Ch2. The Place Closest to the Sky

Outside the city wall, daylight had fully broken.

Jeffery sat down on the stone platform again. Behind him, the brown horse snorted, flicked its tail, and pawed impatiently at the ground. He paid it no attention. With both elbows braced on his bent knees and his fingers interlaced, he lowered his head. Something in the depths of his amber eyes was slowly darkening. The small stone had found its way between his fingers again.

He held it without realizing he was doing so, its edges pressing into his palm and leaving faint marks behind.

He had waited all night. Not once had a figure appeared on the tower.

He should get up and leave. Rationally, he knew that perfectly well. A wandering knight sitting beneath the wall of a strange city for an entire night because of a woman with whom he had exchanged only a handful of words— said aloud, it sounded absurd enough to be a joke. And yet he did not stand. He simply sat there.

The crease between his brows deepened and eased, then deepened again, as though some thought inside him were struggling over and over without ever managing to reach a conclusion.

Wind slipped through a break in the wall and swept past his temples, carrying the mingled scent of cooking smoke from the city and damp morning grass.

Jeffery closed his eyes. Behind the darkness of his lids, he remembered the figure who had leaned out from the high wall last night. That voice. That gaze.

The gaze that had looked at him as a person.

He did not know where its owner was now. Did not know how she was doing. He had not even seen her face clearly. And yet—

his fingers tightened around the stone. ＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿ The next morning, Anna was already sitting by the window, staring outside without expression. She had barely closed her eyes all night. Tonight, Prince Geelong would formally ask for her hand. And all she could do was sit here and wait for fate to arrive.

She had even begun to envy the birds outside. They could spread their wings and go wherever they wished.

Addie knocked softly on the door. Anna gave no answer. Perhaps she was pretending not to hear. Or perhaps she truly had not heard.

Morning light slipped through the narrow gap beside the window and laid a thin golden line across the floor. It stretched all the way to the hem of Anna’s dress, then stopped there quietly. She sat by the window, unable to lean fully against the back of the chair because of the lashes across her back from the night before. Her body had to remain slightly suspended. The posture looked proper. In truth, it was nothing more than a rigid position pain had forced her to hold. Her hands rested flat upon her knees. Not clasped. Not curled.

Simply lying there, as though even making a fist required more effort than she was willing to spend.

Outside, the sky was the pale blue of porcelain. Several sparrows swept past the eaves.

Their wings spread.

Then they vanished into the wider sky. Anna followed them with her eyes until there was nothing left to see.

Only then did her gaze slowly return to her own palms. What was she thinking? She no longer knew. Or perhaps she had already followed every thought to its end— and there was simply nothing left to think about. Tonight. The proposal. Those words lay over her chest like a slab of stone. Not hot. Not sharp. Only heavy. So heavy that even breathing required deliberate effort. Addie’s knock landed softly against the door.

Like a leaf falling into still water. Hardly enough to make a ripple.

Anna heard it. Of course she did. She had not slept all night. At this point, even the faint rustle of the treetops outside sounded unnaturally clear.

But she did not answer. It was not defiance. She opened her mouth once. Then realized she had nothing she wanted to say. So she closed it again.

A small voice slipped through the gap beneath the door. “Miss… it’s Addie.” The silence continued.

Addie waited outside for a moment, then knocked twice more.

Even more softly this time. As though she were afraid something inside might shatter. Anna’s gaze never left the window. Only the corner of her eye moved slightly. Her lashes lowered, concealing a depth of exhaustion even she did not realize was there. ＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿ Outside the city wall, Jeffery finally moved. He stood.

Brushed the dust from his coat.

Picked up the sword resting beside the stone platform and fastened it once more at his waist. The motions were steady. Familiar. No different from any other morning when he prepared to travel. He walked to the brown horse. Untied the reins. Rested his long fingers briefly against its neck. The horse snorted and turned its head to rub against the back of his hand. Jeffery did not mount immediately.

He stood there holding the reins and looked up into the crown of the old locust tree.

Leaves shifted in the morning wind.

Broken patches of light and shadow moved across his face, passing beside the old scar on his forehead. His amber eyes narrowed slightly. As though he were saying something to himself. Or listening for something. But there was nothing. Only the wind.

