#canon-complient

I blink at him, baffled, pausing halfway through tearing off a piece of bread. “Is what now?”

“Tyrrish kissing.” He leans forward, eyes gleaming like I’m withholding state secrets. “You know… this whole thing they say the Tyrs do? Is it really better than ‘normal’ kissing?” His fingers put air quotes between us, and it looks just as ridiculous as I always imagined it.

But I can’t laugh about it and only stare, my bread forgotten in my hand. “Ridoc, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He throws his hands up, nearly stabbing Sawyer with his fork. “Oh, come on, Vi. Don’t play dumb. I have to know!”

“Know what?” I glance at Rhiannon and Sawyer for backup, but Sawyer just leans back in his chair, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Can’t have been that good if she doesn’t even remember,” he says, trying to hide his sly smile in his coffee.

Rhiannon elbows him sharply before turning to me, her brows pulled together in thought. “You’ve never heard of Tyrrish kissing before?” she asks, sounding honestly surprised, and I shake my head.

I don’t even have to lie about this; I have no idea what they’re talking about.

”It’s supposed to be…” Rhi begins, then frowns. ”Well, I don’t actually know what it is. Just that there are all these rumours about how Tyrrish kissing is… famous? It’s supposed to be unforgettable. Special.”

Ridoc nods, with emphasis. “Exactly. And it’s not about oral sex, either, as I once thought. It really is supposed to only be kissing, mouth to mouth. Just… different. Legendary, even.”

I blink again, even more confused now. “Kissing is… legendary now?”

I mean, not that kissing Xaden is something I could ever forget. Gods, the way he holds me like I’m precious yet at the same time doesn’t treat me like I’m breakable, it’s everything. Every fiber of my being yearns to have him like that again. If only he would give me the one thing I need, full disclosure. If only I could trust him…

“Well, it’s supposed to be something more than just ordinary kissing,” Sawyer chuckles into his mug, drawing me out of my thoughts. “Some intense kind of foreplay, or whatever.”

“Well… in my defense,” I argue, sitting up straighter, “that’s not exactly the kind of knowledge one picks up while preparing to be a scribe.”

The three of them just stare at me, identical deadpan expressions.

“What?”

Ridoc lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head as if I’m a lost cause. “Violet. You have a Tyrrish boyfriend.”

My cheeks flame instantly. “He’s not my— I mean, we’re not— That’s—” I stammer, choking on the words as all three of them lean closer. “It’s complicated.”

They groan in unison, Sawyer dropping his forehead to his palm while Rhiannon mutters something about denial and stubbornness.

Ridoc shakes his head though, eyes still pleading. “Zihnal save me. You’re sitting on answers the rest of us would kill for, and you don’t even know it?”

My lips twitch into a small grin. “There are other Tyrs still in the quadrant,” I remind him. “You could ask one of them.”

“And let Sloane or Imogen mock me for the rest of my life for not knowing what it is?” Ridoc levels me with an expression of pure horror. “No chance. You are my only hope, Vi. Please! Are you seriously telling me that you’re flying off to shag your Tyrrish not-boyfriend every other week, and you still haven’t figured out what makes his kissing legendary?”

Heat creeps up my neck. “We don’t—”

Sawyer interrupts me with a snort. “Sure you don’t.”

“We aren’t!” I glare at him. “I told you we’re not together. It’s—”

“It’s complicated,” Rhiannon sighs. “Yeah, you’ve said so before.”

I throw her an apologetic look, hating myself for not being able to tell her the truth. But at least for this specific part, I don’t have to keep secrets.

“Listen,” I begin, turning back to Ridoc, who’s clearly too invested in this topic for his own good. “Xaden is a fantastic kisser, I’ll openly admit that much. But I think that’s more about him and…”—I bite my lip but force myself to continue, to be honest—“and my feelings for him, rather than any special technique. I have no idea what this Tyrrish kissing is supposed to be. And… things between us aren’t exactly such that I’m going to find out anytime soon either.”

Ridoc leans back with a groan, dragging a hand down his face like this is somehow personally painful for him. “Gods, Vi. This is torture. You’re wasting the opportunity of a lifetime!”

Rhiannon, her expression a bit softer at my open confession, raises her eyebrow at Ridoc. “You do realise that you sound ridiculous right now, right?”

“Ridiculous?” Ridoc gasps, as if she’s just insulted his honour. “No, Rhi. I’m scientifically curious. There are rumours, decades of them! For all my life, I’ve been wondering about this, whether it’s real, what it is.” He slaps the table for emphasis, drawing annoyed glances from the next table over. “And Vi here is in the perfect position to answer all my questions.”

“I am not in any position—” I begin, but it’s useless.

“Bet she’s been in plenty of positions,” Sawyer mutters with a sly smirk, and Rhiannon smacks him again. Harder.

Ridoc leans forward, voice dropping conspiratorially. “All I’m asking for is one little detail, Vi. Just one. Is it… slower? Faster? More tongue? Less? Do they—”

“Oh, Dunne, give me strength. Will you just stop?” I slap my bread down onto my plate, half mortified, half ready to strangle him. My patience is very quickly running out right now. “I told you, I don’t know, okay? As far as I’m aware, Xaden’s never kissed me in any noticeably different way than others before him. So there’s nothing I could tell you right now, no matter how many times you ask.”

“Okay, I get it,” Ridoc concedes, but the tone of his voice is too cheerful to convince me. “You don’t know. But you could try and figure it out, right? For me? Pay more attention the next time you two kiss?”

Rhiannon groans again, and this time, even Sawyer joins her.

Ridoc just beams like it’s Solstice. “Excellent. Then that’s settled.”

I bury my face in my hands. “Why am I even talking to you?”

But I know the answer. Because they’re my friends, and I love them, even when they pester me for information I don’t have.

Even when I’m lying to them about the information I do have.

Rhiannon puts an admirable effort into steering our conversations towards other topics like the progress of our first years, and I gladly engage with more enthusiasm than I really feel. This, at least, is a topic I can talk openly about with them, even as I don’t really want to.

But even that isn’t enough to steer my thoughts from the question Ridoc so thoroughly planted into my head.

What in Amari’s name is Tyrrish kissing?

. o O o .

When I enter Xaden’s room at the Samara outpost after flying through the night, I find it empty, and I’m not quite sure whether that’s a good or a bad thing. On the one hand, I long to talk to Xaden, to maybe, somehow, fix things between us. But on the other hand, we’re more often fighting than talking lately, and that is most definitely not what I want.

