The small room that had been prepared for us glowed with the soft radiance of candles positioned throughout the space. Their flames flickered gently, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls and filling the air with warmth. The table had been arranged to face the window, which overlooked an extensive forest sprawling below the cliff's edge. Twilight had begun its descent, and the fading light mixed with the deep greenery of the trees to paint such a breathtaking picture that I found myself momentarily awed by its beauty. The interplay of purpling sky and verdant woodland created a vista that seemed almost unreal in its loveliness.
The table itself was set for two people, intimate and inviting. Food had already been served, arranged with care upon fine dishes. The aroma that rose from the spread was absolutely delicious, making my mouth water in anticipation. My heightened senses—sharpened by Aiona's presence within me—picked up the rich scent of roasted chicken, perfectly seasoned and golden-brown. There were potatoes as well, their earthy fragrance mingling with the herbed notes of various vegetables. A bottle of wine sat waiting, its presence promising warmth and relaxation. I felt a surge of delight at the sight and smell of it all.
Arvid led me inside, his hand holding mine with careful gentleness, as though I were something precious and fragile. The tenderness of his touch sent a flutter through my chest. I handed the bouquet of hand-woven roses to Katherine before entering fully, asking her to keep them safe. She accepted them with a knowing smile. The guards and Katherine remained outside in the corridor, granting us privacy for this evening. Once I was seated, Arvid finally released my hand, though I could sense his reluctance to break that physical connection.
"I asked the chef to make some Draga cuisine," Arvid explained, settling into his own chair across from me. His voice carried a note of hopefulness. "Since you miss home—" He left the thought unfinished, but the intention was clear.
I looked at the spread before me, taking in the familiar dishes prepared with evident care. Of course I missed Draga. How could I not? But my homesickness stemmed from more than simple nostalgia. It was born of uncertainty, of not knowing how to face the next great adventure of my life. The experiences awaiting me in the South would be completely new and foreign—a world so different from everything I had ever known. Violence, political intrigue, a justice system far harsher than what I had grown up with. These were things I had no confidence in navigating, no preparation for handling. The thought made my stomach tighten with anxiety.
"I was scared," I began, my voice barely rising above a whisper. The admission felt vulnerable, exposed.
"I was scared of all the things I might experience in the South—the violence, the crimes, the brutal justice system, all of it. Draga is peaceful, virtually crime-free. We haven't had an execution in two hundred and fifty years. Even that one person was a foreigner who had brought their crimes with them from elsewhere." I paused, gathering my courage to continue. "So I was terrified after the whole ordeal with Yasmine. Even though I knew she was guilty, even though the evidence was irrefutable, part of me pitied her. She was just a child, Arvid. Just a child who believed in something so strongly that she was prepared to give her life for those ideals—however harmful and misguided they were. I couldn't help but pity her, even knowing she had taken a life and that her punishment was befitting the crime. The contradiction tore at me."
I let my thoughts pour out, needing him to understand. My breath came shakily, and I had to pause to steady myself. Arvid didn't interrupt. He simply listened with complete attention, his eyes fixed on my face, giving me the space to speak my truth.
"And sometimes I doubt you," I continued, the words difficult but necessary. "I doubt the words you say—that you love me. I question it constantly. I ask myself, is he really in love with me? But why would he be? Just because I sheltered him when he was young and vulnerable? Just because he made some childhood promise to himself that he would marry me? What kind of love could that possibly be? Would someone who truly loved me have taken me from my home, from everything I know and hold dear? All these thoughts keep appearing in my head, unbidden and relentless. And I don't have answers to them. That uncertainty, that not knowing—it makes me anxious. It keeps me awake at night."
I avoided his eyes as I spoke, turning instead to look out the window. The view had taken on a somber quality as true darkness began its approach. Night was rolling in like waves upon a shore, steady and inexorable. In an hour or so, it would be pitch black beyond our circle of candlelight.
I looked back at Arvid only when I felt his hand gently touching mine where it rested on the table. My gaze went first to our joined hands, then slowly traveled up to his face. What I saw there made my breath catch. He looked sad, deeply apologetic, as though each word I had spoken had wounded him.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I was inconsiderate. Thoughtless. Even though I knew exactly what it would mean to take you to the South, I didn't adequately care about your feelings. I was so focused on what I wanted that I failed to truly consider what this decision would cost you. For that, I'm truly sorry."
He paused, visibly gathering his thoughts before continuing.
