Page 62 of Claimed In Darkness

It has been three months since we left.

Three months since the war ended.

Three months since we disappeared.

Three months since I was supposed to die—but didn’t.

Now, we live in a place where no one knows our names.

Where there are no chains. No thrones. No curses.

Where we are free.

The house is small.

Wooden walls. A thatched roof. Open windows that let in the scent of salt from the sea just beyond the cliffs.

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, h er 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.

"You were humming," I tell her.

Her brows lift.

"Was I?"

"You were."

"Huh." She pops a berry between her lips. "Must be going soft."

I don’t smile but I do lean forward.

I rest my hand on the table beside her, let my fingers graze her wrist.

"That’s a good thing."

She exhales, something almost like relief in her expression because she doesn’t have to be a weapon anymore.

She doesn’t have to fight for every breath.

She can just be herself and so can I.

I am no one’s heir anymore.

I am no one’s son.

I am just hers.

That is all I ever wanted to be.

"Are you happy?" she asks me one night.

The fire is low.

The sea is loud beyond the cliffs.

She is wrapped in my arms, warm against my chest, safe.

I don’t answer at first because I have never had the luxury of happiness before.

I have never thought it was something I could have.

But she is here and I am alive.

"Yes," I whisper against her hair.

"Are you?"

She exhales, curling closer, pressing her lips to my skin.

"I think so."

And I close my eyes, savoring this. Us.

I have everything I ever wanted and nothing will ever take it from me again.