And then there’s the question about the Tyrrish kissing still ghosting through my mind, where I simultaneously crave an answer and am scared to even bring the topic up.

So maybe it’s good that I have hours to kill before I actually talk to him, with only my book keeping me company. Well, and the letter Xaden left for me on his desk, with my name written in his neat, elegant handwriting on the front.

Reading it makes me smile, all the little tidbits about his youth. About the things he, Garrick, and Bodhi did for fun, about how he knew Soleil and the others, just glimpses into the life he led before the rebellion.

But as much as I enjoy learning all these things about his past… It’s the secrets he keeps now and how they will influence our future that have me on edge. How can he expect me to trust him when he’s keeping so many secrets? When I don’t even know what it is he truly feels for me?

By the time the door to his room finally creaks open, long after nightfall, I’ve already given up on reading, the book just a comforting weight in my lap as my eyes scan the mountainous landscape outside and the stars above them. Xaden slips inside, his shadows a wispy mess around his feet, and shuts the door with the soft click of someone who can never really let his guard down.

His eyes, even darker in the pulsing waves of the mage light, flick over me, scanning me from head to toe like he’s seeing me for the first time all over again. “You’re still awake.” His voice is low, roughened by a long day.

I shrug, trying to act casual when my pulse is anything but. “I didn’t want to be presumptions. This is your bed, after all.”

“If that’s really how you feel then you could have requested a separate quarter,” he points out as he crosses the room to the small chest in the corner, his voice tense and… hurt? “But you didn’t. This is our room, Vi. Our bed.”

Is it, though?

I know he said this room is only for him and me, that he’s not bringing anyone else here. But still, things between us feel too complicated to just act as if everything’s fine. So I don’t reply, just let my gaze drop back to my book and hope this tense awkwardness isn’t setting the theme for the entire night.

Thankfully, he doesn’t press, giving me the space to figure out my thoughts on my own. Instead he takes off his uniform shirt with unhurried precision, folding it neatly and pulling a clean black one from the chest. I bite the inside of my cheek and keep my eyes fixed on the page in front of me, determined not to watch the long line of his back, the play of muscles across his shoulders. How the light plays over his tawny skin, the silver scars gleaming.

“So… how’s the week been here at Sarama?” I ask, simply to breach the awkward silence in any way—even though I’m not sure this is any less awkward.

He pulls the shirt over his head, muffling his voice. “Uneventful. Except for the weather, maybe. It’s been uncommonly cold at night, or so I’ve been told. But at least the sky’s been clear.”

I nod, my eyes gliding over the page in front of me, yet unable to hold on to a single word. “Same at Basgiath,” I murmur, flipping a page I haven’t actually read. “Except for the rain on Tuesday—it soaked us through during formation and had us all chattering in battle brief.”

And are we really talking about the weather now?

I let out a low scoff and shake my head at my own silliness, and Xaden’s gaze flicks toward me, sharp but amused.

“How are the new first-years holding up?” he asks, and for the second time in just as many days, I’m actually grateful for the conversation to shift towards them.

I give a shrug, trying to remember something I could tell him. “Most of them are holding up as well as one might expect from people who trained to become riders for all their lives. Challenges are going well. Even Sloane accepts help now and trains with Imogen.”

“And you?” He tugs the hem of the shirt into place, voice casual but intent. “How are you doing?”

That draws a low unamused huff from me. “Isn’t Bodhi keeping you informed about everything I do?” I try to keep my voice teasing, but the sting in it is real. “I won all my challenges, thanks to your training. I’m not in any danger, not a liability.”

At that, Xaden frowns, his lips pressed tight. “No, Bodhi only informs me about anything major happening, on all fronts. Not giving me detailed reports about your movements or well-being. And while it’s good to hear that you’re holding your own, that’s not what I meant.” He bends to untie his boots.

“Then what do you mean?” I ask, sharper than I intended. Gods, why do I never know where I stand when it comes to him? I wish I could know what’s on his mind, in his heart, at least once.

Xaden pulls his boots off, then settles on the edge of the bed, glancing over at me with an intense expression. “I mean what’s up with you, Violence?” he says, voice low and earnest. “What question is swirling through your mind that you’re unsure about?”

I freeze, my breath catching.

“I can see how it’s eating at you.” His tone is soft, almost gentle even. “It’s written all over that beautiful face of yours. Whatever it is, just ask.”

I clutch the book tighter in my lap. He told me I could ask him anything. That he would never lie to me, tell me everything I want to know. And asking him about what it is he truly feels for me, that would be the perfect test, wouldn’t it? It’s not strategy or classified information, nothing that would endanger anyone should Dain pluck this memory from my mind.

But it would leave me vulnerable to Xaden in a way I’m not sure I can take right now.

“What is Tyrrish kissing?”

The question is out before I can even think about it. It’s a good question, also nothing worth being kept secret. But it’s also not something I actually planned to ask, and warmth rushes to my cheeks as I prepare myself for his teasing comeback.

Xaden goes utterly still, though, the kind of stillness that means I’ve caught him off guard, and when I glance up at him, I find an expression of open bafflement on his face.

But he catches himself quickly, and when he finally speaks, his voice is careful, guarded. “Why would you want to know?”

I tighten my grip on the book in my lap. “That’s not how this works, Xaden. You promised you’d answer my questions, not ask back.”

Something flickers across his face—guilt, regret, something I can’t untangle. He swallows hard, then nods once. “You’re right.”

He drags a hand through his hair, the motion restless in a way I almost never see. “I just didn’t expect…” He swallows, his chest rising and falling with a heavy breath.”Tyrrish kissing is not something I can explain, Violet. Not properly. I could show you, but…”

“But?” I prompt when he doesn’t finish.

His gaze pins mine, full of earnest intent. “But I promised to only kiss you if you ask me to.”

My breath catches. Of course. Tyrrish kissing isn’t just a definition in some book—it’s… it’s kissing. Him kissing me.

Heat rushes to my face, and I hate that I can’t stop it. Of course I want to kiss him. I’ve wanted it every day since Resson, even when I told myself I shouldn’t. Even when I tried to convince myself I couldn’t trust him. Wanting him has never been the problem; that never went anywhere. Neither has loving him.

The ache of it makes my chest tight, but determination coils right alongside it, gnawing at me. Amari help me, I don’t want to walk away again without him giving me an honest answer. Even if it’s just something as silly as this.

I nod, pulse hammering in my throat. “I want you to show me. Only kissing, though.”

For a moment, a shadow crosses his expression, something raw, but then he schools it into the saddest, smallest smile. “Of course.”

