Morning stretched lazily around them after that.
The ocean beyond the windows had turned silver beneath the cloudy sky, waves rolling steadily against the shore below Lysara.
Freya sat near the edge of the bed while brushing out her still-damp hair, wrapped loosely in one of Soren's shirts because her own clothes had not fully dried yet.
Soren watched her from where he leaned against the headboard.
Freya noticed without looking directly at him.
"…You're staring again."
"I'm considering a political decision."
That made her pause mid-motion.
Freya glanced over her shoulder suspiciously.
"…That sounds dangerous."
"It usually is."
She narrowed her eyes slightly.
"…What political decision?"
Soren looked toward the ocean beyond the windows.
Then back to her.
"…I may take over Lysara."
Freya blinked once.
"…What?"
A faint smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"It's peaceful here."
"That is not a valid reason to conquer a coastal village."
"It could be."
Freya stared at him in disbelief.
"You cannot invade places simply because you enjoyed your vacation there."
Soren looked unconvinced.
"Why not?"
"That's deeply concerning."
"You seemed happy here too."
Freya immediately looked away.
"…That's unrelated."
"It sounds related."
She huffed softly under her breath, returning to her hair with unnecessary focus.
But Soren noticed the tiny smile she was trying to suppress.
And the sight of it settled warmly somewhere beneath his ribs.
Dangerously warm.
The room quieted after that.
Not awkwardly.
Just thoughtfully.
Then Soren spoke again, quieter this time.
"We leave tomorrow."
Freya's hand stilled.
The words settled heavier than they should have.
Because somewhere between the ocean, the storms, the quiet mornings, and the way Soren had begun looking at her—
Lysara had stopped feeling temporary.
And worse—
she had stopped wanting it to be.
Freya stared down at the brush in her hands.
"…Oh."
Soren watched her carefully now.
Not missing the shift in her expression.
"You don't want to leave."
It wasn't really a question.
Freya exhaled softly.
"…I didn't say that."
"No," he said calmly.
"You just sounded disappointed."
That irritated her mostly because he was right again.
Freya set the brush aside and looked toward the window instead.
The ocean stretched endlessly beyond the village rooftops.
And somehow—
when she thought about leaving now, the thing that hurt unexpectedly wasn't just Lysara itself.
It was leaving this version of them behind.
The version where she stopped pretending she didn't want him near her.
Freya swallowed faintly.
Because somewhere along the way—
without meaning to—
she had figured out what she actually wanted.
And the answer terrified her.
Not freedom.
Not escape.
Him.
She wanted him.
Not just the sharp, dangerous version of Soren that challenged her at every turn.
All of him.
The man who carried her when she could barely walk.
The man who watched her laugh like it meant something precious.
The man who touched her like she was both dangerous and delicate at the same time.
Freya hated how much that realization mattered.
Because once she admitted it—
even silently—
there was no undoing it.
Behind her, the mattress shifted quietly.
Soren moved closer slowly before stopping beside her near the window.
His shoulder brushed lightly against hers.
Not forcing closeness.
Just there.
"You're thinking too much again," he murmured.
Freya let out a quiet breath.
"…Maybe."
Soren studied her profile for a long moment.
Then, softer:
"You can come back here whenever you want."
That startled her enough to look at him immediately.
"…What?"
Soren's gaze stayed steady on hers.
"Lysara," he said simply.
"If you want the ocean, then we come back."
Freya stared at him.
Because he said it so easily.
Freya looked away first, her chest tightening painfully.
"…You make this very difficult."
Soren's expression softened faintly.
"I know."
A pause.
Not because she was trapped.
Not because she had nowhere else to go.
But because somewhere along the way—
without even noticing—
Soren had become home too.
***
They left Lysara the next morning.
The village had still been half-asleep when the carriage was prepared near the harbor road, the ocean hidden beneath pale morning mist.
Freya stood quietly beside the inn for a moment longer than necessary, watching the waves in silence.
The salt air.
The distant gulls.
The steady sound of water against the shore.
It already felt strangely difficult to leave behind.
Soren approached beside her without speaking at first.
His coat shifted lightly in the ocean wind as he followed her gaze toward the sea.
"Are you saying goodbye dramatically." he murmured.
Freya glanced at him faintly.
"Saying goodbye dramatically."
"I am not dramatic."
Soren looked unconvinced.
"You stared at the ocean for almost ten minutes."
"It's called appreciating scenery."
"It looked emotional."
Freya narrowed her eyes immediately.
"You're emotional."
"That's slander."
A quiet laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
And Soren's expression changed instantly at the sound.
Not surprise anymore.
Something warmer now.
Freya noticed that too.
And strangely—
she didn't look away this time.
The moment stretched quietly between them while the wind moved around them softly.
Then Soren offered his hand toward her.
Freya looked at it for half a second.
Then took it without argument.
Soren helped her into the carriage carefully before climbing in after her.
And as the horses finally began moving away from Lysara—
Freya realized something felt different now.