Only the silence on the other side of the city wall, where something might be happening that he knew nothing about.

He turned his head and looked one last time toward the top of the tower.

Empty. His throat moved. Then, slowly, he placed the stone he had held all night into a hidden pocket inside his coat. Against his chest. Close to his heart. He did not think about what the gesture meant. Or perhaps he did. He simply refused to admit it. Jeffery mounted. Hoofbeats sounded against the stone road.

One. Then another. Slowly carrying him toward the city gate.

And when he was ten paces away— he stopped. Jeffery sat motionless in the saddle, staring at the gate as it slowly opened and closed.

The morning wind lifted one corner of his coat. His brows were drawn tight. Like a man standing at a fork in the road whose feet had already chosen one direction— while his heart remained nailed to the place behind him. He closed his eyes. Drew in a deep breath. Slowly exhaled.

The hoofbeats began again.

Only this time—

the direction had changed.

He turned the horse around. Returned to the old locust tree. Tied the reins once more.

Then sat back down on the stone platform. Jeffery lowered his head. Braced his hands against his knees. A self-mocking curve tugged faintly at his mouth.

He gave a small laugh, almost soundless. Even he thought it was ridiculous.

And still, not one part of him wanted to stand. The stone in the hidden pocket against his chest was almost too light to feel.

Yet somehow— it kept him from going anywhere. Wait a little longer. He told himself. Just a little longer. Anna’s lashes moved faintly.

Almost as if to prove that the person sitting there was still alive. Yes. She was alive. And yet she felt almost indistinguishable from the dead. Suddenly, she stood. Walked to the desk. And took out a sharp letter opener. Fine. Then she would die. A life spent as someone else’s chess piece was hardly different from being dead anyway. But not in this room.

She would be discovered too quickly. They would save her. No. She had decided.

She would go to the tower. It was closer to the sky. The letter opener lay across her palm. Slim. Cold. Morning light slid along the blade and broke into a thin line of white. Anna looked down at it. Her hand did not tremble. That was the most frightening part.

She was too calm. Calm like someone who had already settled every account.

Someone who could not even be bothered to summon one last flicker of fear.

She hid the letter opener inside her sleeve. Then looked back at the room she had lived in for so many years. The bed curtains. The shelves. The fresh wildflowers Addie had replaced on the windowsill yesterday.

The bronze mirror on the dressing table. In it stood a pale girl with shadows beneath her eyes, wearing the old dress she had changed into in haste the night before. The wounds across her back had not yet fully closed.

Anna looked at the girl in the mirror for one second.

Then turned away. She did not look twice.

Outside the door, Addie raised her hand for the third time. Before her knuckles touched the wood, she heard footsteps inside. Not approaching the door. Moving farther away. Then came the quiet opening and closing of another door. The side door leading into the inner corridor. Addie froze. Something inside her chest suddenly dropped.

She could not explain what was wrong. Only that the feeling of wrongness slipped into her heart like a thin needle.

Silent. Sharp. She hesitated for less than a breath. Then pushed the door open.

The room was empty.

On the desk— the small stand where Anna usually kept her letter opener—

was bare. The blood drained from Addie’s face until she was white as paper. She turned and ran. Her long skirt scraped the wall as she rounded the corner. She did not care. She only ran. Frantically trying to think where Anna would go.

She knew her. Knew her temper. Knew every stubborn thing she hid and every despair she could not put into words. The tower. The word struck her.

Her steps became faster.

And tears had already begun to fall. ＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿ Outside the city wall— Jeffery suddenly looked up. He could not have said what made him do it. There had been no sound. No movement. Only that dull, inexplicable weight suspended inside his chest all night— and suddenly, it tightened. Like a string held taut for too long finally reaching the point where it could no longer bear the strain.

His gaze climbed the wall.

Over weathered seams between bricks. Over yellowed vines clinging to the stone.

Until finally— it reached the top of the tower. Jeffery shot to his feet. He did not know what he had seen. Perhaps he had seen nothing at all. But the feeling moved his legs before his mind had time to understand it. Like hearing something in a dream—

waking unable to remember what it was—

and being left only with a panic whose source you could not name.

