I clear my throat, trying to break the tension. “I found something, though. You wouldn’t believe how closely these old treaties mirror Vaelen’s new tactics. The Vakkak class historically forced orc raids to manipulate trade. We can use this to show the city that Vaelen isn’t just an innocent senator. He’s following a vile tradition.”
He exhales, shoulders sagging. “Good. That’s exactly the link we needed to prove he’s repeating the sins of the past.” His gaze flicks to the treatise tucked in my satchel. “Let’s hope it’s enough.”
“It will be,” I say, forcing confidence into my voice. “We’ll present it to the merchant guilds, get them outraged. If they unite against Vaelen, the Senate might not be able to ignore us.”
He inclines his head, stepping closer. The scent of him—leather, sweat, something distinctly Remanos—envelops me. My pulse flutters. “We do this together, Mira. Next time, no sneaking off alone.”
A mix of relief and guilt washes over me. I manage a small nod. “Yes. Together.”
Silence stretches, electric. He lifts a hand as if to brush my cheek, then seems to remember we’re in view of potential onlookers. His hand drops, tension coiling again. We exist in that precarious space where need and fear twist into a single unstoppable knot.
A subtle cough from behind startles us. One of Remanos’s staff stands at the entrance to the portico, looking apologetic. “Champion, a messenger arrived from Senator Ortem. He requests a quick meeting about tomorrow’s hearing.”
Remanos closes his eyes briefly, exasperation etched in every line of his face. “Fine. I’ll attend to it soon.”
The staff member bows and withdraws. Remanos turns back to me. “The hearing is tomorrow. Vaelen’s sure to push for your immediate arrest. Our evidence needs to be ready.”
My grip tightens on the satchel. “I’ll prepare the notes from the treatise, highlight the parallels to Vaelen’s current schemes. We can meet the merchants tonight. Are you sure Ortem is safe to talk to?”
He nods, though uncertainty flickers in his eyes. “He’s more moderate than Vaelen. If we show him real proof, he might champion our cause.”
I exhale, feeling the weight of everything we must accomplish in such a short time. Then I force a smirk, attempting levity. “No more heroic rescues in dusty archives, though. That’s my only request.”
A faint ghost of a smile touches his mouth. “Trust me, I’d rather you not need rescuing at all.”
His humor fades into seriousness. We stare at each other, the unspoken question returning: do we keep ignoring the spark that’s become so potent, or risk it all? My throat tightens, uncertain how to voice the swirl of feelings. Perhaps we can’t safely indulge in closeness while Vaelen hunts us. My heart aches at the thought, but reality is cruel.
He breaks the moment with a quiet murmur. “You should rest. We’ll need you at your best tonight.”
“Right,” I manage, though rest seems impossible. “Thank you again… for saving me.”
A flicker of longing crosses his features. “I’d do it a thousand times.” Then he steps back, letting me slip away with the treatise, hearts thrumming in quiet tandem.
I retreat to the estate’s small library, laying out the tome on a wide wooden desk. My mind replays the storeroom fight in endless loops—how close I came to losing everything, and how Remanos’s arrival felt like an anchor in a raging sea. For the next hours, I pore over the ancient text, translating archaic passages into clear bullet points. The parallels to Vaelen’s modern tactics are uncanny: enforced orc raids, manipulated treaties, evenmention of forging seals to pin blame on political rivals. My hope swells that these parallels, combined with the contraband evidence, might rouse enough senators or merchants to challenge Vaelen’s hold.
As evening drapes the courtyard in gold light, I close the tome with a sigh, scribbling final notes on a separate sheet. My shoulder still throbs, but the bruise is a small price for what we gained. The fight in the storeroom feels both far away and disturbingly fresh, each clang of memory reminding me how precarious my life is here.
I gather my papers, heading toward my room to prepare for tonight’s meeting with the merchants. In a corridor, I nearly collide with Remanos, who appears as if summoned by my thoughts. He’s changed into simpler clothing, a dark tunic that accentuates his powerful build, horns polished for formality. The sight sends a flutter through my stomach, recalling how intimately we touched. It’s a closeness we can’t easily revisit, but it lingers in the air between us.
He offers a faint nod. “Ortem left after a short talk. He’s not fully convinced, but he’ll listen to our evidence at the hearing. That’s… something.”
I nod, forcing optimism. “We have a chance, then. Show him the parallels in these treaties, and maybe he’ll stand with us.”
He reaches for the parchments in my arms, letting his fingers graze mine. My pulse skips. “Let me carry that for you. You look ready to collapse.”
I yield, albeit reluctantly. “I’m all right.” My voice dips, quieter. “I just can’t believe how much I rely on you now. I spent so long pushing you away.”
His gaze softens. “Mira, we both fought this from the start. Neither wanted to be tied by the Senate’s whims. Yet here we are, fighting for each other’s survival.”
A wave of conflicting emotion hits me: gratitude, longing, the sting of fear. I swallow. “And… about last night. Or the other nights. I just— We can’t slip, can we?” My cheeks warm, remembering the desperation in our embraces.
He looks pained. “It’s too risky. Vaelen would spin it as you seducing me for your agenda, fueling the Senate’s demand to separate us. But that doesn’t stop me from?—”
He clamps his jaw, words trailing off. But I sense the unspoken confession, as tangible as a heartbeat. My throat constricts. “Nor me,” I whisper. We hover in that fragile space again. My chest aches with how much I need him, but we both know the cost if we yield to these urges. The city is a viper’s nest.
A staff member clears his throat from the corridor’s far end, announcing that Remanos’s carriage is ready for the merchant meeting. We break apart, tension thrumming. I steady myself, nodding briskly. “Let’s get this done.”
We make our way to the courtyard, each step a measured defiance of Vaelen’s demands to keep me hidden away. Two discreet guards accompany us, sworn to Remanos’s loyalty. We climb into a small, unmarked carriage, the shutters drawn to avoid attention. The ride is terse, the clop of hooves echoing through narrow streets as twilight descends.