Xaden rises to his full height, unfolding with a predator’s grace, and for a moment I forget how to breathe. Gods, he’s so fucking beautiful. Each step he takes towards me is deliberate, unhurried, the air between us thickening until it feels like my pulse is echoing in the silence.

When he stops in front of me, he extends a hand, and I hesitate only long enough to snap my book shut before sliding my fingers into his. His palm is warm, calloused, steady, the slide of his skin against mine making me swallow. I fumble with the book, nearly letting it drop to the ground, but the way his thumb brushes over the back of my hand steals every scrap of focus I have left.

He draws me up, slow and controlled, until I’m standing with him in the middle of the room. His eyes never leave mine, not for a heartbeat, as his other hand lifts, fingers ghosting against my cheek before settling to cradle my face.

I swear the world narrows to just this moment, just his gaze, just the promise hanging between us.

When he leans in, it’s agonisingly slow, his breath mingling with mine until I’m dizzy with anticipation. His scent of mint and leather is in every breath, seeping into me, filling me.

And then—finally—his lips brush over mine.

It’s so soft. Softer than I expected. This kiss has nothing of the consuming fire of our usual kisses, not teeth and heat and the frantic crash of bodies. Just the faintest pressure, tentative, testing.

A thread of disappointment coils low in my chest—

—until I realise that he doesn’t stop.

The kiss goes on, stretching like spun sugar. His mouth lingers against mine, then withdraws just enough to hover, our breaths tangling, lips grazing but not quite pressing. It makes my pulse skitter wildly, my skin prickling with awareness that leaves me torn between wanting more and to simply stay in this moment forever.

When he continues, it’s with the slowest slide, his lips gliding over mine with devastating patience. His tongue flicks barely against me, featherlight, retreating before I can chase it.

Gods, what is happening? This is nothing against how he kissed me before, how we destroyed my room a few months ago. And yet, my knees threaten to buckle, heat coiling low in my stomach as want builds, unbearable and unrelieved. It’s so different, so unexpected, so…

We’re barely touching, just his hand still holding mine, the other on my face, our mouths joined in this torturous slow rhythm. I’m craving more so I lightly place my hand on his forearm, and just this touch alone already feels so much more intimate than it has any right to be.

My body is trembling with the effort not to press closer. But the way Xaden holds me makes it clear the distance is part of it, the longing. His hand tightens against my jaw, steadying me, holding me right there—like this kiss is something I need to endure as much as enjoy.

And I do enjoy it.

Every brush of his lips drags me deeper, every shared breath steals another piece of me I can’t take back. And gods, I don’t want to.

This should be nothing, just a series of sweet chaste kisses. And yet, I feel more exposed, more claimed, than when he’s had me pinned beneath him, all of this feeling like the most intimate thing he’s ever done to me. My entire body is shaking with longing for this sweet torture, the slow, ardent way he’s giving me everything and not enough.

His mouth keeps moving over mine with patient devastation, featherlight, just the faintest glide, the whisper of contact. His breath is hot against my lips, spilling into me as though he’s determined to share every ounce of air between us. Every now and then, he deepens the kiss, just by a fraction, a slow press before he pulls back again until we’re barely touching again, letting me chase him without ever quite catching.

When his tongue finally slides against mine, it’s fleeting, a single stroke that sparks through me before he withdraws. I gasp, and he does it again—teasing, coaxing, until I’m leaning up into him, desperate to return the motion, to keep him from pulling away.

It goes on and on, timeless, endless. His lips tracing mine, retreating, returning. His tongue glides just enough to ignite a hunger that never quite finds satisfaction. He breathes into me, and I breathe him in, until I’m dizzy, until the room sways and all that anchors me is the steady grip of his hand on my jaw.

A strange flame simmers in my chest, not the scorching fire of desire I know so well, but something sweeter, slower, more unbearable. It feels like it’s tearing me apart, unraveling me one trembling breath at a time.

I don’t know how long we stand there. A minute. An hour. Forever.

But when he finally eases back, my lips are tingling, my chest is heaving, and my cheeks are wet with tears I hadn’t even realised were falling. His forehead rests against mine, his breathing ragged, as though the restraint cost him dearly. He swallows, hard, before he can speak.

“This,” he murmurs, his voice rough, almost breaking, “is Tyrrish kissing. Not heat. Not hunger. Just the lightest of intimacy turned on its head. Fleeting kisses from a time where love and marriage didn’t mean the same thing. Today, it’s used as a promise.” He steps closer, just the tiniest bit, his thumb lightly grazing against my lower lip. “The promise that I could kiss you for the rest of my life and would never get enough of it.”

…because I’ll live with my mouth attached to yours if I do it whenever I want.

His words from weeks ago echo through my mind, and I exhale a shaky breath, almost a sob even. Because I know what this was.

It was a promise, a declaration. Spoken without a single word, written with every single touch of our lips.

I still need to hear him say the words. And yet, this settled something deep inside me, a step in the right direction.

Not just that he answered my question.

But also that he revealed what’s inside his heart, in a way that means more to him than words.

I lean into him, his warmth, steady and grounding, and allow a few more tears to leak from my eyes, too overwhelmed and shaken to stop them. I don’t quite know where this will leave us. Whether this means he’ll open up more now, whether it’ll be easier for me to trust him. But I do know one thing.

This moment just now, this ‘kiss’—it was ours.

Ridoc will have to find his answers somewhere else.

. o O o .

After a moment, Garrick turned as if he'd sensed Xaden, and his features pulled into a wide grin. "Well, if that isn't his Grace himself," he drawled, miming a dramatic bow. "What an honour to have you visit our humble abode, my lord."

Xaden rolled his eyes. "Asshole." But he didn't resist when Garrick crossed the room and pulled him into a hug, quick and silent but tight. Familiar. Grounding. A deep fondness rose in his chest. His best friend had always been one of the people who felt like home.

When he pulled away, Xaden’s lips twitched into a smile, and he shrugged. "Don’t interpret too much into me being here. I couldn't sleep, so I was just wandering around."

Garrick threw him a knowing look, his features softening. "It's good to see you, man."

Xaden swallowed. Nodded, and kept up his casual mask. "How are you all doing?"

"Planning my graceful tumble off the parapet," Masen quipped, pushing his glasses up his nose as he walked over.

"Graceful?" Garrick snorted. "You'll be the first to scream."

"Only if you go first and I get to land on your corpse."

Both men laughed, quietly, and the sound of it made Xaden feel lighter—even as their words did not.