He untied the reins.

Mounted.

The horse’s hooves slammed against the stone road, scattering a rapid burst of sound. Jeffery did not know exactly where he was going. He only knew— something was wrong on the other side of that wall. He drove the horse toward the gate. The calm he always kept pressed beneath the surface of his amber eyes had cracked.

And through that crack came something hot. Urgent. Something he had refused to name— something that had been burning since last night.

Faster. He said it silently. He did not know whom he was urging. ＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿ Anna went to the tower as she always did. It stood in one corner of the palace. Broken. Unrepaired. Almost like her.

She was the king’s daughter. And yet, for reasons she had never understood, her father did not love her. Her mother had taken her own life because of her. Inside this palace, apart from Addie, Anna received no affection from anyone. Her brothers and sisters looked down on her. The servants learned from them.

The only thing anyone seemed to value about her was her beauty. Pretty as a doll. Useful as a piece in a marriage alliance.

And now she was resisting even that.

Which meant that perhaps the one use she had left in this palace— was disappearing too. She reached the top of the tower. As always, she laid both arms across the wall. This was the closest she ever came to freedom. The hands she stretched beyond the stone were allowed to leave the cage that had held the rest of her since childhood. Only this time— instead of a little pastry or a wooden horse— her palm held a letter opener. The wind was much stronger at the top of the tower.

It howled through the broken battlements and sent loose strands of Anna’s hair whipping across her face.

She did not brush them away. She stood beside the low wall she knew as well as the lines of her own palm.

Her arms rested on the rough stone.

Her weight leaned slightly forward. Just as it had on countless mornings and evenings before. Except now, there was a blade hidden in her sleeve. And the thin, stubborn light that had always lived in her eyes— was nearly gone. She looked down at the ground beneath the wall. So far away. Far enough to seem like another world. The wind pushed the hem of her dress outward.

She felt the strange lightness of standing beside open air. Still— she did not step back.

The tower was broken.

It had been broken for as long as she could remember. Grass grew from the gaps in the brickwork. Half the window frame had rotted away. Two steps in the staircase were loose and gave a dull cracking sound whenever anyone stepped on them. Her father had never ordered it repaired. Anna looked down at the hands she had stretched beyond the wall.

Slender. Carefully tended.

Hands suited to being displayed in banquet halls.

Hands meant to wear a betrothal ring. Hands meant to fold obediently over a gown before some foreign prince.

Slowly, she drew the letter opener from her sleeve.

The blade trembled faintly in the wind and gave a thin metallic hum.

Her mother, too, had once reached a morning when she could endure no more— and chose to leave. Anna did not hate her. The thought surfaced. For the first time, something gathered behind her eyes.

But the wind dried it away before the tears could fall. She pressed her lips together.

The place she had bitten open the night before, now covered by a thin scab, began to ache again. Anna lifted her face into the wind. Looked at the sky, washed porcelain-white by morning light. At least— up here, she was closer to it.

Her fingers slowly tightened. The guards at the city gate stopped a brown horse.

“This is restricted royal ground. Outsiders are not permitted—” Jeffery did not let the man finish. He swung down from the saddle, cutting across the guard’s words.

His amber eyes swept over him. His voice was low and urgent, carrying a tension so tightly drawn that even Jeffery himself did not seem to realize how close it was to snapping. “The tower.” One word. “That tower. Is someone up there?” The guard hesitated.

Before he could answer, hurried footsteps suddenly came from the far end of the corridor. A maid. Her skirt in disarray. Eyes red. Running so hard she could barely breathe. Her face carried a kind of panic Jeffery understood immediately.

The moment he saw it—

the string inside his chest broke.

He did not wait for anyone to speak.

He strode past the guard and headed toward the tower whose direction he had barely made out in the darkness the night before. Walked— no. Ran. He ran. The hem of his coat caught against a jutting edge of stone.

The sheath at his waist struck the wall with a heavy sound.

He did not care. He only ran. Each footfall struck the floor hard enough to feel as though he might crack the palace stones beneath him. His heart was beating too fast. Nothing like him. The man who was always controlled. Always steady.

