A few days had passed since the symbolic union of the North and South, and the marriage, for all its grandeur and politics, had redrawn something inside the court of Athax.
The morning came not with chill, but warmth — sun bleeding gold across the curved edges of the high windows, soft and slow. The stone walls of the chamber, painted in hues of amber and rust, hummed quietly with life returning to the world beyond.
Killan lay still at first, listening to the subtle rhythm of the woman beside him — her breaths even, undisturbed. Aya had not stirred once during the night, or if she had, she'd done so as silently as snow melting from the eaves.
He turned slightly, careful not to rouse her, his eyes tracing the curve of her shoulder visible above the coverlet. Her long hair spilled across the pillow like dark ink. She slept facing away, spine curled slightly inward, guarded even in dreams.
The space between them on the bed was small but deliberate — a quiet boundary they both honored. Still, the weight in his chest told him it mattered that she was here. That she had stayed.
Killan exhaled softly and rose. The floor underfoot was warm from the morning sun as he crossed to the open doors leading to the small balcony. The city of Athax stretched beneath him — rooftops glowing red and copper, chimneys beginning their slow morning smoke. How he wished he could smell the scent of baked bread, mingled with the earthy sweetness of crushed herbs from the market lanes.
It was peaceful. Not quiet, exactly — Athax was never silent — but steady. Alive.
He braced his forearms on the stone railing, scanning the horizon. In the distance, banners fluttered on the eastern towers. Another patrol leaving for the border, perhaps. Or a visiting envoy departing with messages sewn into their hems.
He remembered the feast days before, rich with food and laughter, and music that echoed through the city. Killan had watched Aya move among them—measured and calm at first, then freer as the wine softened her shoulders and the people leaned in to listen. She had spoken not just to the lords and ladies, but to the blacksmith's wife, the stable boy with bandaged fingers, even the old woman who sold woven charms by the gate.
And the people had responded—curious, yes. But with smiles. With nods. With that rare warmth reserved only for those who seemed real to them.
"She sees them," Vignir had said quietly beside him. "That's more than most Queens do."
Now, watching the city wake again, Killan wondered what they saw in her. Was it her quiet strength? The restraint in her words? Or the fire barely hidden beneath?
He turned back inside, his eyes landing on the low table near the hearth — and the velvet pouch resting atop it.
Aya's stone.
He picked it up and opened it slowly, letting the stone catch the morning light. It was beautiful — frosted and light. The heirloom of House Svedana, passed through women born of power.
It had been meant for Aya all along. Yet she hadn't seen it. Not yet.
Not when she's still weighing the cage from the crown.
He closed the pouch and placed it back on the table.
A soft knock came at the door.
"My King?" Raina's voice, polite and careful. "Shall I assist the Lady?"
Killan glanced at the bed. Aya had shifted slightly but did not stir.
"No," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "Let her sleep. Come back later."
Raina murmured assent and retreated.
Killan lingered a moment longer, eyes drifting once more to the woman on the bed. Not his to claim. Not yet. Maybe never.
But still—here.
Later that morning, as light filtered gold through the stained-glass windows of the council chamber, Aya sat beside Killan at the high table. The council had gathered — Killan's and Aya's advisers. Eir stood a short distance from the table, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
Killan looked down the table at Elex, seated across from them, cloak fastened and sword strapped to his hip. His return to the North was imminent. He was to escort his and Aya's youngest brother, Juno, the Warden of the North, back to the safety of Vetasta.
Asta had just returned from escorting the Eastern Kingdom's dignitaries back to Peduviel, and now it was her brother's turn.
The room was heavy with the air of transition for the Northerners.
"We've received word from the inner provinces," Harlan was saying. "They've ratified the union. Gifts are en route, and grain tributes have been doubled in preparation for the campaign."
"And from the border towns?" Aya asked, voice steady. "They have recovered, yes?"
Masa grinned. "They've stopped calling us northerners and started calling you Our Queen. So I'd say it's progress."
A soft ripple of chuckles ran through the chamber.
Killan smiled faintly, glancing toward Aya — who gave him the smallest look in return, equal parts poised and tired.
