chapter 52

Chapter 52

The carriage rolled to a gentle halt before the Grendy estate, the old manor still standing proud amidst the blooming fields and low stone walls. The scent of freshly tilled earth lingered on the air, carried by a quiet breeze that stirred the lace upon Alissa's sleeves. She stepped down with grace, her gown rustling softly as her boots touched the gravel.

Lady Elena was already at the doorway, her figure regal yet warm in her bearing. A gentle smile graced her lips as she approached.

"My lady," she greeted.

But Alissa did not curtsey, nor offer formality. She stepped forth and embraced her instead.

"Lady Elena," she murmured against her shoulder.

The older woman wrapped her arms around her fondly, a motherly warmth settling in. "Welcome home, dear heart. You've been missed."

They parted, and Lady Elena motioned toward the doors. "Come in. The house is yours as ever. Do you wish for anything? A drink, perhaps, or—?"

Alissa smiled, shaking her head gently. "Thank you, but… where is Adam?"

Lady Elena's eyes crinkled knowingly. "In the fields. He rode out not long past. Go to him. He'll be glad to see you."

Without delay, Alissa turned, her heart thudding with each hurried step as she crossed the courtyard and made for the path that led to the edge of the wide, open land. The wind kissed her cheeks, her breath quickening with every pace.

And then she saw him.

Adam stood beneath the low sun, speaking to a tall man with dark hair. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, the shirt clinging to his back from the toil of the day. He laughed at something the man said, his head tilted, hand on his hip.

Alissa broke into a run.

"Adam!"

He turned just as she flung herself upon him, her arms around his neck in a rush of joy and need. He staggered back a step, startled, but caught her easily.

"Alissa—?" he breathed.

She pulled back only to meet his eyes—and then, without a word, kissed him.

It was sudden, and full of longing. His arms remained still at first, and when she pulled back, her brow furrowed in confusion. Adam stepped away slightly, his hand falling to his side.

Then she noticed the other man—dark-haired, eyes wide, mouth parted slightly.

"Your Highness," the man greeted with a low bow.

Alissa offered only a curt nod, her lips tightening. Without another word, she turned and strode away.

"Alissa—wait!" Adam called after her, but she did not look back.

He caught up to her near the steps, reaching for her hand. She tried to pull away, but he did not let go. Without a word, he led her inside. Lady Elena stood near the doorway, her expression unreadable as the two passed her by. She said nothing, merely watching them with a quiet knowing in her gaze.

Adam brought her into his chamber and shut the door behind them. Alissa sat upon the edge of the bed, her hands in her lap, eyes on him.

He remained near the window at first, then moved to a chair, settling a short distance from her.

"You look different," he said, his voice low, trying to start a conversation.

Alissa rose, crossing the short space between them.

"You didn't come to see me," she said, her voice quiet but pointed. "So I thought perhaps you were busy. Or you hadn't heard, which is impossible because the whole kingdom knows about my arrival. Still, I came."

"So, why?" she asked, stepping back and sitting again. "You didn't want to see me?"

"I was going to," he said after a pause. "But I was afraid."

She stared. "Afraid? Of what?"

He hesitated, then spoke. "Of this… of what I feel… of what might have changed between us."

Her gaze softened, but she did not smile. "Is that why you turned from me just now?"

"No," he said, rising and kneeling before her. "I did not want tongues wagging about the princess who kisses a man not her husband. You know how the world is. You deserve more respect than whispers."

He reached up, cupping her face, his hands warm, calloused. He kissed her then—not rushed, not burning, but soft and sure, like a promise long kept.

A knock broke the quiet.

Lady Elena stepped inside bearing a small tray of drink. She placed it gently on the table and, without a word, left them in silence.

A moment passed—and then they both burst into laughter.

Adam brushed a stray strand from her face, his fingers lingering. Then he leaned forward, resting his head upon her shoulder.

"I missed you," he whispered against her neck.

"I missed you more," she said, wrapping her arms around him, her voice full of light.

"And I don't care about what others think," she whispered.

---

Now outside

They lay upon the soft grass, side by side, the golden light of late afternoon spilling over the field. Alissa's head rested lightly against Adam's shoulder, her voice laced with laughter as she told him tales of Citadel life.

"...and Mara still smells faintly of lavender and burnt parchment," she said, covering her mouth with her hand as she giggled.

Adam turned to look at her, smiling. "Your life there sounds far more eventful than I imagined."

She gave a teasing grin. "Would you like to see something wondrous?"

He raised a brow, intrigued. "Aye, I would."

Alissa sat up and glanced around the quiet field. Satisfied they were alone, she stood slowly, her fingers brushing the tips of the tall grass. Then she drew in a breath and spread her arms wide.

The wind stilled.

From the very air, moisture shimmered and stirred. Tiny droplets formed, rising like mist drawn to her call. They swirled, gathering in her palms, then with a subtle twist of her hands, they began to harden—twisting, curling—until the water shaped into a perfect heart of glistening ice.

