My usual walks through the garden have become—how do I properly describe this? Crowded.
Guards and soldiers everywhere. It's as if they've abandoned the keep and taken up residence at the Manor.
I asked Kaelen about it, but he avoided the question altogether. I could tell he was still hiding something, but I didn't press him. It didn't take much to figure it out—his council doesn't trust me. They likely don't want Kaelen sharing anything concerning Saelow with me.
Perhaps it's for the best. If I'm kept in the dark, they can't accuse me of treason every time Saelow breathes. If they want a scapegoat, they'll have to look elsewhere.
Still, my company today is... unusual.
He walks beside me, silent, brooding, arms folded behind his back, eyes far away—as though his thoughts are leagues from Caerthrone. I've had better company from the guards who used to shadow me.
"You know," I say, breaking the silence, "I visited the old castle while you were away on campaign."
Kaelen turns his head slightly, brows knitting. "Alone?"
"Yes and no," I muse. "I asked the guards to wait outside while I looked around."
"Nyriane, that was highly dangerous," he says, his voice tightening. "That place is on the verge of collapse—"
"I'm in one piece, Kaelen," I interrupt, extending my arms dramatically to prove the point.
He shakes his head, exasperated. "You're going to drive me up the wall."
"It's fine. I'm not made of glass," I say, resting my hand lightly against his chest. His heart is beating faster than he lets on.
He's been more protective lately. Always watching. Always worried. Yet still, he refuses to open up. With time and patience, I remind myself. Time and patience.
"So," I continue, "most of the rooms were stripped bare. Grandfather's room looked like a fire had torn through it."
"Yes. I believe Craven burned a few of Elarion's precious artworks in there," Kaelen says with a shrug.
"His self-portraits? All of them?" I ask in horror. My grandfather was extremely fond of himself—his likeness was in nearly every hallway.
"Most were burned at the town's center," Kaelen replies. "I think one or two were torched in his room, but I can't say for sure."
"There was something else—odd," I say slowly. "All the rooms were ravaged. Furniture smashed, doors torn off their hinges... But mine—mine was untouched. Just as I left it."
Kaelen falls silent. His eyes shift away, to something distant beyond the garden walls.
"It was dusty, yes. But everything else—my books, my trinkets, even my old doll—they were still there. Where I left them."
"I'm not sure what to tell you, Nyriane," he says quietly. "I joined Craven after the crown had already fallen. The castle was already in ruins. Why no one entered your room... that's as much a mystery to me as it is to you."
"You're right. I understand." I nod, though the feeling lingers. A room untouched in a castle of ruin—it feels like a memory preserved in glass. Or a warning.
"I don't want you going back there. It's dangerous," he says firmly.
"I went there for closure. I have no reason to return."
Kaelen reaches out and gently cups my face. I lean into his touch without thinking. He steps closer and places a soft kiss on my forehead. That simple gesture sends warmth curling in my chest—something like peace. Something like home.
"I've been meaning to tell you," he murmurs. "I need to travel south soon—Gravis, Sevvera, Navenport. I have to oversee our defenses. Most of our grain comes from there, and with winter setting in, I need to make sure it's properly distributed. And that we have enough in storage in case of a drought."
"Oh," I say, unable to hide the faltering of my smile. "When will you leave?"
"That's what I wanted to ask you..." His gaze softens. "Will you come with me? I know it's a long journey and the roads may be hard but—"
He doesn't get to finish.
I leap into his arms, laughing. Any other man would've toppled over with me, but Kaelen catches me with ease, keeping us perfectly balanced.
"Yes! Yes!" I exclaim. "I'll go with you!"
He laughs, his chest rumbling beneath my cheek. "Had I known this would be your reaction, I'd have asked sooner."
At the angle we're in, our faces are level—his eyes glinting with something almost boyish, almost gentle.
Kaelen leans in and kisses me. Not urgently. Not like before. This kiss is soft—deliberate—infused with something deeper than desire.
Tender. Intimate. Real.