Always burying everything beneath his eyes and brows. Now there was only one sound left in his mind. A dull drumbeat repeating itself. No other words. Faster. Faster. Faster. The tower stairs were old. He took them two and three at a time. The two loose stones cracked dully beneath his boots.

He did not slow. At the turn of the stair, he threw his head up.

Wind from the tower struck him full in the face, lifting the hair from his forehead and sweeping over the old scar.

Then— he saw her. Jeffery stopped dead at the entrance to the tower. For one moment, it felt as though the air in his lungs had been seized and dragged out. He saw the slender figure against the light. Both arms resting on the low wall. Hair flying in the wind. And that hand— the one extended beyond the wall—

holding something. His feet would not move. Something lodged hard in his throat. His amber eyes widened. Every fear he had kept buried— every thing he had refused to admit—

all the unease that had hung inside him through the entire night— rose openly into his eyes. He took a deep breath. Then, in the calmest voice he had ever used— and with more effort than any words had ever cost him— he spoke softly. “Hey.” One word. “It’s windy up there.”

“Standing must be tiring.” His voice did not shake. He used everything he had to keep it from shaking. Just as he had the night before when she had leaned out into the darkness—

he chose the most ordinary way of speaking he could. Because he did not know whether anything heavier might crush whatever small thing inside her was still holding on. Jeffery’s voice made Anna lift her head slightly.

She did not turn around immediately. As though gathering her thoughts. Or perhaps she had no strength left and was simply forcing herself to remain upright.

“It’s you…” She recognized that voice. The stranger who had spoken to her the night before. “How did you get in here?” She tried to sound as though nothing were wrong. So she asked the most ordinary question she could think of. Something that might let her pretend she was no different from usual. Hearing her voice loosened something in Jeffery’s chest.

Only by an inch. No more. Because she still had not turned. Her hand was still there. The blade was still there. He did not rush toward her. Did not shout. He moved only one slow step closer.

The way one might approach a bird perched on a branch.

Any movement too sudden might make it fly away. Or fall. “I climbed the wall.” He answered calmly. As though he were saying the weather was pleasant today. Another slow step. His eyes never left her back. Her spine was holding itself too rigidly. He recognized it immediately. He had seen many ways people endured things.

Some from pride. Some from habit. Hers was like grass that had grown too long through a crack in stone. Its roots buried in the fracture. Not because it did not hurt— because it had hurt for so long that it no longer remembered what not hurting felt like.

“I don’t know this city well,” he continued, his voice just loud enough to carry through the wind.

“But last night you told me there was a broken tower here.” “So I had a general idea where to look.” He paused. His eyes dropped to the blade beside her sleeve. His chest tightened again. He did not let it reach his voice. He stopped three paces away. No closer.

Simply stood there, much as he had sat beneath the wall last night— making himself the least threatening thing in the space. “I was going to leave.” His voice was quiet. Almost casually honest.

As though describing something even he found faintly ridiculous. “I packed.” “Untied the horse.” “Got as far as the gate…” He paused. “Then I turned around.”

Wind moved between them. A few strands of Anna’s hair blew toward him. His brow shifted faintly as he watched them. His hands remained naturally at his sides. He did not touch the sword at his waist. Did not reach for her. His palms were open. An unspoken sign that asked for nothing. “I don’t know why.” His amber eyes stayed on her profile. His voice dropped until it seemed meant only for the wind.

“I just couldn’t leave.” Another breeze swept Anna’s hair toward him. This time it carried the scent of her hair—

and something else. Faint. Blood. His words finally drew Anna’s attention. She turned her head. Not completely. For someone as stubborn as she was, this angle was enough to let her keep pretending she was still holding herself together. “Why?” Her voice was cold. Almost as though she were speaking to herself as much as to him. She had a chance to escape too. So why could she not? “You get on the horse.” “You move the reins.” “And you leave.” “Why can’t you?”

The smell of blood reached Jeffery on the wind. Faint— yet precise as a needle driven straight into his senses. His eyes narrowed. Almost at the same instant she turned, his gaze dropped to the side of her neck. Her shoulder.

Then the darkened stain showing faintly through the thin fabric beneath her sleeve.

His expression barely changed. Only his brow lowered by the smallest amount. Like a stone dropped into deep water.