Elex leaned forward. "I will bring back reports from Vetasta once I've returned. The Northern watch is holding, but I want to be sure our line isn't being pushed back further."
Vignir nodded. "We'll need early warning if it is. The merchant trails depend on roads and passes staying open."
Aya's gaze flicked to her brother. "Travel safely."
Elex rose slowly from his chair. "I always do."
He turned to Killan, then. "Keep safe, Your Grace."
Killan stood as well and clasped the Northern Lord's forearm in a silent, mutual show of respect.
"You have my word."
Elex gave a final nod, then turned to Aya. His hands lingered briefly on her shoulders. Not quite an embrace—but something close to it.
She held his gaze for a moment, lips pressing into a barely-there smile. "Send word when you reach home."
"Of course," he said, softer than before.
And then he was gone — his steps echoing into the long, empty corridor beyond.
The room held stillness after that.
One by one, the council returned to matters of state — new provisions, scouting routes, preparations for harvest. But Aya sat quietly, her eyes drifting toward the door her brother had left through.
She didn't speak again for the rest of the meeting.
Killan noticed.
And so did Eir.
Sometime later, the Northern party prepared to leave the warmth of Athax. Horses pawed at the dirt, their breath visible in the crisp air. Elex stood near the gate, his cloak draped over one shoulder, speaking in low tones to his second-in-command.
Aya arrived quietly, with Killan allowing her to leave the Council early to say farewell to her brothers— no guards, no ceremonial sendoff. Just her and the soft whisper of her boots on stone. She stood a few paces behind him, watching her eldest brother with a strange ache blooming in her chest.
He turned before she spoke, as if sensing her presence.
"You always had a quiet step," he said with a smile.
"And you always knew when I was coming," Aya replied, her voice thick.
Juno bounded into view, trailed by Asta. Aya thought he looked older already, not just by the cut of his tunic or the set of his shoulders—but by the glint in his eyes.
"Sister!" Juno closed the distance between them and embraced her.
"You look like a proper Lord now," she teased.
"And you look like a bride," he grinned, his arms locked around her form. "Terrifying."
"My own heart," she murmured, face pressed against his hair. "You don't have to go just yet."
"But I do," Juno said gently. "The North won't guard itself, right?"
Aya laughed lightly. She can't believe this side of her brother, how he has grown.
"You're still my favorite," she said in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Tell that to Elex."
She pulled back slightly, studying his face. "You'll write?"
"Of course," he said. "I miss you every day, Aya."
"I miss you too, little raven," she smiled at her younger brother. "I pray safety for you and our brothers."
Juno gave her a wide grin before Asta led him away to secure him on his carriage.
"You'll send word if anything changes here. If you need me—" Elex started.
"I'll send the fastest rider," she finished. "And I won't give Asta a hard time."
There was a silence then, heavier than the one between them before.
"I don't like leaving you here," Elex admitted. "I know Killan is… capable. And our cousin is here too. But part of me still wants to stay and keep that sword at your back."
Aya smiled faintly. "His Highness has been kind, in his own way."
Elex studied her a moment longer.
"You're not alone here," he reminded her. "Not anymore. And if things ever turn... if you ever feel that power in your chest flicker, remember this: you were never made to be hidden away."
Aya pulled him into an embrace, tighter than before.
"Take care of yourself," she said. "And return as promised."
"I will," Elex smiled. "Try not to give Asta too many headaches in my absence."
"I make no promises."
They laughed softly — siblings again for a moment.
Then he turned, mounted his horse, and rode out through the gate, just the sound of hooves echoing in the courtyard and Aya standing still beneath the tower, clutching the sides of her dress.
The sun had lowered past the hills, bleeding amber light through the windows of their shared chamber. A warm breeze slipped through the stone-carved arches, ruffling the heavy drapes as if to soften the room's edges.
Killan stood near the balcony, fingers resting on the rail. He'd taken off his armor, wearing only a simple black shirt now, sleeves rolled up, collar undone. The sounds of the castle floated up from below — servants laughing in the kitchen yard, the low chant of evening prayers, the clip of horses returning from patrol.
