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It is not a palace or a fortress.

It is just ours.

That is all it ever needed to be. There are no guards standing outside.

No high walls and no eyes watching us from the shadows, waiting for us to slip.

Because there is no one here.

No one but us.

We left them all behind.

The war and the world that tried to tear us apart.

We escaped from the High Council’s hold.

We burned it all.

We walked away and we are never going back.

She hums when she thinks I’m not listening. Soft, quiet little sounds that slip from her lips as she stands by the fire, slicing fruit, fingers stained red with berry juice.

She never used to hum.

Not when she was running. Not when she was waiting to die.

But now, she does as she has something to hum for.

She doesn’t wake in the middle of the night gasping, hands clutching for weapons that aren’t there.

She no longer whisper threats in her sleep.

Naria doesn’t fight me when I pull her into my arms.

She just leans in and lets me hold her.

She is healing.

We both are.

Slowly.

Painfully.

But it is happening and I would burn down a thousand more worlds just to keep her like this.

"You're staring,” she says, her voice is light, teasing.

She turns, tilting her head, dark hair falling over one shoulder, bare legs crossed on the wooden floor.

There is something different about her now.

Something softer.

She still carries a blade, still moves like a shadow when she walks, still kisses me like she’s afraid it will be the last time.

But she also smiles more and I would kill a god to keep it that way.