“She’s been gone three days.” Commander Hayes didn’t bother with pleasantries as he cornered me in the weapons hall. “Three days without word, without orders, without—”
“I know how long she’s been gone.” I slammed the sword I’d been sharpening back into its sheath with enough force to crack the leather.
“Do you?” His weathered face was grim. “Because half the pack thinks you drove her away. The other half thinks she’s dead.”
“She’s not dead.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because she’s too stubborn to die.” I turned to face him fully, letting him see the gold that flared in my eyes. “And too proud to run.”
“Then where is she?”
“I don’t know!” The words exploded from me with enough force to make him step back. “I don’t know where she is, I don’t know why she left, and I don’t know when she’s coming back. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Hayes studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re falling apart.”
“I’m fine.”
“You snapped at three soldiers yesterday. Nearly took Marcus’s head off for asking about patrol schedules. And now you’re down here destroying perfectly good weapons.” He gestured to the scattered blades around the room. “That’s not fine, Prince. That’s a man coming undone.”
Before I could respond, the sound of hoofbeats thundered through the fortress. Not the steady rhythm of a patrol returning—something wilder, more urgent.
“What—” Hayes started.
The main doors burst open with a crash that shook the stones. Astrid rode her horse directly into the great hall, her mount’s hooves striking sparks from the flagstones. She was covered in blood and ash, her armor dented and torn, her red hair wild with wind and violence.
“Clear the hall!” she roared, her voice raw and commanding. “Everyone out! Now!”
Soldiers scrambled to obey, but I stood my ground as she dismounted, something large and dark dragging behind her horse. It took me a moment to realize what it was.
A severed head, the features still recognizable despite the death-grimace and broken jaw.
“Garrett the Rogue,” Hayes breathed. “She actually did it.”
Astrid grabbed the head by its blood-matted hair and hurled it at my feet. It rolled once before coming to rest, dead eyes staring accusingly at the ceiling.
“Still think I can’t handle myself?” she snarled, chest heaving with exhaustion and fury.
“I never said you couldn’t.”
“Didn’t you?” She moved closer, and I caught the scent of battle on her—blood and sweat and the metallic tang of violence. “When you questioned my orders in front of the war council? When you suggested I needed ‘guidance’ from the Southern Territories?”
“I was trying to help—”
“I don’t need your help!” The words rang off the stone walls like a battle cry. “I don’t need your protection, your advice, or your pity. I am the commander of this pack, and I will not be undermined by some prince who thinks he knows better!”
The great hall had fallen silent except for her ragged breathing. Even the servants had stopped their work to watch this confrontation unfold.
“You’re right,” I said quietly.
She blinked, clearly expecting me to fight back. “What?”
“You don’t need help. You don’t need protection.” I stepped closer, close enough to see the exhaustion in her green eyes, the way her hands trembled slightly from whatever battle she’d just fought. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, and you’re terrified that admitting you care about someone will make you weak.”
“I don’t—”
“You ran.” The accusation hung between us like a blade. “For the first time in your life, you felt something you couldn’t fight, and you ran.”
Her face went white, then red. “How dare you—”
“Because I’ve been there.” I moved closer still, until we were almost touching. “I know what it’s like to be afraid of feeling too much. To think that needing someone makes you vulnerable.”
“I don’t need anyone.” But her voice lacked conviction.
“Neither did I.” I reached out, my fingers barely grazing her cheek. “Until I met you.”
She stared at me for a long moment, something raw and vulnerable flickering in her eyes. Then her walls crashed back into place.
“This doesn’t change anything,” she said, but her voice was softer now.
“Doesn’t it?”
She turned away, but not before I caught the slight tremor in her hands. “I need to clean up. Report to the council. Deal with—”
“Astrid.”
She stopped but didn’t turn around.
“I’m glad you’re alive.”
Her shoulders tensed. “I’m not that easy to kill.”
“I know. But I’m still glad.”
She left without another word, but I saw the way her step faltered slightly at the door.
I didn’t expect her to come to me that night. Didn’t expect the soft knock on my door after midnight, the hesitant way she entered when I opened it.
She’d cleaned up—the blood was gone, her hair was brushed, and she wore a simple tunic that fell to mid-thigh. But exhaustion clung to her like a second skin, and I could see the weight of whatever she’d faced in the shadows under her eyes.
“I can’t sleep,” she said without preamble.
“Bad dreams?”
“No dreams. That’s the problem.” She moved restlessly around my chamber, touching things without seeming to see them. “When I close my eyes, I see his face. Not afraid, not angry. Just… disappointed.”