Barely a ripple on the surface. Already sinking to the bottom underneath. He pulled his gaze away quickly and returned it to her face. The face he had not been able to see clearly last night. Now, in the morning light— pale. Exhausted. And in her eyes was something he knew too well. Like a lamp on the verge of going out. The flame still alive— but already licking at the last of its oil. He was silent for a moment. “You’re right.”

His voice was low and even. “The horse is ready.” “The reins are in my hand.” “All I have to do is put my heels to its sides and go.” “There’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to leave.” He did not look away as he spoke. His gaze rested directly on the half-turned face. No softness wrapped around the weight of his words.

No attempt to disguise them. Slowly, he crouched down two paces away from her. Lowering his line of sight beneath hers.

Removing any sense of standing over her. Like someone trying to speak to a wounded animal cornered somewhere dark— making himself smaller. Less dangerous. “But I’ve been wandering for a long time,” he continued, his tone level, like someone recounting an old story. “I’ve seen a lot of cities.” “A lot of people.” “A lot of meetings.”

“And the first thing I learned was not to keep anything in my heart.” “Because once you put something there, it becomes harder to walk away.”

He paused. Something faint shifted inside his amber eyes. Like a trace of old light sealed inside the amber itself. “Last night.” “That tower.” “That voice.”

“Those eyes.” He spoke slowly. Piece by piece. Almost as though he too were understanding it for the first time.

“I told myself you were only someone passing through my life.” “That I’d leave at dawn.” “When dawn came, I told myself I’d leave once the gate opened.” “The gate opened…” A quiet laugh escaped him. Not a joke. Not quite self-mockery either. More like the helpless surrender of someone who had finally lost an argument with himself. His gaze flicked once toward her sleeve. Then returned to her face. His voice lowered until only she could hear. “Then I smelled blood.” He did not ask whose.

Did not ask what had happened. He simply remained crouched there. Watching her. No pity. No condescension. Only a direct, quiet gaze. The same kind she had given him the night before. The gaze of one person looking at another person.

Very slowly, Jeffery extended one hand toward the one holding the blade. He did not try to take it. His fingertips stopped an inch away from the back of her hand. A silent request. “Could you put that down for now?”

Not an order.

Not pleading. Only the kind of request a friend might make. “You’re tired of standing.” “I’m tired of crouching.” The corner of his mouth moved faintly. “We could sit down and talk.” The moment he referred to the knife in her hand, Anna tightened her grip instinctively. “No.” The answer came before thought.

As though releasing the blade would mean releasing control of her own fate. Jeffery did not move.

His fingertips remained suspended an inch away. He did not come closer. Did not withdraw. He watched the curve of her fingers tighten around the blade. Watched her knuckles turn pale with effort. Something inside his chest sank quietly and heavily. But none of it reached his face. He simply looked at her. For a long time.

“All right.” His voice was very soft.

“You don’t have to put it down.” Slowly, he withdrew his hand. No force. No second attempt. He rested the back of it against his own knee and remained crouched there. Still watching her. Wind moved between them and lifted the faded edge of his coat.

He let it. After a moment, he spoke again. “I have a question.”

His tone was as ordinary as if he were asking which road they should take that day. “I’m not forcing you to answer.” “If you want to tell me, tell me.”

“If not, pretend the wind carried the question away.” His gaze dropped to the hand holding the blade. Only for a second. Then returned to her face. “Those wounds…” He placed the question carefully. Slowly. Lightly. “Did someone else give them to you?” “Or did you give them to yourself?” There was no avoidance in his amber eyes. No pity. Only a direct, calm gaze.

The look of someone who would not stand up and leave regardless of the answer. His back remained straight against the wind. A quiet barrier. Not imposing.

But undeniably there. Between her— and the empty drop beyond the wall. Anna was silent for a long time. She knew the wounds across her back were still bleeding.

Even she could smell the iron in the wind. “Both.” She answered as though it meant very little. Then turned away from him and leaned over the low wall. “If I just did what I was told, none of it would happen.” Both. The word fell into Jeffery like a stone disappearing into bottomless water. No sound. Only weight. His throat moved faintly. The moment she turned away, his eyes dropped to her back despite himself.

