before wandering off.
The meadow welcomed me as if it had been waiting for my arrival.
As the sun began to rise, spilling soft gold across the horizon, the light caught on every petal and blade of grass until the entire field felt dreamlike.
I stopped involuntarily, my breath catching as the first touch of warmth brushed over my face.
It was the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen.
I hummed a tune under my breath as I drifted deeper into the field. My skirts brushed against the flowers, the fabric whispering softly with each step. I knelt and leaned closer to one bloom shaped like a tiny star; its scent was faint but sweet. Carefully, I plucked it. Then another. And another.
Soon my hands were busy gathering stems, turning them over, pairing colors together the way I imagined they might look best. My fingers moved absentmindedly, weaving them together, twisting the stems into an intentional arrangement worth keeping.
My thoughts wandered as I worked. In a little over a week, I would arrive at my new home.
The thought didn’t twist in my chest the way it had days ago.
That strange, hollow disappointment had softened, pushed aside by a lighter feeling.
Hope, perhaps. Or at least something that resembled it. New days did that.
I would have a husband, stability, and a life that made sense again.
Doors of opportunity would open for me, not the uncertain paths of muddy roads and borrowed beds.
I could send things home, too, to make sure my family needed little.
Papa might expand the chicken coop or the garden. Matthew would like that.
I smiled to myself, finishing the bouquet with a final twist. It wasn’t perfect, but it was lovely.
Cradling it carefully, I made my way back to camp to see Caspian crouched near the fire with a cup in hand, coaxing the flame back to life.
The faint scent of coffee hung in the air.
Ash, on the other hand, was only just beginning to stir, still wrapped in her blankets.
“Good morning,” I said brightly.
Caspian startled so violently he nearly spilled his drink. “You’ve been awake?” he asked, blinking at me as if I had materialized out of thin air.
“And you wandered off by yourself?” Ash’s voice cut in, low and rough with sleep.
I glanced toward her and immediately wished I hadn’t. Her hair had fallen loose, dark strands slipping over her eyes, her expression still heavy with sleep. It wasn’t fair the way her voice sounded like that—soft, gravelly, unguarded. It sent warmth rushing straight to my cheeks.
I focused instead on the bouquet in my hands. “These are for you.” I held them out for Caspian.
He blinked. “For me?”
“For being so kind to me,” I said, softer now. “I’m not oblivious. I know I’m… difficult.”
That felt like an understatement.
“But still,”—I offered him a small smile—“you’ve been so patient with me. Thank you.”
In a breath, Ash had crossed the space between us, her boots quiet against the earth as she came to a stop far too close. Her arms folded tightly across her chest, shoulders squared, every line of her body firm and immovable.
“As sweet as this is, Princess, you can’t wander off like that alone. Not out here.” The softness of the morning seemed to shrink beneath her tone.
I lifted my chin, clutching the folds of my skirt a little tighter than necessary.
“What’s the danger? A deer? A rabbit?” I shot back, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
Ash’s eyes narrowed. “Bandits and other creatures you know nothing about.”
“You’re overreacting,” I countered, crossing my arms defensively.
A low, rumbling growl vibrated in Ash’s chest—a sound so raw and predatory that it cut the words right out of my mouth.
Step by step, she closed the distance between us, her shadow completely engulfing me as she snarled down into my face.
“You absolutely will not wander out here alone without one of us. Period.” Her eyes burned into mine, fierce and uncompromising. “I want to hear you say it, Claire. Say you understand.”
“She is right,” Caspian added, his voice gentler, like he was trying to soften the moment. He adjusted his grip on the bouquet, glancing down at it briefly before offering me a reassuring smile. “This was truly thoughtful of you. But next time, wake one of us before you go.”
Next time.
The words lingered. For a fleeting, fragile moment, a warmth unfurled in my chest. They were worried about me.
The realization was unfamiliar and I didn’t quite know how to hold it.
My gaze flickered back to Ash despite myself, and there it was again, that look in her eyes.
Dark and edged with concern—if I didn’t know better.
It made my breath catch. And for a heartbeat, I let myself believe that it was for me.
That I...
No.
I forced the thought down before it could take root. That wasn’t what this was. I knew better. I straightened, drawing myself back into a more composed, more sensible posture. Whatever this feeling was couldn’t be allowed to grow into something foolish.
Ash wasn’t concerned for me. She was only doing her job. I was an obligation, a task, a payment waiting at the end of a long and inconvenient journey. If she didn’t deliver me safely to my betrothed, she wouldn’t receive a single coin.
That was all this was. Coin. Nothing more. I held onto that truth tightly, even as my heart resisted it.