"None of us are going to fall tomorrow," he said quietly, earnestly. "There are countless dangers waiting for us over the next three years, but the parapet won't be one of them. You all trained?" Xaden let his eyes wander over the row of beds where two other figures were already sleeping. Cole and Ethan, if he remembered correctly.

"Yeah, we're all prepared," Garrick assured him. "Trained in combat and agility, too."

“The women, too?” Garrick and Masen nodded, and Xaden let out a deep sigh. "Good." He couldn't bear the thought of losing even one of them. Not when they all were only here because of him.

They stood like that for a moment, quiet amidst the hum of tension, until Masen cleared his throat. "You know… as good as it is to see you, Xaden… you shouldn't be here. If leadership catches you—"

"They won't," Xaden said, calm and sure. "I memorised the rotations."

Garrick chuckled. "Of course you did. Fucking over-achiever."

Masen laughed, quietly, and even Xaden's lips twitched into a smile. But the warmth didn't last.

His gaze flickered over the beds again, then to the door, to the room on the other side of the corridor. "How is… everyone?"

Garrick's expression shifted, the humour fading into something heavier. He knew what Xaden was asking about. Who he was asking about.

"We all got dinner together earlier," he said slowly. "Some ate more than others. Some were pale or left early."

Xaden nodded, his jaw tight. Shit.

But there was nothing else to say. Not here and not now.

Xaden clapped Garrick on the shoulder. "Get some rest. Try not to die."

"You too," Garrick replied, sardonic as ever. "I think I might miss your ugly face."

Xaden gave Masen a nod, then he slipped back into the shadows of the hall, careful to stay out of the light of the flickering mage lights along the walls. His feet carried him to the women's dorm before he even decided to do so.

The door creaked softly as he pushed it open after a careful knock, but the room behind it was quiet. Dark. Three beds were occupied, the quiet, even breathing of sleeping people the only sound, and Xaden closed the door again without stepping in.

Three beds, though. There should have been four. Surely Garrick would have mentioned it if one from their year hadn't made it here? He lingered a moment longer, pondering. But waking them to ask wasn't an option. Not when they all needed all the rest they could get for tomorrow.

Besides, he had no business asking about her anyways.

Taking a deep breath, he forced his legs to move, to walk away.

He should go back to his room.

He would go back to his room.

But he was too agitated to sleep, the air inside Basgiath too thick with anticipation. So he walked.

Through the halls, silent and slow, not quite wandering but not with a designation in mind either. He moved like a breath in the dark, gliding between mage lights and stone. The dread curled tighter in his step, but at least the motion kept it from choking him.

Tomorrow, people would die.

And if only one of them was a marked one, then it would be like he killed them himself.

On and on, he walked, around corners, climbing steps, along dark corridors. And then, in an empty hall near the western gate, he saw her.

She sat curled up in a narrow window ledge like she was trying to disappear into the stone, her arms wrapped around her legs, her forehead resting against her knees. Her hair was different, the rich brown washed out to nearly black in the pale moonlight, the long tresses cut short for what awaited her in the quadrant.

And yet, he recognised her in an instant, the curve of her cheek, her hands with the nails bitten down from being nervous. In fact, she looked nearly the same as on that day three years ago, which made Xaden frown. Hadn't Garrick said they'd all trained? With how hunched in on herself she sat there, she looked more frail than anything else. Like the weight of what awaited them tomorrow was already too much.

He took a few quiet steps closer, pausing just beside the window. "Couldn't sleep either?" he asked, his voice low.

Soleil flinched, spinning towards him so fast her shoulder bumped the glass. Her eyes were wild, then grew wide when they settled on his face.

"Xaden?" she whispered, like she couldn't believe it. "What are you—You're not supposed to… I thought they confined you to a solitary room."

Shrugging, Xaden rubbed his upper arm. "I didn't feel like being alone."

A beat passed. Then she snorted, soft but real.

"Funny," she muttered. "I left the dorm because it felt too crowded."

Xaden huffed something close to a laugh, then leaned against the stone wall beside her, careful to keep a hand-span of distance.

They sat like that in heavy silence for a while, the only sound the wind whispering around the rough stones of the fortress and the low hum of the mage lights.

“You look… different,” she eventually muttered.

Xaden’s jaw tightened. Well, he’d had to become harder, the ruthless leader they all needed him to be. “So do you.”

She did, and not just because of her hair. And not in the way she should, either. Back in their days in Aretia, she’d been sharp-tongued and bright-eyed. Quick on her feet, even quicker with her wit. Pretty in a way that was effortless, and feminine in a way that never diminished her fire. She’d had a kind of courage that didn’t need sharpening, just space to grow.

And with the years of training she should have received, she should be lethal by now, a true fighter.

But that wasn’t who sat in front of him.

Instead, she was holding herself small, like she’d forgotten how to take up space. Shoulders tight, hands twitching. Restless and hyperaware, but not like a warrior. More like a cornered animal, like someone waiting for the next blow.

“That bad, huh?” she asked softly.

Xaden swallowed, looking her over again. “I didn’t say that.”

Another silence fell. But this one felt different—less brittle and more settled, a tiny bit of that comfort from years ago coming back.

“You’re still biting your nails,” he said, eyes flicking to her hands.

Her lips curved faintly. “You still remember that?”

“I remember a lot of things.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He knew it the second her shoulders tensed again.

Giving her space, Xaden stared out the window instead of at her, at the slice of sky smeared in dreary grey, the outline of threes in the distance. Anything but her. Anything but the flush climbing her neck or the way her arms tightened around her knees.

But he watched her anyway. The way her fingers dug into her arms. The way she kept her eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the glass, like it might swallow her whole if she let it.

She did look different. Her hair was shorter now, but that wasn’t just it—her face, still familiar, looked older in ways that had nothing to do with time. It was in the curve of her mouth, the dark rims under her eyes, the small, careful way she held herself. And he had to revise his earlier observation. She hadn’t forgotten how to take up space. Someone had taught her.

His hands curled into fists.

Sitting in her alcove, Soleil shifted. Not much, just enough for her arm to slide off her knees. To reveal the glint of something dangling from her neck.

His eyes dropped instinctively, blinked in surprise at what he saw there.

Worn smooth with age, a circle of brown stone strung on a piece of frayed leather. The tiger’s eye had dulled, but the intricate swirl of lines was still there, visible even in the dim light of the moon.

The sight punched the breath right out of him.

"You're… still wearing that?" His voice sounded rough in his own ears, brittle.

Soleil looked up at him, her eyes hollow. “You remember the pendant?”

He didn’t look away. “Yeah. I remember.”

