VIVIAN’s POV
The road stretches endlessly, a silver ribbon of dust and sun.
We’ve been traveling since dawn. The Queen’s carriage rolls ahead of us, its wheels creaking in steady rhythm, while Dani and I follow behind on horseback. He hums sometimes—quietly, tunelessly—and it grates on me in ways I don’t care to examine.
The morning air smells of dew and distance.
Occasionally, the Queen orders short stops at villages along the way. The folk bow even from afar, eager to please the crown, though few ever dare approach the carriage directly.
When we stop to eat, I keep my distance from Her Majesty’s luxuries. I sit among the villagers instead, breaking bread and sharing water from my own flask. Dani joins me, always. He doesn’t seem to mind the dust, the noise, the stares.
“This town,” he says one afternoon, gesturing toward the wooden houses lining the road, “it’s smaller than I imagined. Peaceful, though.”
I glance up from my bowl. “Peace is rare around Verloren’s borders. You should enjoy it while it lasts.”
He smiles. “You speak like someone expecting a storm.”
“I live in a palace,” I reply. “Storms are routine.”
He chuckles softly and leans back, studying the crowd. “What’s its name?”
“Clerath,” I answer. “Known for its wool and its wine. Small, but efficient.”
“And the one we passed yesterday?”
“Vermere. They trade iron. Why do you ask?”
He shrugs casually. “Curiosity.”
But I can see the calculation behind his eyes—the way he’s marking the roads, remembering every detail.
“Curiosity,” I repeat, “or mapping?”
He grins. “You think I’m plotting an invasion?”
“I think you don’t waste words.”
He laughs, and the sound somehow manages to make the suspicion in my chest twist into something dangerously close to fascination.
***
By midday, the heat grows heavy. The Queen orders a longer stop in a forest clearing, and her servants scatter to set up shade for the carriage.
“I’ll fetch water,” Dani announces.
I’m dismounting my horse when he adds, “You don’t have to come, Lady Vivian. I know how you detest dirt.”
I glance at him, unimpressed. “You presume too much.”
He opens his mouth, probably to tease, but I’ve already started walking.
The forest wraps around us—quiet, green, endless. The sound of running water guides us to a narrow stream, its surface glinting like broken glass in the sunlight.
Dani kneels first, filling a waterskin. I kneel beside him, letting the cold water run over my fingers.
“Not afraid of getting dirty after all,” he says.
“I’ve dealt with worse than mud.”
He glances sideways at me. “You always have an answer ready.”
“I learned early that silence gets you killed.”
“Wise,” he admits. “Though I doubt many could kill you.”
“Flattery doesn’t suit you.”
“Who says it’s flattery?”
I turn my head slightly, meeting his gaze. “Because it sounds like a test.”
His lips curve. “Maybe it is.”
“You test everyone?”
“Only the ones who intrigue me.”
That word—intrigue—hangs between us, heavier than it should.
To break it, I ask, “Do you ever talk about yourself, my lord? Or do you only collect pieces of others?”
He seems caught off guard, his smile fading into something unreadable. For a heartbeat, I think he might actually tell me the truth.
His eyes, though, look as if they’re measuring a lie. I’m not sure which is which.
“I had a brother once,” he says at last, voice low. “Older. Better at everything. I spent my youth trying to catch up.”
I blink, surprised by the softness beneath his tone. “And did you?”
“Eventually.” A pause. “But by then, I wasn’t sure it mattered.”
There’s something else behind his eyes—a flicker of grief, or guilt, or both. I can’t tell. And before I can ask, he stands, brushing the dirt from his knees.
“Water’s full,” he says briskly. “We should head back.”
And just like that, the wall slams shut again.
***
By the time the carriage reaches Duke Rueld’s territory, the sun bleeds into the horizon. His estate rises ahead like a fortress carved from night—high stone walls, a watchtower, and banners fluttering in the fading light.
The Queen decides to rest until morning before holding her meeting. Servants pitch tents outside the estate’s courtyard, a temporary camp for the royal entourage.
I settle into my assigned tent, my body tired but my mind restless. Sleep refuses to come.
At some point, I give up.
The air outside is cool, the stars scattered like silver dust across the sky. The Queen’s tent stands guarded, her carriage locked and still. Most of the servants are asleep. Only the faint crackle of a fire breaks the silence.
Then I see him.
Lord Dani sits on a wooden bench near the embers, his armor glinting faintly under the starlight. He’s staring upward, expression distant.
For a moment, I consider turning back. But something stops me. Maybe curiosity. Maybe exhaustion. Maybe something worse.
“You’ll catch a cold,” I say quietly.
He looks over his shoulder, startled, then smiles. “And here I thought you didn’t care.”
“I don’t. I care about the Queen’s reputation. She wouldn’t want her guard falling ill.”
He chuckles softly. “Of course.”
I step closer, the grass crunching under my boots. “Can’t sleep?”
“Never could,” he says. “Too many thoughts. Too much… memory.”
I sit across from him, folding my arms. “About your brother?”
He glances at me, surprised. “You remember that.”
“I remember everything.”
He studies me for a moment, then nods. “Yes. You would.”
We sit in silence, the night stretching between us. Crickets hum softly in the distance, and somewhere, a wolf howls faintly.
“You know,” he says finally, “you’re not what I expected.”
I arch a brow. “And what exactly did you expect?”
“Someone colder. Someone easier to read.”
“I am cold.”
He shakes his head. “No. You’re pretending to be.”
“That’s an interesting theory, my lord. Do you have proof?”
He leans forward slightly, eyes gleaming. “Maybe.”
“Then present it.”
“Gladly.”
Before I can blink, he moves—smooth, sure, deliberate.
His hand rises to my cheek, fingers brushing lightly against my skin, and for one breathless second, I don’t move. His touch is warm, steady, far too gentle for a man built for war.
“Your eyes,” he murmurs. “They give you away.”
I should pull back. I should say something sharp, something that rebuilds the distance between us. But my words refuse to come.
I don't manage to even make a sound. I don't know why I can't—something inside just doesn't let me, a risen heartbeat, a caught breath.
He freezes for a moment, as if seeing this reaction from me changes something. Then his lips curve faintly, and before reason can catch up—
He kisses me.
The world stills.
The night, the fire, the stars—everything dissolves into that single impossible moment.
Finally, I believe, I realize what it means to forget to breathe.