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.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Jasce
The next day,I sit inside my command tent with the morning sun filtering through the open flap.
The memory of last night consumes my thoughts as I stare at the maps spread across my desk. Annora’s small body curled against mine, her fingers clutching my surcoat.
No words passed between us. None were needed.
I trace the outline of House of Crimson territory, but my mind drifts to how she pressed her face into my neck.
Her breathing eventually steadied. In those quiet hours, I memorized every detail. The way her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, how her fingers twitched against my chest, the soft sighs that escaped her lips.
The sun climbs higher now, but I remain rooted to my chair, the ghost of her touch still burning my skin.
The maps blur as I remember how she finally drifted into true sleep just before sunrise, her body going slack against mine for the first time since I brought her here.
Reeve enters the tent and drops into the chair opposite me. “Asha’s army has already moved,” he says, tracing a finger alongthe northern edge of our territory. “If we don’t act now, she’ll breach more of our villages by week’s end.”
Jude follows him to the table and sits next to him. “A frontal assault won’t work. She’ll expect it.”
I nod as I consider our options. “We need to outmaneuver her. Hit her where she least expects it.”
The sunlight skims Reeve’s features as he taps a spot on the map. “We should attack her in The Whispering Woods. They’re dense enough to conceal our forces.”
Jude is silent for several moments before speaking. “Those woods have swallowed armies whole. But if we navigate them—”
“—we can flank her,” I say. “And cut off her supply lines and force her hand.”
A rare smile pulls at Reeve’s mouth. “Grandfather used to call that move a hawk circling unsuspecting doves.”
“Exactly.” I straighten as the plan takes shape in my mind. “We will split our forces. Reeve, you take the main contingent through the woods. Jude, you lead a decoy force along the riverbank and make enough noise to draw her scouts.”
A slow smirk spreads across Jude’s mouth. “I’ve always fancied myself a distraction.”
“At least you excel at something.” Reeve’s lips quirk into another rare smile. “Though, being loud and obnoxious isn’t much of a skill.”
