Elowen found Cillian where she knew he’d be—in the old sparring yard behind the east wall, the one rarely used now except by men who didn’t need audience. He was drenched, sleeves soaked through, the dark of his tunic clinging to muscle and motion.
He moved like he couldn’t stop—blade swinging, arms tense, shoulders hunched not from effort but from something heavier. Every movement was a breath not spoken.
He didn’t stop when he saw her. That, more than anything, made her speak. “Why do you vanish now?” Her voice rang through the rain-soaked yard, sharp and sudden. Not accusing. Demanding.
Cillian froze mid-strike. The sword fell to his side. Slowly, he turned to face her. Rain dripped from his brow, down the scar on his cheek. “Because I never belonged here,” he said. His voice was low, almost calm, but there was something brittle inside it. “And now everyone sees it.”
She took two steps forward, the wind tugging at her cloak, her crown’s circlet slick with water. “I didn’t raise you up,” she said. “You stood beside me. And when I was nothing—less than nothing—you were there. You saw me when no one else would.”
He looked at her then. Really looked. The weight of that gaze landed somewhere deep in her spine. But still, he said nothing.
She moved closer, her breath clouding in the cold. “When they mocked me behind fans and called me barn-born, you stood at my door. When Alaric humiliated me, you trained in the dark while I cried in silence. You gave me space. You gave me strength. And now that I wear the title they can’t ignore—you walk away?”
“It’s not about you,” he said, his voice rough now, like gravel underfoot. “It’s what they see when they look at me. A knight without land. A name without blood. A man who got too close.”
“I don’t care what they see,” she snapped. “I never have.” “But you should.” His words came fast, and for the first time, loud. “Because if you don’t, they will use me to destroy you.”
“Don’t speak to me of danger,” she hissed. “Not when I’ve already survived poison, exile, and betrayal from the very court that now dares to question me. I know what I risk. What I don’t know—what I cannot understand—is why the one man who said he stood with me is the first to leave.”
He looked down. Not ashamed. Just tired. She took another step forward. Now there was only inches between them. The sound of rain on stone filled the yard, but all she heard was her own heartbeat.
“You gave me strength, Cillian,” she whispered. “And now you take it back. As if it was something you only lent to the girl who didn’t matter.”
“I gave it,” he said. “Freely. And I would again. But this—this is where I end. And you rise.” “No,” she said. “This is where we could have risen together.”
His eyes finally lifted. They were full of all the things he wouldn’t let himself say—longing, grief, ache, love. But still, no words came.
She searched his face, waiting. Hoping. But he bowed. Deep, slow, reverent. And then he walked away, sword still in hand, steps echoing across the flooded stone.