But within these walls, it was quiet.
He turned when he heard the door open.
Aya stepped in without a word, her hair unbound, her dress exchanged for something softer. Her eyes flicked to him, unreadable, before settling on the table near the hearth. A stack of letters sat there — notes from neighboring provinces, a new missive from her steward, and the unfinished letter she'd begun that morning to her dear friend in Peduviel.
"I thought you might want to eat something before bed," Killan said gently, gesturing to the tray near the fire.
His new wife had missed dinner earlier, likely because she had ridden out with Asta to secure their soldiers' provisions in place of her brother. He was grateful for her diligence, but also worried about her well-being.
Aya offered a nod. "Thank you."
Silence stretched again. Not tense — just fragile. He watched her move — slow, careful, as if weighing every step. Since Elex's and Juno's departure earlier that day, she had grown quieter. Closed.
Killan crossed to the table and pulled out a chair for her. She hesitated before taking it.
He didn't sit.
Instead, he knelt beside her — one arm draped over the edge of the table, the other resting lightly on his knee.
"Aya," he said, voice low.
She turned toward him, surprised by the position he'd taken. He was a Commander. A King, in all but name. And yet here he was — knees to the ground.
He met her gaze.
"You've been quiet," he said. "What's wrong?"
Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing.
Killan pressed on. "You don't have to pretend with me. Not brave. Not strong. Not anything more than you are."
Her throat moved as she swallowed, and she blinked quickly — once, twice.
"This is the first time my brothers are nowhere near," she said quietly. "They've always been around. And now..."
"You're worried," Killan reached up slowly, giving her time to pull away, and touched her hand.
Aya didn't flinch. Her fingers trembled slightly beneath his.
She turned her palm over, letting her hand rest in his.
"My siblings are the only thing that made me feel safe after our Mother died," she whispered. " And Elex, even after everything else… he never treated me like I was less because of what I chose to do with my power."
Killan shifted his weight, moving to sit fully at her feet now. "You aren't less. You never were."
She looked down at him, her storm-gray eyes unreadable in the flickering hearthlight.
"You don't know that yet," she murmured.
"Maybe not," he admitted. "But I want to."
A long silence followed — and then, almost imperceptibly, Aya leaned forward. Her forehead came to rest against his.
It wasn't quite a kiss.
But it was a beginning.
Killan closed his eyes.
"I hope, in time, you'll know you can rely on me — maybe not the way you do your brother, not yet… but I'll earn that. If you let me," he said quietly.
Aya didn't answer. But when he opened his eyes, her hand was still in his.
And she hadn't let go.
Long after Killan's breathing had settled into a steady rhythm and the glow of the hearth had dimmed to embers, Aya lay awake, her eyes open to the darkened ceiling. The silence pressed in, but it was not suffocating — it was thoughtful. Heavy with the kind of quiet that came only when one stood at the edge of something new.
She slipped out from beneath the covers, careful not to disturb him. The cool stone floor met her feet as she crossed the room to the window, pulling her robe tighter. Outside, the castle grounds slept under a veil of moonlight, silver and still. The banners of House Valmird stirred gently in the breeze, and beyond them, the dark outline of the city whispered secrets to the stars.
Aya leaned against the window ledge, resting her palms against the cold stone, and exhaled.
She thought of Killan's words — not possessive, but... earnest. He was trying, she knew that. Giving her space, offering her respect in a world where men too often took and took and called it their right. And though she had not said much in reply, something in her had softened—not melted, not broken—but softened.
"I hope, in time, you'll know you can rely on me."
Could she?
She closed her eyes.
There had been too many days filled with duty, calculation, and wary eyes. Too few filled with silence and space to feel. But this — this moment alone, this breath between battles — was hers.
Aya sat down by the window, drawing her knees to her chest. She let her head rest against the wall and listened to the hush of the world around her.
Just then, a bird landed on the ledge beside her. Jet black, eyes sharp. It tilted its head once.
Aya met its gaze and frowned. Stories whispered in her mind—of birds used by then summoners to mark power, or portents. To watch across the veil.
The wind shifted.
Something is coming.