Morning came with the sound of gulls and the scent of salt on the air. Elira had risen early, grinding herbs in her mortar, yet her mind was still tangled in the dream that haunted her. Every strike of the pestle echoed the fire spirit's words, burning into her thoughts: *You are my vessel.*
She tried to push it away, to lose herself in the routine of her craft, but her gaze strayed too often to the man resting on her cot.
Kael stirred at last, propping himself against the wall. The fever had broken in the night, leaving his skin pale but cool. Already strength crept back into his frame, though pain flashed across his face when he shifted.
"You heal faster than most," Elira said softly, handing him a cup of water.
He accepted it, his fingers brushing hers—an accidental graze that sparked a warmth far fiercer than it should. He drank slowly, then lowered the cup with a faint smile. "Or perhaps it is your care that hastens me. I begin to suspect there is more in your hands than herbs and poultices."
Her heart skipped, but she masked it with a brisk tone. "Rest. That will do more than any herb."
He chuckled, though his gaze lingered on her, steady and searching. "You are a strange woman, Elira. You hide your fire, yet it burns bright all the same."
She froze, the words striking too close to truth. Did he *know*? Or was it coincidence, born of a soldier's blunt tongue? She turned away, busying herself with folding cloths.
Silence stretched between them, not heavy but charged, until he spoke again, quieter.
"I owe you more than I can repay. And yet… if you knew who I truly was, you might wish you had left me to the sea."
She glanced at him sharply. "Then tell me. Who are you, Kael?"
He hesitated, eyes darkening with conflict. For a long moment, only the fire's crackle filled the room. Finally, he sighed. "My name is Kaelen Deyarus. Crown Prince of Aeryndral."
The words hit like a wave breaking against stone. Elira stared, breath caught in her throat. A prince. She had suspected nobility, but not this — not the heir to one of the greatest kingdoms of the realm.
Her knees weakened, and she sank into the chair by the hearth. "A prince," she whispered. "Then why… why here? Why like this?"
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "Because Aeryndral drowns in treachery. My father's throne is besieged by rivals. I rode to meet allies, but my ship was betrayed, set upon in the storm. I alone survived."
He paused, gaze distant, shadows flickering in his eyes. "I should be dead. Perhaps I *was* meant to be."
Elira's heart ached at the weariness in his voice. She wanted to reach for him, to offer comfort, but something in his posture—rigid, guarded—kept her still.
After a long silence, he turned his eyes back to her. "There is more. A truth you deserve to know before kindness blinds you further."
Her chest tightened. "What truth?"
He hesitated, and she saw it cost him to speak. "I am betrothed. Bound to wed Lady Seliora of Deyarus. It was arranged years ago, a bond to strengthen the realm."
The words landed like a blade. Elira felt the air leave her lungs, replaced with cold. Foolish, she scolded herself—foolish to think his gaze meant anything more than gratitude, foolish to let her heart spark at his voice, his nearness. He was a prince. His path had been chosen long before she pulled him from the sea.
Her fingers twisted in her lap, knuckles whitening. "Then why tell me this?"
"Because I will not deceive the woman who saved me," Kaelen said softly. His voice was steady, but she heard the undercurrent—regret, sorrow, something deeper he would not name. "You must know the walls around my life. Chains forged before I could choose."
Her throat tightened. "And yet you look at me as though…" She stopped herself, heat rising to her cheeks. She turned away, angry at her own heart. "It does not matter. You owe me nothing but your recovery. Then you may return to your chains."
"Elira—" His voice broke on her name, rough with something he could not contain.
But she rose swiftly, placing distance between them, her hands trembling as she gathered herbs from the shelf. "Rest, Prince Kaelen. Dreams are dangerous enough without illusions in waking life."
Silence fell, broken only by the sea's endless murmur against the cliffs.
---
That night, when sleep finally came, fire found her again.
The spirit stood within the blaze, eyes alight with knowing.
**"You feel the chains of another's vow, yet still the flame stirs."**
Elira clenched her fists. "He is bound. His path is not mine."
**"And yet your paths converge. Fire does not ask permission to burn."**
Visions flared before her eyes—Kaelen on a battlefield, crown upon his brow, blood on his hands. Herself at his side, her own hands wreathed in flame, her heart torn between love and duty.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "I will not be drawn into this. I want only peace."
But the spirit's laughter crackled like kindling.
**"Peace is a dream that burns away when destiny calls."**
Elira gasped awake, her chest tight, her palms hot as if embers smoldered beneath her skin.
From the cot, Kaelen stirred, his eyes catching hers in the dim light. For a moment, neither spoke. The silence between them carried all the words they dared not say.
And in that silence, Elira knew the truth: no vow, no chain, could stop the fire already kindling in her heart.