And how could he not? He’d been fifteen when his father told him about the betrothal he’d arranged for Xaden, to a Poromish princess, apparently. A political match to strengthen their ties to Navarre’s rivaling kingdom.

A fucking joke.

He’d been so angry. Not just at his father once again trying to dictate his life, but also because Fen had known about the thing that had been brewing between his son and his advisor’s daughter.

Xaden had stormed out of his father’s office, hands trembling, had stayed out with his friends until long past nightfall. Just roaming the city and doing dump shit, laughing, trying to forget how he never got to decide anything for himself.

There had been that tiny market stall, a wandering trader. A glint of warm brown in the sunlight, reminding him of her eyes. He hadn’t even planned to buy her anything, hadn’t thought about it. He’d just shoved a few coins across the table and had handed her the pendant like it was nothing.

It hadn’t been nothing.

“Figured you would’ve thrown it out by now,” he said, voice rough.

Something shifted in her eyes, something he couldn’t quite pin down in the dim light. “Never.”

There was nothing flirtatious in the word, no softness. Just truth, quiet and hard-edged. Her gaze dropped again, her shoulders pulling even tighter.

“I wore it every day.” Her voice stayed steady. Almost too steady. “Even when he tried to rip it off.”

A cold shiver ran down his spine, settling low in his stomach.

“Who?” His voice was sharper now. Low and dangerous.

Soleil shook her head, eyes fixed on the darkness outside again. “Doesn’t matter.”

“The fuck it doesn’t,” he growled, stepping forward before he could stop himself. But she flinched at the movement, just a flicker, and he froze.

Shit.

He backed off, the ache in his chest twisting tighter. There was nothing he could do for her. Not here. Not anymore. “You could’ve written me.”

“I couldn’t,” she said, her voice quiet. “They read everything.”

Xaden’s jaw clenched. He didn’t ask who they were. He didn’t need to.

Xaden didn’t say anything, because what was there to say? There was nothing that could change the last three years.

The guilt momentarily smothered him, and he had to fight to push it away. Not because she wasn’t worth it, but because he couldn’t bear the weight of it. Not now. Not with everything else pressing down on him. The war. The marks on his back. The fact that, in a handful of hours, Soleil and too many others of his friends would be only one narrow ledge away from certain death.

“You never said goodbye,” she said suddenly.

He winced. “I wasn’t allowed to.”

“That didn’t stop you from saying goodbye to Garrick.”

That hit its mark, sharp and clean.

He breathed out through his nose. “That was different.”

“Was it?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Just like he hadn’t been able to talk to her on that day three years ago.

They’d danced around each other for years, the kind of closeness that always seemed to be about to tip over into something more but never quite did. They’d thought they had time, all the time in the world. Even that stupid betrothal had been nothing but a cloud in the distance, unreal and unimportant.

Until everything had collapsed around them.

“Soleil,” he said, the name catching in his throat.

She looked at him again. Really looked this time.

There was hurt in her gaze. But also something else. Something older. Wiser. Sharpened by years they hadn’t had together.

“I used to dream, you know? That we’d run away one day,” she whispered. “That we’d leave the expectations behind us and live far away from all the intrigue and politics. That we’d disappear, just you and me.”

Xaden’s breath hitched.

“Maybe we would have,” he murmured. He couldn’t really say what it had been he’d felt for Soleil. It had certainly been something. And… he could see it. Not just because now, with everything pressing down on him, the idea of just a simple life without any bigger responsibilities sounded incredibly tempting.

If life hadn’t gone downhill so horribly, maybe that would have been where they’d headed.

Her hand dropped from the necklace, and the pendant settled back against her chest, the moment passing. Whatever had been between them… it was in the past.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said after a while. “Even if it’s just for this.”

They sat like that for a while, the space between them thick with the ghosts of what they used to be. The kind of closeness that didn’t need touching. The kind that could sit in silence without being smothered by it.

When Xaden finally spoke, his voice was quiet but steady. “We should go back. Tomorrow will be rough, and we’ll need all our strength and focus to make it across the parapet.” He didn’t want to go back. But he’d rather have more time to talk in relative peace than have them be overly tired and exhausted tomorrow.

But Soleil didn’t move.

He glanced at her, catching the slight dip of her chin, the way her eyes remained fixed on the glass. As if she wouldn’t have to react if she didn’t look at him.

“Soleil?”

Her shoulders shifted. “I don’t even know if I want to make it across,” she murmured.

The words hit him like a gut punch. “What?”

She still didn’t look at him. “Even if I make it tomorrow… then what? There’s challenges. The gauntlet. Fucking Threshing.” Her voice broke, and she swallowed. “What’s the point in surviving one death trap if there are ten more waiting? And even if I manage to become a rider… We graduate just to be thrown into a war we don’t believe in? For people who wouldn’t even look twice if we fell, who might even cheer at our downfall?” Her shoulders curled tighter. “I don’t think I have it in me, Xaden. The strength to go through all that shit. Maybe I already burned it all just trying to stay alive this long.”

“No.” The word left him sharp. Immediate. “Don’t you dare say something like that.”

Her head lifted, eyes finally meeting his.

“You never backed down,” Xaden said quietly, but the edge in his voice cut through the stillness. “Not when it mattered.”

Her gaze flickered, uncertain.

“Do you remember that wild horse that got loose in the village square? Everyone else scattered, but you—gods, Soleil, you stepped in front of it like you could stop it with your bare hands. Because there were children playing, and you… Fuck, you didn’t even hesitate.”

“I was stupid,” she murmured.

“You were brave,” he countered. “You always were. You’d take every dare just to prove you could. Climbing the cistern wall, racing the boys down the hill at full speed, sneaking into the kitchens for extra bread for the little ones. You didn’t care what it cost, especially not if someone else needed help.”

She shook her head once, barely.

“You were fast, smart—so fucking clever it used to piss me off when you’d win at cards without even trying.” His mouth twitched. “And stubborn. Gods, you hated being told what you couldn’t do.”

Soleil’s expression tightened, her hands curling into the sleeves of her shirt. “That was a long time ago.”

“I know that it looks like that now,” he said, softer this time. “And I know you don’t see the person you used to be anymore. But I do. She’s still in there, Soleil. Maybe buried. Maybe bruised. But she’s there.”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her breath shaky. “You don’t know what they did to me.”

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t. But I can see what it cost you. And I know what it means that you’re still here. Sitting in this fucking window. Wearing that necklace. Breathing.”

Another beat of silence, the kind that crackled, charged.

