Chapter 20
DRALGOR
The bridge is slick with frost, the rails rimmed in white, the creek half-iced below, groaning softly as the current pushes against its shell.
I stand on the south end with the folder in my hand, the contract that’s been a noose around both our necks.
The sky is heavy, clouds pressing low, light dimming though it’s not yet evening.
I hear her before I see her, boots crunching, breath steady, that deliberate stride of hers that never wastes a step.
Clara comes around the bend from the ridge, shoulders squared, chin high, coat buttoned tight.
She slows when she sees me, not out of fear, but because she’s calculating. That’s who she is, never moves blind.
“Bridge is public,” she says, stopping just short of the first plank.
“So am I,” I answer, voice low. “I asked you to come. You came.”
“Henrik said you had something to explain. Otherwise I’d have kept walking.” Her mouth sets firm. “I’m not here for another round of excuses.”
“I’m not here to give any.”
I hold the folder out. She takes it after a pause, fingers brushing mine for half a second before she snatches them back like she touched fire. She opens it, eyes scanning quick, efficient. When she gets to the last page and sees the blank line where my name should sit, her brows draw together.
“It’s unsigned,” I say. “And it’ll stay that way if you want it to.”
Her gaze cuts to mine, sharp enough to wound. “Then why did Thomas stand in my kitchen and say the opposite? Why did I hear him call this place temporary, like none of it mattered?”
“Because he wanted you to. He twisted what I left unsaid. He’s gone now. I fired him.”
“That doesn’t erase what I heard,” she snaps.
“No,” I admit. “It doesn’t. But I’ll give you the truth now, whether you want it or not.”
I step closer, boots creaking on the wood.
The wind off the creek bites hard, but I don’t feel it.
“I was exiled. My clan cast me out for ambition when they wanted obedience. They called me a traitor because I wanted to build more than they were willing to risk. I’ve been walking ever since, building walls, towers, contracts, anything that made me untouchable.
Power was safer than hunger. Safer than family. Safer than wanting.”
Her grip tightens on the folder, knuckles white.
“When I came here, this lodge was supposed to be another line on a ledger. Tear it down, raise something profitable, move on. That was the plan. But then you stood in front of me, spitting fire, refusing to bend, and I saw something I hadn’t seen in years.
A fight that wasn’t about power. A fight about belonging.
And I hated you for it, because it made me remember what I’d buried. ”
I drag air into my chest, steady but rough.
“I remembered firelight, and laughter, and the smell of bread on my mother’s hands.
I remembered what it felt like to be part of something that didn’t need contracts to prove it was real.
And I’ve been terrified ever since, because wanting that again feels like begging for exile twice. ”
She blinks, and though her expression doesn’t soften, something in her eyes shifts.
“So what do you want now?” she asks, her voice quieter but not yielding.
“Choice,” I say. “Yours. Not mine. Not the board’s.
If you order me to sign this and level the lodge, I’ll do it and leave you in peace.
Tell me to burn it and transfer the land to your name, I’ll stand at Henrik’s forge and hold the page while he strikes.
If you tell me to keep it unsigned and stay, I’ll stay.
If you force me to go, I’ll go. I’m finished fighting you. ”
The silence that follows is heavier than any storm. The creek churns beneath us, carrying shards of ice downstream.
“You talk like a man who finally found poetry,” she says, but her tone is raw. “I don’t forgive you. Not yet. You made me believe I was nothing more than a piece in some strategy. You let me think last night meant nothing.”
“I don’t ask for forgiveness,” I tell her. “I ask you not to mistake my silence for lies. I was afraid. That’s the only truth.”
She looks down at the folder, thumb brushing the edge of the paper, then back up. Her eyes are bright, fierce, and unbearably alive.
“I won’t sign anything today,” she says firmly.
“Not surrender. Not transfer. Nothing. I want the festival to finish without demolition crews at the gate. I want the lanterns to burn until the last dance ends. After that, we’ll sit at my table and speak plain.
If our wants don’t match, then we don’t twist them into something that hurts worse later. ”
“Fair,” I say, and the word feels like iron settling into place.
She exhales, then adds, “Do not make me regret giving you this chance.”
“I won’t.”
For a long moment, neither of us moves. Snow drifts between us, soft and endless, dusting her hair, clinging to my coat.
Her cheeks are pink from the cold, her breath rising in steady clouds, and I find myself staring at her mouth, remembering the taste of her, the heat of her, the way one kiss in a storm felt like fire burning through ice.
She notices. Of course she does. Clara always notices. Her chin lifts, stubborn as ever, but there’s color in her throat that isn’t from the wind.
“You’re staring,” she says, sharp but unsteady.
“Yes,” I admit, voice rougher than I intend. “I haven’t learned how not to.”
She swallows, lashes lowering for a heartbeat before she meets my gaze again. “You’d better.”
I take one step closer, careful, deliberate, boots crunching against the frost on the plank. I don’t touch her—she hasn’t offered that—but the air between us shifts, heavy with everything we haven’t said and everything we already have.
“I’ll wait until you tell me I can,” I say.
Her breath catches, the smallest sound, but it’s enough. She turns away first, folder clutched under her arm, boots carrying her back toward the ridge with strides that are too quick to be calm.
I don’t follow.
I stay on the bridge, hands braced on the railing, until the cold gnaws through leather and bone. At last, I don’t feel like I’m carrying an empire on my shoulders. I feel like I’m waiting to see if a single woman’s choice can make me human again.