Through the thin fabric he could make out several dark, irregular marks. Clear. As though someone had carved them across her skin. His jaw tightened. Hard enough to ache briefly.

Then loosened again. Silently.

If I just did what I was told.

The silence stretched. “Did what you were told?” He repeated the words slowly. Like turning over a stone to see what lay beneath it. “Whose orders?” He did not wait for her answer. His voice continued. Never loud. But clear. Each word steady. “And if you obeyed, then what?” Jeffery slowly rose.

Moved one step closer. Stopped beside the wall near her. Not behind her. Somewhere she could see him with only a slight turn of her eyes. No pressure. He rested his arms on the wall as she had done and looked down at the distant ground. For a moment, he said nothing. “My mother was a witch.” The words came suddenly. As calmly as if he were discussing the weather.

“In the town where I grew up, a witch’s child was supposed to know divination.” “Supposed to inherit her abilities.” “Supposed to become whatever everyone expected.” He paused. Turned slightly toward her. Something lived in his amber eyes.

Not pity. Something deeper. “I had no talent for any of it.” His voice was soft. “So by their logic, I was useless from the moment I was born.”

“A failure.” “I should have obeyed and disappeared.” Wind passed between them. Jeffery looked away from her and toward the distant horizon. The curve of his mouth held something impossible to define as bitterness or peace.

“But I didn’t.”

His voice was low. For her alone. “I picked up a sword.” “I left that town.” “And I came all the way here.” A pause.

“Not because it didn’t hurt.” He turned back to her. His gaze calm. Certain. “It was because the people telling me to obey weren’t saying anything worth trading my life for.”

His eyes rested briefly on the knife in her hand.

Then returned to her face. His voice was almost carried away by the wind. “The wounds on your back were given to you by someone else.” “That blade doesn’t have to be.”

Anna curled inward slightly. Her fingers tightened around the knife with her. Her lashes blinked. Morning sunlight caught at their tips in tiny points of light. “Father…” Her voice was very soft. Nothing more. Those two syllables said everything.

Whose orders she was expected to obey. Who had put the wounds on her back. Father. The word was light as a feather— and landed with the weight of a gravestone.

Jeffery did not answer immediately. He stood beside her. Looked at the way she had drawn into herself. At the whitened knuckles around the blade.

At the tiny fragments of morning light caught in her lashes.

Those points of light were too delicate.

Too weightless. Cruelly at odds with the weight of the person beneath them. Something lodged in his throat. A smooth stone with no edges. Impossible to spit out. Impossible to swallow. He remembered being fourteen. Remembered the forest fire. Remembered the two words he had screamed into the flames. He closed his eyes once. Briefly. As though pressing something back down. Then opened them. His gaze returned to her.

Calm.

But carrying something he rarely allowed anyone to see. A little of the light sealed inside the amber had begun to show.

He did not say: I understand. He knew every wound existed in a different place. To claim understanding too easily would be an insult. So he said nothing. Simply shifted until he was standing beside her. Shoulder to shoulder.

And together they looked out beyond the city wall toward the pale, distant sky of morning. The wind continued. A long time passed.

Long enough for the silence itself to become a kind of companionship. Only then did Jeffery speak. His voice low and rough, rising from somewhere deep inside him.

“I lost my parents when I was fourteen.”

He gave no details. Nothing about the fire. Nothing about the night he had stood alone among the ruins until dawn. He simply placed that sentence between them.

Like setting one stone gently beside another. Not to compare their weight. Only to say— you are not the only person carrying something like this. His gaze lowered to the knife in her hand. “For a long time after that,” he said, his voice flat and still as an undisturbed river, “I thought the pain was something I deserved.” He paused for so long that the wind changed direction.

Then he spoke again. Barely more than breath. “Eventually I understood.” “It wasn’t.” He turned toward her. Looked at her profile. At the loose strands of hair caught by the wind. At the eyes holding something that had not yet fallen. “And neither is yours.” Anna’s lashes trembled. As though she were fighting to keep something from falling.

Then the guards sent by the king arrived. They had come to check on Anna. But more importantly—

to take her back to her room and keep her under stricter watch. Captain Kloop, the king’s personal guard and the man who had escorted her to the banquet hall the night before, stood at the entrance to the tower stairs.