“I’m not asking you to cross that parapet without fear,” he said. “I’m only asking you to try. To not give up. Because then, they already won. And yes, Navarre’s leadership sucks. But it’s not them we’re fighting for.”

Soleil’s lips parted. Then pressed together again.

And slowly, like it cost her more than just the simple contraction of muscles, she nodded.

“Okay. I’ll try.”

Xaden let out a heavy sigh. “Good.” His voice turned gentler. “That’s all I need.”

A beat passed. Then another. But he could see it. The minute changes in her posture. How she sat just the tiniest bit straighter now.

“You’re right,” she eventually said, letting out a heavy sigh, a rueful little smile tugging at her lips. “We should go and get some sleep. Tomorrow is an important day, after all.”

Xaden couldn’t fully hide the load that took off his mind, his breath coming out in a broken little gasp. “Then let’s head back.” He nodded down the empty corridors. “If we’re quick, we can avoid the patrol.”

They moved quickly, feet silent on the stone ground, and Xaden was relieved to see that she’d indeed prepared for the Riders Quadrant, at least in that regard. But when they reached the hall that led to the dorms, she slowed, and when Xaden threw her an inquisitive look, she swallowed.

“I don’t think I can sleep in that room,” she said, quietly, hesitantly. Her hands balled into fists at her sides. “I’m sure Lin, Carine, and Astar are great, but…” Her lips pressed into a tight line.

“But they are strangers,” Xaden murmured, and Soleil nodded.

And she’d been through too much to handle being surrounded by strangers tonight.

Xaden didn’t hesitate for even a moment—the answer was already there.

“You can sleep in my room,” he said. “My bed’s big enough.”

“Your room?” Her brows lifted, just slightly. “You sure?”

“Just sleep,” he clarified, assuring her that he doesn’t expect more, and a small sheepish smile tugged at his lips. “But yeah. It’s easily big enough for both of us. If that helps.”

Soleil studied him for a moment, then nodded, her lips twitching. “It does.” She ducked her head. “Thanks.”

They didn’t talk any more as they made their way through the dark halls, making barely any sound at all. Just the softest echo of footsteps, quiet breathing. But they didn’t need words, not when there was something deeper between them, something like a memory. Something familiar, something like trust.

When they reached his room, he pushed the door open and stepped aside to let her in first, and Soleil hesitated for only a brief moment before she entered. The space was narrow. Simple. Upon their arrival, a mage light had flickered to life beneath the ceiling, bathing the room in dim light. A single desk pressed against the far wall, a chair with uneven wobbly legs tucked under it, and a bed that was just wide enough for two people if they didn’t mind a bit of closeness. No decorations. No softness.

Soleil stood just inside the door for a beat, arms crossed over her chest. “Wow. They really rolled out the red carpet for you.”

He closed the door behind them with a soft snort. “It’s better than the brig. Which I’m sure they considered as an alternative.”

She turned slowly, eyes sweeping the room again. “Still feels like a cell.”

He shrugged. “Everything does now.”

Another wave of silence settled between them like mist, thick and heavy. They moved without speaking, the shuffle of boots thudding onto the stone floor the only sound. Xaden shrugged out of his heavy uniform jacket, shoulders rolling with the motion, then hung it on a hook by the door. Soleil peeled hers off slower, her fingers clumsy with tension, and Xaden turned his back towards her, giving her as much privacy as he could.

He was just about to take off the matching uniform trousers when he felt it.

Her touch, light and tentative, her palms resting below his shoulder blades, her forehead between them. The warmth of her seeped through the worn cotton of his shirt, and he stilled, every muscle coiled tight.

“Soleil?” he asked, voice low, unsure. “What…?”

She didn’t answer at first, just curled in tighter against his back. Her arms slid around his waist until her palms came to rest flat against his stomach, her face pressed into his back. “We’re not the same people anymore, are we?”

“No.” Xaden let his hands settle over hers, grounding her there against him. “Calldyr and the years after burned them out of us.”

Her cheek stayed against his spine for a breath or two, her fingers curled lightly into his shirt.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” she said eventually. “Just… comfort. Closure. A way to breathe.”

Xaden stilled. He knew where she was getting at.

Turning in her arms, he let her hands slide across his ribs until they rested at his sides and looked at her, brows furrowing. “You sure?”

Her eyes met his. Steady. Open. Honest. “I’m sure. I want this. Need it. To regain control over myself again. My body. I just want to feel like myself again. Even if it’s only for this night.”

Xaden didn’t answer, only studied the face of the girl he used to know, of the woman standing in front of him now. Then he drew in a breath and nodded. “Okay.”

Slowly, without ever taking her eyes from his, she rose onto her toes.

And kissed him.

Xaden froze.

For a heartbeat or two, he stood absolutely still, lips unmoving beneath hers. It shouldn’t have caught him off guard, not after everything they just said. And it didn’t, not really. But her mouth against his was the memory of a wish come true, the ghost of every daydream he’d ever had at sixteen. Back when he didn’t know what war felt like. When he still believed in soft things.

Only this was better than anything he’d ever been able to imagine.

Her lips weren’t some fantasy, they were real. Warm. Tasting of cherries and sunshine and everything that could have been.

With a low groan, Xaden kissed her back. Slowly. Reverently.

Not hard or rushed, just honest. The kind of kiss that answered without speaking, that offered without demanding. He let her set the pace, followed her lead, mirrored every hint of pressure, every angle, until the space between them disappeared entirely.

Her hands found the hem of his shirt, trembling as they slipped underneath, hesitant. His muscles flexed involuntarily, her touch tickling, but he didn’t pull away. Let her find her rhythm, her courage, her strength.

Once his shirt was on the floor, Soleil reached for his hand, blindly fumbling, and placed it at her waist, letting him feel the strip of bare skin there without ever breaking their kiss. His fingers twitched, tightened just a little, and moved when she leaned into his touch, slow and careful. Brushing along the sliver of skin beneath her shirt, gently mapping her body one breath at a time.

She didn’t stop him.

Didn’t tense.

Didn’t flinch.

Instead, she leaned into it, into him, her palms against his chest as if needing him to anchor her.

So he gave her just that. Steady hands and even breathing, quiet reverence. He took his time, letting her shirt rise inch by inch beneath his touch, always waiting for her to shift, to hesitate, to tell him to stop.

But she didn’t.

With a quiet gasp, she lifted her arms for him to slide the shirt over her head, and it landed next to his own, forgotten in how warm and smooth her skin was beneath his palms, her breaths shallow but sure. Piece by piece, they stripped each other bare, his trousers, her underwear. All of it discarded without haste. Not rushed, not frantic. Deliberate. Savouring every moment of it.