Adam sat up slowly, staring with parted lips. "Alissa..." he whispered. "Where did you learn this?"

She looked down at her creation, the faintest hint of wonder in her own eyes. "I didn't," she said quietly. "It just… happened."

He stepped in front of her, his gaze fixed upon the heart of ice. Gently, he reached out and touched it—smooth, cold, and impossibly delicate. "I have never known a witch who could call upon more than one element." Remembering that she had healed him once.

"Then perhaps I am the first," she said, eyes lifting to meet his.

They stared at each other, the silence thick between them. Then, in a breath, Adam closed the distance, pulling her to him by the waist. The heart of ice slipped from her hands and shattered on the ground, forgotten.

Their lips met—tender at first, then fierce. His fingers roamed her waist as hers tangled in his hair, the world around them lost to heat, to breath, to the spell they cast without words.

Only the two of them remained, wrapped in something wild and wordless beneath the open sky.

-----

The chamber was dim but not dark, a single candle flickering at the far end, its soft glow casting shadows across the stone walls. Alistair sat on the edge of the bed, his back straight, his hands resting loosely in his lap. His eyes, however, were far away—drawn not to the room around him, but to the silent war within.

He had not spoken to Elias in four years.

Not because he did not wish to—but because he feared that if he did, he would falter. And now, with Caelen's birth, with a kingdom to uphold and Jasmine lying asleep beside him, he had no excuse to crumble.

He must be a father. A husband. A prince worthy of his duty. Even if it meant burying the part of him that came alive only when Elias was near.

Yet he could not forget the way Elias looked at him in the hall earlier that day. That lingering gaze, a quiet plea hidden behind pride. There had been no words, but Alistair felt the weight of them all the same. Guilt curled tight in his chest.

He turned to Jasmine.

She lay still, the blanket rising gently with each breath. Her face was peaceful, untouched by the storm that raged within him. A lock of hair clung to her cheek, and he reached out, brushing it back with gentle fingers. He bent low, pressing a quiet kiss to her skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to no one.

Then he stood, pulling his cloak from the chair, and stepped soundlessly from the chamber.

The corridors were quiet at this hour. Only the occasional torch burned along the walls, and the soft echo of his boots followed him as he made his way to the tower—their tower.

The old balcony overlooked the gardens below, and beyond that, the hills that cradled the palace. The wind was soft tonight, carrying the scent of the earth. Elias stood there already, leaning on the stone rail, his eyes fixed on nothing.

Alistair froze in the shadows, watching.

But then—

"Caven," Elias said, surprised.

Caven stepped into view, holding a small bottle in hand. "I thought you might welcome company," he said with an easy smile. He came to stand beside Elias, uncorking the bottle and pouring into two cups. "You always come here when something weighs on you."

Elias gave a low chuckle. "So I've become predictable?"

"Not at all," Caven said, handing him a cup. "Only familiar."

They stood quietly for a moment, sipping the strong drink, letting the silence speak for what words could not.

"Did you speak with him?" Caven asked softly.

"No." Elias' voice was low. "He has made his choice."

Caven nodded slowly. "Perhaps. Or perhaps he is only afraid."

Elias didn't answer. The wind moved through his hair, and he looked down at the cup in his hands.

Then their hands touched—just barely, fingertips brushing.

Caven expected him to pull away. But Elias did not.

Instead, he let his hand rest there, still and warm.

Caven turned his hand, pressing his palm against Elias'. Slowly, he rubbed his thumb across the skin, and Elias looked at him. Their eyes locked—silent, searching.

Caven's gaze dropped to Elias' lips. He swallowed hard, his breath catching as he looked up again.

There was no permission, only silence.

But silence, to Caven, was enough.

He leaned in and kissed him.

The taste was bitter with wine and years of longing. Caven's hands gripped Elias' sides as he pushed forward, their bodies pressing into each other. Elias did not stop him. His breath caught as Caven's lips moved down to his neck, biting lightly, worshipfully.

Caven straddled him, their cloaks falling away.

Fingers tugged at tunics. Mouths met with growing hunger. Flesh met flesh beneath the cover of darkness, every touch igniting embers long kept cold. Elias clutched at Caven's back, his own breath sharp, unsteady.

In the shadows, unseen, Alistair watched.

His heart clenched with something he did not name.

For a moment, he almost stepped forward.

But he stopped.

The ache in his chest deepened as he turned away and walked back through the corridors, each step heavy with what could not be said, what could not be undone.

When he returned to the chamber, Jasmine stirred.

"Alistair…?" she whispered sleepily.

He shed his cloak, speaking quietly. "I went to check on Caelen."

She hummed softly, shifting in the bed. "Is he well?"

"He is," he said, climbing in beside her. He pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Within moments, she drifted back into slumber, her breath steady against his chest.

But Alistair could not sleep.

His eyes remained open, staring into the dark.

He had no right to be jealous.

No right to feel this hurt.

And yet it burned—deep and silent—as he held the woman he had chosen, and mourned the man he had not.