"I thought you'd be fine. Because you're so strong-minded, so capable, I convinced myself that you would simply adapt. I forgot to regard the human side of you—the side that feels a full range of emotions, that can be frightened and uncertain despite your strength. I failed to honor that part of you. I'm sorry for that as well."
His thumb moved gently across the back of my hand as he spoke, an unconscious gesture of comfort.
"As for love," he continued, his voice dropping lower, more intimate, "many people experience love in different ways. My love for you didn't stem solely from the time you cared for me when I was young, though that planted the seed. At first, yes, I wanted to marry you because I had promised myself I would. It was obligation, gratitude. But I fell in love with you—truly in love—after meeting you again and spending time together. You were kind in ways that expected nothing in return. Strong, yet gentle and soft-hearted. You possess this remarkable ability to sacrifice for the things and people you love. And you are the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on."
His grip on my hand tightened slightly, anchoring us both.
"Before I truly knew you, what I felt was something like gratitude mixed with possessiveness. But after spending time with you, I fell in love uncontrollably. Completely. And I need you to understand—my love isn't selfless. It's selfish, obsessive, and possessive. I want to have you all to myself. I can't bear the thought of losing you. Even though I know that keeping you, that bringing you here, might hurt you, I can't let you go. Before I realized what was happening, you had occupied my every waking thought. If you were to leave me—" His voice broke slightly. "—I think I might die. That's how deeply I feel this."
He released a shaky breath, vulnerability written across every feature.
"I want you to choose me," he said softly. "Stay with me. I know I'm not what you needed. I know I should be better, more selfless. But I'm a selfish bastard who can't imagine life without you."
He lifted my hand to his lips and planted a trembling kiss on the back of it. As he did so, he looked directly at me, and I saw that his eyes were filled with unshed tears. In the candlelight, those tears caught and refracted the flames, making it seem as though he had a thousand stars buried within his gaze. The sight stole my breath.
"As for the South," he continued, pressing another kiss to my hand, "I'll help you every step of the way. No matter what challenges arise, no matter what difficulties we face, I'll always take your side. I'll protect you to the best of my abilities, with everything I have. This I promise you."
"Please stay with me," he whispered, rubbing his cheek against my hand. The gesture felt ticklish and warm, achingly intimate.
I recognized what he was doing. He was manipulating me—with kisses and tears, with vulnerability and declarations of devotion. He knew I was susceptible to exactly this, that seeing him like this would move me. But here was the question: if I chose him while fully aware of the manipulation, was I truly being manipulated? Or was I simply making a choice with clear eyes? I honestly didn't know the answer. And more surprisingly, I found I didn't care either way.
Choosing him felt easier than the alternative. It felt right, despite all my doubts and fears. And beneath my own tumultuous emotions, I sensed Aiona's quiet approval, as though she too believed this was the correct path. When I considered all the factors—my growing feelings for him, the political realities, the connection we shared—he was the only real choice available to me. And truthfully, I was already halfway to him anyway, already halfway to surrendering completely.
"I'll stay with you," I said, my voice steady and clear. "Until the end of my life."
This time, I meant every word. There was no hesitation, no reservation, no hidden doubt. I chose him freely, and in doing so, I chose the adventure and uncertainty of the South.
The dinner that followed proved to be unexpectedly delightful. I hadn't known that Northern cuisine prepared with Southern spices could taste so extraordinary. Each dish was a revelation, flavors blending in ways I had never experienced. The roasted chicken was perfectly seasoned, the potatoes crispy and flavorful, the vegetables prepared with evident skill. We ate and talked, the conversation flowing easily now that the weight of confession had been lifted from both our shoulders.
After dinner, I indulged in what I thought was a reasonable amount of wine. However, it wasn't long before I began to feel decidedly tipsy. The room seemed softer around the edges, and a pleasant warmth had spread through my limbs. Was I really such a lightweight?
"Dragons have low tolerance for alcohol," Aiona's voice chimed sharply in my head, carrying a note of exasperation. "Stop drinking."
Her nagging only made me want to prove her wrong, so I defiantly reached for another glass. But before I could raise it to my lips, Arvid intercepted me smoothly.
"You're drunk," he observed, a hint of amusement in his voice as he downed the glass himself.
I pouted at him, annoyed by the presumption. "Not d—runk," I protested, though the hiccup that interrupted the word rather undermined my argument.
His smile widened, warm and affectionate, as he watched me with obvious fondness. In that moment, despite my slightly compromised state, I felt perfectly content. Tomorrow would bring its challenges, but tonight, I was exactly where I needed to be.