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Chapter Fifty-One

Annora

That hope follows me as I climb onto Jasce’s bed. “Hold me,” I say as I look up at him.

The mattress dips as Jasce lies next to me and pulls me against him. He doesn’t make any demands or ask questions. He simply holds me close, offering the solace I so desperately need right now.

My fingers find the rough calluses on his palm, tracing them like I used to trace the winding paths on my father’s old maps.

I turn in Jasce’s arms, needing to see his face, to drink in every detail I feared I’d forget during our separation. The strong line of his jaw. His dark eyes with those golden flecks.

But it’s more than his looks that captivates me. It’s the quiet strength he carries, not in his broad shoulders or warrior’s build, but in the way he holds me against him. The way he understands exactly what I need without words. The patience in his silence as he lets me process everything.

That’s who Jasce is at his core. Not the fierce warrior his enemies fear, but the man who crafts wooden toys for his younger brother and sketches landscapes when he thinks no one is watching.

I press my palm against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath my hand. This is my anchor, my home. Not any palace or fortress, but here in Jasce’s arms.

As I settle back against him, his arms tighten around me, not as a cage but as a shelter.

Images of burning villages flicker at the edges of my mind, but they no longer consume me. Instead, memories of sunlit afternoons spent sketching seashells drift forward. The feel of charcoal between my fingers, the satisfaction of lines coming together to form something beautiful.

The weight of guilt and fear lessens, replaced by a growing resilience. Aleksander may have tried to break me, but here, in Jasce’s arms, I am rebuilding.

I become aware of the subtle things—the texture of Jasce’s surcoat beneath my cheek, the steady cadence of rain pattering against the tent.

The tightness in my chest eases further, allowing hope to take root again. Not a grand, sweeping hope, but something small and steady. The faith that I can heal, that we can face whatever comes next together.

Sleep tugs at the corners of my mind, but for once, I do not fear the dreams that may come.