Once they were naked—aside from the stone disk resting against her chest—Soleil pushed him towards the edge of the bed, her palms firm against his chest, guiding rather than asking, and Xaden let her. Let her lead. Let her want.

She followed him down, settling across his lap, skin to skin and still kissing. Gods, she kissed like she meant it. Like she needed the press of lips and tongue as badly as her next breath. He kept his hands gentle on her hips as they tumbled down onto the mattress, letting her move how she wanted, letting her set the rhythm as she rocked against him, slow and aching and desperate in the quietest of ways.

This wasn’t the heated desire he so often enjoyed in bed, the roughness edged in pain. No, this was different. Soft and gentle. Like honeyed milk and a warm summer rain. Sweet.

Perfect.

There was no space between them. No air, no thought, no room for anything but the heat of her mouth and the pressure where their bodies met, her slickness sliding along his length as she ground herself against him.

Not teasing.

Just seeking.

He didn’t groan, didn’t gasp. Didn’t want to ruin the silence she’d built around them like a shield. But his grip on her hips tightened. Just a little. Just enough.

Soleil buried her face in his neck, breath warm and unsteady, and he turned his head, pressing a kiss into her temple, anchoring them both.

She rocked harder then. A low sound escaped her lips—somewhere between a sigh and a gasp—and he swore it echoed through his every bone. He let her take all the time she needed, gave her everything without rushing her. As if they had all the time in the world.

Her movements grew bolder, her hips shifting and rolling, and Xaden answered with his own, rocking against her to meet her rhythm. To let her know she didn’t leave him unaffected, either. Soleil let out a shaky breath, a gasp almost, and pressed against him even more. Enough for the head of his cock to nudge against her entrance.

She stilled, and so did Xaden, their breathing rough, hot and wet in the intimate space between them.

“We don’t have to,” Xaden murmured, his thumb stroking over where his hand rested on her thigh.

Soleil nodded. Swallowed. “I want to. But…” She had one hand braced on his shoulder, the other coming to rest on his chest, flat and firm and decisive. “I want to be on top.”

Her voice was low but steady when she said it, and fuck, if that didn’t undo something in him.

That she could say it.

That she knew what she needed.

That she trusted him enough to speak it out loud.

Without a word, Xaden moved. His hands curled around her waist as he rolled them, slow and seamless, until she was straddling his hips. Until the power was where she wanted it—with her.

“Whatever you need.”

Soleil’s lips twitched into a small smile where she sat upright above him, her thighs tightening around him. Her short brown spiky strands framed her face perfectly as she held his gaze, with no hesitation in her eyes. Just heat and purpose and something painfully real.

He didn’t reach for her.

Didn’t urge her on.

He just looked up at her, open and waiting, taking her in.

Her breasts were small but beautiful, firm and round, flushed a warm pink at the tips. The way they swayed with her movements, the pendant between them, might have captivated him in another situation, made him lean up and suck those hard nipples between his lips.

But tonight, that wasn’t where his mind went—or at least not his main priority.

Time had changed her. She wasn’t the soft girl he remembered from the days they all spent at the lake anymore. There were the swirling black shapes along her left arm, elegant and foreboding alike, reaching all the way up to her shoulder as reminder of their loss from that day in Calldyr. But that wasn’t the only difference.

The lines of her body were clearer now, stronger, with lean muscles beneath soft golden skin. A strength earned in silence. And even though they were barely visible in the dim light, he still spotted the fading bruises beneath her skin. Not marks of shame but the proof of what she’d survived. That she was a fighter.

His eyes met hers again, and he saw it there. No, she hadn’t given up, wouldn’t give up. She’d just needed this small push, needed this moment to reclaim herself. To remind herself that she was strong, so much stronger than anyone had ever seen.

Except for him.

He gave a smile, a nod. A gesture she returned, her eyes gleaming. With strength. With lust. With pride.

Then she wrapped her hand around him, gentle but firm, guiding him to her entrance, and began to sink down, slow and careful but sure.

Xaden didn’t breathe. Didn’t move.

He held himself still and just watched as her body took him inch by inch, her jaw tight with concentration, her fingers braced on his chest.

His hands settled at her hips, thumbs stroking small circles into her skin, just for comfort.

Because she was the one in control.

And gods, he was honoured to be hers for it.

She sank down onto him with slow, deliberate care, her body tense at first, cautious. Then she let out a sound from deep within her chest, a desperate, broken little sob that tore straight through him.

Xaden froze. His hands tightened instinctively at her hips, holding her steady, grounding her. “Soleil—”

She shook her head before he could finish, her breath hitching. “No. No, it’s okay. It’s just…” Her eyes fluttered shut, a tear sliding down one cheek even as her lips parted on a shaky breath. “It feels good.”

A beat of silence passed.

Then another.

“I wasn’t sure it could,” she whispered.

Something cracked wide open in his chest. But he didn’t let it show, didn’t let his face betray the sheer weight of that truth. He just nodded, slow and reassuring, fingers brushing soothing lines across her waist.

“Then take your time,” he said softly. “Find what works. I’m right here.”

Soleil nodded, gasping a shaky little laugh. And then, she moved, tentative at first. Just a slow grind of her hips, shifting her weight forward, then back again. Her hands were firmly on his chest, using him for balance as she found her rhythm, as her breath came quicker and the tension in her shoulders melted into focus.

Xaden didn’t move. Didn’t thrust. Didn’t chase. He just held her, steady and solid beneath her, letting her test what she liked. Letting her have this.

And gods—she felt incredible. Hot and tight and alive above him, every motion growing bolder as confidence replaced uncertainty. So much more than his younger self ever could have dreamed of.

A soft moan dropped off her lips, the sweetest sound. Then another. She rode him with more purpose then, grinding down at the end of each movement until her breath caught and her head fell back.

And Xaden couldn’t look away.

She was radiant. Vulnerable for only him, yet fierce and free in a way that made something inside him thrum, the tension building low behind his pelvis. With the pure joy of the boy he used to be, with the silent grief over what could have been, and with soft acceptance, pride, anticipation for the future to come.

And when she came—her whole body seizing as she cried out, raw and beautiful—it felt like the consummation of it all. Release, reclamation, closure. Something sacred.

Xaden rocked his hips up gently, guiding her through the tremors, holding her as she shook with it, as her breath shattered and caught again. His own climax was building quickly with it, hard and insistent with how she still clenched around him, so hot and wet, and he groaned, voice strained. “S-Soleil… I’m close—”

Soleil nodded, gasping, still breathless. “Yes. Yes, I want you to.”

