The morning after, the great hall stood empty, save for Aya seated at a smaller council table near the hearth. She wore no regalia today, only her House colors — blue and silver — and her hair, though still neat, had a softer, freer fall to it. She looked less like a sovereign and more like the woman Killan had met on the road.
Killan entered alone this time, his cloak dusted with snow. He bowed — deep, deliberate — and when he straightened, there was the faintest curve of a smile on his lips.
"My Lady," he said. His voice carried easily in the warm hush of the room.
"Your Highness," Aya replied, inclining her head.
She gestured for him to sit, and he obeyed without fanfare. For a moment, there was only the crackling fire and the scent of spiced pine smoke between them.
"I thought," Killan said at last, leaning his forearms casually on the table, "that perhaps today, I would try again."
Aya lifted a brow, amused. "You are either brave or foolish."
He smiled — wide, boyish, unbothered. "Both, if the songs are to be believed."
Aya couldn't help the soft huff of laughter that escaped her.
Killan's expression turned a shade more serious, though the lightness never fully left his eyes.
"But if you tell me to leave, Lady Aya," he said gently, "I will."
Aya regarded him — this Southern King who had crossed frozen rivers and foreign lands, who had not once looked at her with pity or expectation, who spoke to her as an equal and smiled as though he understood her without needing to own her.
She took a breath, steadying herself.
"You don't have to leave with nothing," she said.
Killan stilled.
"I accept your offer," Aya continued, her voice clear but soft, almost disbelieving that she was saying it aloud. "Not because of duty. Not because of alliances. But because I... choose to."
For a heartbeat, Killan only stared at her, as if weighing whether he had truly heard her right.Then — slowly — a smile broke over his face. Not the charming one he wore for courts and councils, but something real, something boyish and bright, something that reached all the way to his eyes.
Aya looked away, the flush rising to her cheeks, unexpected. She busied herself by smoothing a crease in her sleeve.
"You should know," she said, clearing her throat, "that I still do not promise you a crown here in the North. Nor do I promise to be easy company."
"I would be disappointed if you did," Killan said, and there was a warmth in his voice that made her heart clench.
He rose from his seat, came around the table, and then — hesitantly — offered his hand.
Aya glanced up at him, then placed her hand in his.
No ceremony. No audience. Just a simple, powerful gesture between two people choosing each other — despite the risks, despite the ghosts of their pasts.
Their fingers clasped, and for a moment, it felt like the world narrowed to just the two of them.
"You honor me, Lady Aya," Killan said, his thumb brushing lightly against her knuckles.
"And you," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
The fire crackled, and somewhere deep within Aya's chest, something that had long been frozen finally, quietly, began to thaw.
Later that afternoon, as word of the private agreement began to reach the inner circles of the keep, the winter that had threatened the North finally ended — the first clear sky in weeks stretching over the northern landscape like a promise.
And as Aya stood by the high window of her chambers, watching the sun pierce the clouds, she knew the road ahead would be far from easy. But for the first time in years, it would be a road she chose to walk.