“Garrett?”
“He used to be one of mine. Before he went rogue, before he started killing innocents.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I trained him. Taught him everything he knew.”
“And then you did what needed to be done.”
“Did I?” She turned to face me, and I saw the pain she’d been hiding. “Or did I just prove that I’m exactly what everyone thinks I am? A killer with no conscience, no mercy.”
“You’re a protector,” I said firmly. “You eliminated a threat to your people.”
“By cutting off his head and dragging it through the streets like a trophy.” Her laugh was bitter. “Very civilized of me.”
“You sent a message. Let everyone know that crimes against Ironheart have consequences.”
“Is that what you think? That I’m just a weapon for the council to point at their enemies?”
“I think you’re a woman who’s never learned that she doesn’t have to carry every burden alone.” I moved closer, close enough to see the gold flecks in her green eyes. “I think you’re exhausted and hurting and trying to convince yourself that you don’t deserve comfort.”
“I don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I enjoyed it.” The words came out in a rush, like she’d been holding them back for days. “When I killed him, when I watched the life leave his eyes—I felt satisfied. Vindicated. What kind of person does that make me?”
“Human.”
She stared at me. “That’s it? That’s your answer?”
“You’re not a monster, Astrid. You’re a woman who’s had to make impossible choices to keep her people safe.” I reached out, taking her hands in mine. “And you’re allowed to feel whatever you need to feel about it.”
“Even if what I feel is relief?”
“Especially then.”
She was quiet for a long moment, studying our joined hands. “I’ve never told anyone that before. About enjoying the kill.”
“Why did you tell me?”
“Because…” She looked up, meeting my eyes. “Because I think you might be the only person who wouldn’t judge me for it.”
“I could never judge you for protecting your people.”
“Even if it means I’ll never be the soft, gentle mate you probably wanted?”
“I don’t want soft and gentle.” I lifted her hands to my lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “I want you. Exactly as you are.”
Something shifted in her expression—surprise, maybe, or gratitude. “The roof,” she said suddenly.
“What?”
“I want to show you something. On the roof.”
I followed her up the narrow stairs to the fortress’s highest point, where the wind was sharp and the stars seemed close enough to touch. She sat on the edge of the battlements, her legs dangling over the drop, and patted the stone beside her.
“My mother used to bring me up here,” she said as I settled next to her. “When I was small and the nightmares were too much to bear.”
“What kind of nightmares?”
“The usual kind. Monsters under the bed, enemies at the gates.” She smiled, but it was sad. “She’d tell me that the stars were warriors who’d died in battle, watching over us from the sky.”
“Do you still believe that?”
“Sometimes.” She leaned back, looking up at the vast expanse above us. “When I killed Garrett, I looked up and wondered if he’d join them. If even rogues get to be stars.”
“What do you think?”
“I think the stars don’t judge.” She turned to look at me, something vulnerable in her expression. “I think they just shine, no matter what we’ve done down here.”
“Is that why you brought me up here? To talk about stars and judgment?”
“I brought you up here because…” She hesitated, then moved closer, until her shoulder touched mine. “Because I don’t want to be alone with what I’ve done.”
“You’re not alone.”
“Aren’t I?” Her voice was barely audible over the wind. “I’ve spent my whole life pushing people away, convincing them I don’t need anyone. And now…”
“Now?”
“Now I’m terrified that I was wrong.” She turned to face me fully, and I saw tears she was fighting not to shed. “What if I do need someone? What if I need you?”
“Then you have me.”
“Even knowing what I am? What I’m capable of?”
“Especially knowing that.” I reached up, cupping her face in my palm. “I don’t want half of you, Astrid. I want all of it—the warrior, the killer, the woman who sits on rooftops and talks about stars.”
She leaned into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”
“Then don’t be. Just be yourself. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
For a moment, she was silent. Then, so quietly I almost missed it, she whispered, “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
She pulled back, studying my face as if looking for lies. Finding none, she leaned forward and rested her forehead against mine.
“This is dangerous,” she murmured.
“Why?”
“Because now I have something to lose.”
“So do I.”
“And that doesn’t terrify you?”
“It terrifies me.” I smiled, and she returned it hesitantly. “But I’d rather be terrified with you than safe without you.”
She kissed me then, soft and sweet and nothing like the violent passion we’d shared before. This was different—a promise instead of a demand, a beginning instead of an ending.
When we broke apart, she stayed close, her breath warm against my lips.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
That was Astrid’s version of affection. No poetry. No flowers. Just blood, bruises, and promises made under the stars.
And for her, that was everything.