“Princess, you should return to your room.”

He paused. “May I come up and escort you down?” He seemed to be testing her response before deciding whether force would be necessary.

Anna was silent for a moment. “I can walk on my own.” Her voice was cold. Perhaps she simply did not want him to come higher and notice Jeffery. Did not want her father to hear of his presence. She sighed. Then placed the letter opener on the low wall beside Jeffery’s arm. As though covering what had nearly happened here.

As though pretending she had merely come to the tower in another fit of temper. “Once they follow me away, leave quickly.” Her voice was casual. “Don’t let my father think I’m refusing the marriage because of a man.”

“He’ll have you killed.” Then she turned and went down the tower. Jeffery lowered his gaze to the letter opener resting beside his arm. The blade lay quietly in the morning light. Like something that had finally been released from its purpose. He did not move. Only stared at it for one second. Then looked up at Anna’s retreating back. Her spine was still straight.

Still forcing itself to remain that way.

The dark marks beneath the thin fabric moved faintly with every step. A secret he should never have seen— and now could never unsee. She had told him not to let her father misunderstand. She had told him he would die. The corner of Jeffery’s mouth moved. The expression was difficult to name. Bitterness, perhaps. Or something more complicated that even he had not had time to understand. Slowly, he picked up the letter opener. Closed his hand around it.

The handle still carried a trace of her warmth. Faint.

But unmistakable.

Her footsteps sounded down the tower stairs. One. Then another. Growing farther away. Jeffery said nothing. He remained beside the wall, holding the blade, head lowered. Wind swept the hair across his forehead and over the old scar. He listened to her footsteps fade. Listened to Captain Kloop turn silently after her.

Listened as the tower returned to the broken, abandoned silence of a place no one had repaired.

For a long time— he did not move. Then slowly, he slipped the letter opener inside his coat. Into the same hidden place as the stone he had picked up the night before. Together. His hand remained there for a moment. Palm against his chest. He could feel the weight of both objects.

Light. And somehow—

each impossibly heavy. He looked down at the tower floor. Grass grew between the old blue-gray bricks. One brick near the corner had crumbled halfway apart. The entire tower was broken. Inside and out. Broken for years. No one had come to repair it. Jeffery closed his eyes.

Drew in a deep breath of morning air mixed with wind and blood.

Slowly let it out. Then opened his eyes. Turned toward the stairs. His steps were heavy. Steady. When he crossed the two loose stones, he made no attempt to tread lightly.

They cracked dully beneath his boots. He left the tower. Crossed the corridor. Returned to the city gate. The brown horse was still tied beneath the old locust tree. It snorted when it saw him and flicked its tail. Jeffery untied the reins. Mounted.

Settled into the saddle. But did not immediately move.

He turned his head. Looked one last time toward the city wall. Toward the old tower whose top he could no longer see.

His eyes were still. Like deep water. Something lay beneath the surface. Impossible to make out. She had said: Leave quickly. She had said: Don’t let my father misunderstand. His fingers tightened around the reins. Then loosened. Tightened. Loosened again.

The two objects in the hidden pocket against his chest seemed to press their weight against him at once.

A stone.

A blade. A girl whose face he had barely seen more than a handful of times. He pressed his heels lightly to the horse’s sides. Let it begin walking. Ten paces. Twenty. Until they reached the turn in the road.

Jeffery pulled on the reins. Stopped.

He lowered his head. Sat there for a long time.

The horse pawed at the ground impatiently and shook its neck. He did not move. He sat there like a man trying to see the road ahead in darkness— and finding no way to make it clear. Slowly, he raised his head. Looked back toward the city wall. His eyes were dark and steady. Like iron heated red and forced not to flare.

His jaw tightened. The old scar on his forehead showed faintly in the morning light. A mark left by someone long ago. A reminder. He had lost people before. He knew what losing someone felt like. Jeffery did not leave. ＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿ Following Captain Kloop through the palace, Anna suddenly spoke.

“Kloop. Take me to my father.”

Her tone was cold. As though even seeing him required permission. “Do you need to report to him first?”

