He’s my master

That evening, as the sun dipped behind Petra's worn stone walls, Liora found herself wandering the corridors without direction. Her hands itched for parchment, for routine, but her thoughts were too scattered to focus. The moment in the courtyard clung to her like a faint perfume. Not overpowering. Just there.

She ended up near the old stables, where the horses were quieter, more accustomed to the hum of dusk. Rowan stood at the edge of the paddock, arms folded as he watched the stable boys lead a colt into its pen.

"You've become a ghost lately," he said without turning.

"I could say the same for you."

He chuckled. "Ah, but I was always a shadow. You? You were sunlight, once."

She leaned against the post beside him. "And what am I now?"

Rowan finally turned to look at her. "Stormlight."

Liora raised a brow.

"Still bright," he said, "but sharp. Dangerous. You've changed."

"So has your prince."