The golden light of late morning slanted through the tall windows of the court library, brushing across the rows of ancient tomes and polished scroll tubes. Neriah sat poised at the table, hands neatly folded atop a parchment, as Lady Vax paced before a large illustrated map of the BannerLands.
"...and what you must remember," Lady Vax was saying, her voice crisp, "is that Varketh Hold's agricultural exports are often used as leverage during trade disputes with Braemorin—"
The doors creaked open.
Neriah turned—then stilled completely.
Damon stepped inside.
Lady Vax turned immediately, and dipped into a graceful bow. "Your Majesty."
"Forgive me for the intrusion, Lady Vax," Damon said, his voice as steady and measured as always. But his eyes were on Neriah. "I only came to see how the lessons were progressing."
Neriah swallowed.
She hadn't seen him all day. And the days before that were blurred by distance and silence. She didn't realize how much she missed him until now—until she saw the broad cut of his shoulders beneath his black coat, the quiet gleam in his gaze.
"I trust Lady Vax is making you regret every moment of idleness you once enjoyed?" he added with a faint smile.
That made Lady Vax smiled a bit. "She's a fast learner, your Majesty. Too fast sometimes—I suspect she will outgrow me soon."
"I doubt that," Neriah said quickly, recovering her voice. "But I'm learning. Thank you."
Their eyes met.
And for a moment, the room fell away.
He didn't say he missed her. He didn't need to. It was there—in the soft edge of his expression, in the way he didn't look away, even when decorum suggested he should.
What Damon didn't know was that the fear she had carried—of him, of the violence she'd witnessed—had begun to peel away, layer by layer, like old paint in the sun. Not erased. But fading. She could still hear Travis's scream in the back of her mind, but it no longer thundered like it used to.
She knew what the BannerLands demanded of its king. What it had taken to keep this kingdom from splintering at the seams. Damon had done what others wouldn't—couldn't. And deep down, in the silence of her own mind, Neriah respected him for that.
Still. His presence now… it made her pulse stumble.
"I'll be taking my leave," Damon said after a pause. "I only wanted to see how you both were doing."
Lady Vax offered a gracious nod. "We are well, Youur Majesty."
He looked at Neriah one last time—then turned and left with that same quiet composure he always carried.
The door shut gently behind him.
Lady Vax resumed the lesson.
But Neriah wasn't listening.
She sat stiffly at the table, trying to read the trade routes across the map, but the letters blurred. She could still feel the warmth of his gaze. Still hear the timbre of his voice—deep, steady, kind.
Gods, she thought, heart thudding. I missed him.
And that wasn't all. Her mind drifted—traitorously. To his hands. His lips. The way his jaw looked when he was slightly amused.
Stop it, she scolded herself. Focus.
But she couldn't. Every time Lady Vax turned back to the board, Neriah's thoughts slid shamelessly toward Damon. She wanted him close again. She wanted to touch him. Gods, what was wrong with her?
She wasn't that kind of girl. Not reckless. Not ruled by… thoughts like this.
And yet, the mere memory of his fingers brushing her waist days ago had her mind spiraling.
She sighed and tried to copy a phrase from the parchment, only to realize she'd written "Damon" instead of "Edravon."
She slapped her hand over the ink, cheeks burning.
Lady Vax didn't notice. Thank the gods.
But Neriah knew one thing now with aching clarity: she couldn't go much longer pretending she didn't want him back.
*******************
The crackle of firewood filled the king's study with a low, steady sound. Candlelight pooled on ancient maps and stacks of parchments spread across the large oak table, but none of the four men seated there gave much thought to the paperwork tonight.
Not yet, anyway.
"I'm telling you," Roran said, "our dear Lord Gareth is hiding something."
Leon scoffed. "Please. Gareth is too proper to hide anything. He probably spends his nights counting how many legal parchments were signed in the last council session."
Ethan chuckled. "I've seen him walking out past midnight three times this week. Not heading toward the archives either. East wing."
Leon raised a brow. "You were spying on Gareth?"
"Not spying," Ethan said. "Observing."
Roran leaned forward, his grin mischievous. "I say he's got a secret woman. Or two."
Leon shook his head. "Never. He'd combust from the guilt. Gareth is the king's hand, he barely lets himself breathe out of rhythm."
"Well, something's got him out past midnight," Roran said, voice low and teasing. "I'll wager five silvers that our prim, upstanding Gareth has a whore stashed somewhere."
Ethan raised his goblet. "Make it ten, and I'm in."
Leon narrowed his eyes at them, but amusement tugged at the edge of his mouth. "I don't believe it."
While they argued, Damon sat silently behind his desk, one hand on a rolled parchment, the other resting on the hilt of his dagger—though he hadn't realized it until his thumb brushed the leather-wrapped handle.
His mind wasn't in the room.
Not really.
He heard them speak, vaguely followed the banter, but his thoughts kept drifting—drifting toward Neriah. He hadn't seen her today. Not properly. Just a glance in the library earlier, her eyes widening at the sight of him before she quickly looked away.
It had gutted him more than he cared to admit.
"Damon," Ethan said suddenly, drawing the others' attention.
Damon blinked. "Hmm?"
Ethan raised a brow. "You've been staring at that parchment like it personally offended you. Everything all right?"
Damon straightened, pushing the roll aside. "Yes. Just... distracted. What were you saying?"
Ethan said. "We're discussing Gareth's mysterious nightly habits."
"Roran's convinced he's got a secret lover," Leon added with a grin.
Damon's brows lifted, amusement flickering faintly to life. "Gareth? Our Gareth?"
"Exactly," Leon said. "It's absurd."
Roran leaned forward dramatically. "I've got instincts, Damon. That man's hiding something. Why else would he be moving through the halls like a thief in the night?"
Damon chuckled softly, the sound a rare thing in such late hours. "He does walk like a thief."
Ethan laughed, and the tension broke fully.
For a while, the four of them spoke like the old friends they were—no crowns, no armor, no thrones. Just boys who had once trained together behind a broken wall, men who had bled together on battlefields now ruling the realm they'd fought for.
And though Damon's mind still drifted—still hungered for the presence of a woman sleeping just a hall away—he allowed himself, for now, to laugh.
And to wonder what secrets Lord Gareth was really hiding.