“To ask whether he’s willing to see me?” Kloop stopped at the foot of the stairs. He was a man accustomed to silence. Years as captain of the royal guard had worn him into stone. He could suppress anything. Show nothing on his face.

But now, as he turned and looked at Anna’s pale, calm expression, something shifted faintly in his eyes.

Not pity. Something outside professional instinct. A brief— human— reaction. He was silent for two seconds. Then spoke in the steady, official tone he always used. “I’ll report to him.” He did not answer the barbed second half of her question. Anna stood in the corridor. The guards behind her maintained a distance of two paces. Neither close nor far. Like moving stones. She did not look back at them. Only stood there. Spine straight.

As the seconds passed, the wounds across her back began to burn more fiercely.

She did not shift. Did not even furrow her brow. As though she had already categorized pain with breathing. Something that, once familiar enough, no longer counted as pain. Light cut diagonally through gaps along the corridor windows and carved several long, narrow lines across the floor. Anna’s shadow stretched ahead of her. Following the seams in the stone. Farther. Farther. Into darkness whose end she could not see.

She looked down at her own shadow. Her eyes were flat. Like water that had finally stopped forming ripples. In her mind, she went over what she intended to say today. No tears. No anger. Only something colder than anger.

The look of someone who had spent too long as a piece on a game board— and had finally begun learning how to speak in the language of the board itself. She remembered Jeffery’s words. The people who told me to obey weren’t saying anything worth trading my life for. Her fingers tightened slightly against the side of her skirt.

Her fingertips rubbed the texture of the cloth. Once.

Again. Lightly. As though confirming that something was still there. She no longer had the blade.

She had left it at the tower. Left it with a wandering knight whose name she did not even know. She did not understand why— but somehow, the letter opener felt safer in his hand than it did in hers. Footsteps approached from the far end of the corridor. Kloop returned. Stopped before her. Lowered his head. His voice was calm as ever. “His Majesty will see you.”

He paused. As though there were something else he wanted to say.

In the end, he merely raised a hand in invitation.

Whatever else had been there— he swallowed it. Anna drew in a deep breath. The corridor air was cool. It smelled of stone and old candle wax. She pressed the breath deep into her chest.

Pressed down everything she had no intention of carrying through that door. Then she began to walk. Her footsteps sounded through the corridor. Not fast. Not slow. Never dragging.

Each step landed steadily.

Like someone who had already decided where every road behind her led— and was now choosing to move forward. When she reached her father’s study, Anna knocked softly. Neither hurried nor hesitant. Without warmth.

“I am Ioanna.” Then she waited for permission from within. As though she and the man behind that door had no relation to one another at all.

There was a moment of silence from inside the study. An intentional silence.

Like a ruler measuring the distance between authority and submission.

Making the person outside wait long enough to lower themselves before entering. Anna stood before the door. Back straight.

Hands resting naturally beside her skirt. No expression on her face. Not numbness. Something more deliberate. An emptiness she had chosen. The wounds on her back burned with every second she stood there. She did not move. Did not shift her weight once. Like a plant rooted into a crack in stone. You could not see it hurting. But you knew it must be. “Come in.” The voice passed through the door. Steady. Deep. Like a seal pressed onto an official decree.

Heavy with authority that did not permit refusal. Anna raised her hand. Opened the door. The study was darker than the corridor.

The heavy curtains had been opened only a narrow amount, allowing one thin blade of morning light to cut diagonally into the room.

It touched the edge of the carpet. Then disappeared. King Phetlantis sat behind the desk. Several documents lay open beside him. He raised his eyes to her. His gaze moved from her face— to her back— and returned to her face. No expression. Like a man taking inventory. Anna stopped two paces from the desk.

She did not bow. Or rather— she gave the shallowest bow that could still be called proper. The angle was precise as a blade. Cutting exactly along the edge of etiquette. Neither overstepping it— nor yielding. Then she raised her face. Looked directly into his eyes. Father and daughter met across the air like two stones. No sparks. Only the dull weight of one pressing against the other. The study was silent.

Then Anna spoke.

Her voice was not loud.

Every word landed steadily. Like the footsteps that had carried her here.

“I’m here to negotiate terms.”