That undid him.

He came with a low grunt, his hands tight on her hips, spilling into her warmth as his body arched up to meet hers. The weight of the years, of everything unsaid, burned away with every pulse of pleasure and left only this moment.

Cleansing.

Whole.

When it passed, when their breaths slowed and her forehead rested against his, he reached up and cradled the back of her head. Neither of them spoke, not yet. They just held on, letting the silence cover them, a soothing comfort.

Eventually, Soleil eased off of him and collapsed beside him with a shaky exhale, snuggling against his side. Xaden moved with her, holding her, and pulled a blanket over them.Tugging her close, skin against skin. No barriers left.

And when she curled herself against his side, her voice was barely a whisper. “Thank you.”

Xaden closed his eyes.

There were a thousand things he could’ve said. But none of them would’ve been enough. So he just curled his arm tighter around her and pressed a kiss into her hair.

Then the silence grew heavier, and sleep found them quickly, softly.

Entwined and at peace.

For now.

. o O o .

Xaden woke to the sound of her breathing.

Slow. Steady. Measured and calm before the chaos of the storm that would be this day.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Just lay there in the narrow bed, her body curled against his side, one of her legs hooked over his, her forehead tucked beneath his jaw. He could feel the warmth of her skin, the steady rhythm of her chest rising and falling against his ribs.

Xaden took a moment to take it all in. This unlikely moment of Soleil sleeping in his arms after all these years. What happened last night, the culmination of years of pining and sorrow alike. And how it all made him feel.

He felt rested, much more so than he’d expected to be on this morning. On the day his journey to become a rider would begin, where every day for the rest of his life could be his last. He'd certainly not even dreamed he could feel like this today, given the tension that had been holding him prisoner for weeks.

But that wasn't just it. He felt more than just rested. He felt at ease. Peaceful. His head turned without him meaning to, and with his nose in her hair, he breathed her in. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, one he hadn’t even realised was there. Like a few loose threads finally got woven in, making him a little bit more whole.

Next to him, Soleil shifted, a faint hum escaping her lips as her hand skimmed across his chest. Not with any purpose but more like she hadn’t remembered where she was yet, only that it felt safe.

Xaden lay entirely still, unwilling to break the moment. But only a few more breaths passed before she stirred again, slower this time, and angled her face up towards him.

Her brown eyes were still heavy with sleep, warm. Her hair was a mess. But she was here. Awake.

Alive.

“Morning,” she rasped, voice raw from sleep.

“Morning,” he said back, equally quiet.

They didn’t move, not yet. The world was waiting just outside these walls, heavy and sharp-edged. But they stayed in that stillness a little longer, like stretching out the last good breath before submerging.

Eventually, her hand curled more firmly over his chest, fingers spreading slightly, like she was weighing what to say.

“That didn’t change anything,” she murmured.

He nodded against her hair. “I know.”

“We’re not pretending this is something it isn’t, right?”

“No, we’re not.” His voice stayed soft, steady. “That ship sailed a long time ago.”

Her lips twitched faintly, a private, self-aware smile. “Might’ve worked. Back then.”

“Yeah.” A breath. “But we’re not those people anymore.”

Her eyes softened as she looked up at him. “No. We’re not.”

There was no bitterness in it. No longing. Just the simple, clear truth of who they had been, and who they’d become.

“I don’t regret it,” Soleil said after a moment. “It was exactly what I needed. So… thank you.”

Xaden’s lips curled into a small smile. “I’d say ‘you’re welcome,’ but that doesn’t quite cover it. And thank you, too. For trusting me. I’m glad I could be the one.” He paused, his hand rubbing lightly up and down her back, then added, “And I’d say ‘anytime’, but…”

Soleil huffed a small breathy laugh. “But that would get awkward. I think we work better as just friends. Although…” She paused, taking a deep breath. “I’m glad it was you, too.”

They let the quiet return for a moment, her fingertips drifting across his skin in a slow, absent pattern.

“And it helped.” Her fingers traced a small pattern just beneath his collarbone. “Not only because of what we did. But because it reminded me that I’m still here. That I still want things. That I don’t want to give up.”

Xaden let out a shaky breath, his arm tightening around her. “Hearing that means a lot to me.”

Her gaze flickered up, their eyes meeting, and the look they exchanged said more than words ever could. About the fondness between them, a bond of something more than just friendship, of trust and companionship.

His lips twitched faintly, then faded. “You’ll make it across. I’ve seen you fight harder with less.”

With a small sigh, Soleil nodded. “Can’t do them the favour of getting rid of me so easily.”

Xaden couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “And there she is again, the Soleil I’ve always known.”

“Just with a few more edges,” she chuckled. “But I think I like this version better.”

Another silence, thicker this time. As if even the world knew this moment was coming to an end.

Then she moved. Slowly pulling back, sliding from beneath the blanket. The chill of the morning seeped into the space she left, but he didn’t stop her.

They dressed in silence. No rush, but no lingering either. The way soldiers prepared. Focused. Intentional.

By the time she laced up her boots, her shoulders had squared.

Xaden stood, buckling the last strap of his gear, and looked at her—not as someone fragile or broken—but as someone standing again. Choosing it.

Her fingers wrapped around the tiger’s eye, her eyes falling closed for a moment, and when their eyes met again, Xaden raised an eyebrow in question.

“One step at a time,” she said, letting the pendant slide beneath her shirt. “One challenge after the other. I can do it.” Her hand patted where the stone rested against her chest. “Today, I’ll survive the parapet. And tomorrow… who knows? Maybe I’ll stop biting these to the roots one day.” She held up her hand, her fingers wiggling.

Xaden’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “But would you even still be you then?” he asked, a teasing smirk playing around his lips.

“That’s the secret, I think,” she hummed. “I will always be me, no matter what I choose. And you know, I’ve always wanted to be able to paint my nails. Might as well add that to this fresh start.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing what colour you’ll pick.”

They shared another look, another moment of companionable silence, then turned to face the door. Whatever came next, they wouldn’t be walking into it alone.

“Ready?” he asked.

Soleil nodded once. “Let’s go.”

And together, they stepped into the dawn.

. o O o .

AN: So, that was that. 🥰 What do you think? Could this be how it went?

Also, as a funny little side bit: my writing program tried to 'correct' the 'Poromish princess' into 'pornish princess', and I can't stop giggling about that. 😁

Also, here is a beautiful moodboard @theoppositequeen made for this story. 🥰