Not the road.
Not the journey.
Them.
The distance that once existed between them had quietly disappeared somewhere along the coast.
There had once been tension in every silence between them.
Now there was understanding.
There had once been resistance in every touch.
Now she found herself leaning unconsciously toward his warmth whenever the carriage shifted.
And worst of all—
it felt natural.
Freya looked out the window as the ocean slowly disappeared behind them.
A strange ache settled in her chest.
Not because Lysara was gone.
Because some part of her already missed the version of them that had existed there.
Soren noticed her expression immediately.
"You can come back."
Freya glanced at him.
"You keep saying that."
"And you keep looking like you don't believe me."
Freya hesitated quietly.
Because promises had never meant much in her life before.
Soren studied her for a moment longer before shifting slightly closer beside her as the carriage rolled along the coastal road.
"You know," he said casually,
"if I conquer Lysara, we could simply stay permanently."
Freya stared at him in disbelief.
"You are not conquering a seaside village because you enjoyed the weather."
"The weather was excellent."
"You are impossible."
But somewhere along the way—
without even realizing it—
she had stopped wanting to leave him behind.
Freya looked down at her hands quietly.
That truth still frightened her.
But not enough to run from it anymore.
The carriage rocked gently as they traveled farther from the coast.
Soren's arm brushed lightly against hers beside him.
Freya felt herself relax against the seat slowly after a while, exhaustion from the past days finally catching up to her.
Her head tipped lightly against the side of the carriage.
A few minutes later—
against Soren's shoulder instead.
Freya realized it immediately and started to pull away.
Soren stopped her gently.
"Stay."
The word was quiet.
But something in his voice made her chest tighten painfully.
Freya hesitated only briefly before settling back against him again.
And Soren—
who once held her like something he feared losing control of—
wrapped an arm around her carefully instead.
Like something he intended to keep safe.
Freya must have fallen asleep at some point.
The steady rhythm of the carriage wheels, the warmth beside her, and the exhaustion from the past few days pulled her under more easily than she expected.
When she finally woke, the sunlight had shifted.
Golden afternoon light filtered through the carriage windows.
For a moment she didn't move.
Didn't open her eyes completely.
Because something felt different.
Then she realized her cheek was resting against Soren's chest.
One of his arms remained loosely around her shoulders.
And he had not moved.
Freya opened one eye cautiously.
"You've been awake this entire time?"
Above her, Soren glanced down from the book resting in his lap.
"Yes."
"That's unsettling."
"You drool."
Freya immediately sat up.
"I do not."
Soren looked entirely too calm.
"You absolutely do."
Freya stared at him.
Soren stared back.
A long pause followed.
Then—
the corner of his mouth twitched.
Freya gasped.
"You're lying."
"Maybe."
"You're awful."
Freya rolled her eyes, but the familiar response lacked any real irritation now.
The carriage continued forward.
Neither of them mentioned how easily she'd fallen asleep against him.
Neither mentioned how naturally he'd held her there.
But the silence around it felt different now.
Outside, the scenery had begun changing.
The coastal roads were gone.
Fields and forests stretched across the horizon instead.
Freya watched quietly through the window.
And for the first time since leaving Lysara—
something bittersweet settled inside her.
Because they were getting closer.
Closer to the capital.
Closer to the responsibilities waiting for them.
The version of Soren she'd seen in Lysara would have to become ruler Soren again.
As if sensing exactly where her thoughts had gone, Soren spoke.
"You're worrying."
She looked away.
"...Maybe."
Soren closed his book.
That alone caught her attention.
Because he rarely stopped reading once he'd started.
"What are you worried about?"
Freya hesitated.
Then shrugged.
"Nothing."
"Lie."
She shot him a look.
He looked unimpressed.
Freya sighed again.
"...Everything felt easier in Lysara."
The words came out quieter than she intended.
Soren watched her carefully.
Freya looked back toward the passing countryside.
"It felt like everything stopped for a little while."
A pause.
"Like none of the complicated things mattered."
The carriage remained quiet for a moment.
Then Soren shifted slightly closer.
"Freya."
She looked back at him.
"Lysara didn't change anything."
Her brow furrowed.
"What?"
"It didn't create something new."
His gaze remained steady.
"It just gave us room to stop pretending."
The words settled heavily between them.
Freya's heartbeat quickened unexpectedly.
Because part of her knew he was right.
The feelings hadn't appeared in Lysara.
They'd been growing long before that.
The coast had simply removed all the distractions.
All the excuses.
Soren reached over and gently took her hand.
Something she never would have allowed.
Now neither of them thought twice about it.
"You keep acting like we'll leave it behind."
His thumb brushed lightly across her knuckles.
"We won't."
Freya stared at their joined hands.
At how natural it looked.
At how natural it felt.
The realization still startled her sometimes.
Soren squeezed her hand once.
"Home is still home."
A pause.
Then, with a faint smirk:
"Unfortunately Eugene is still there."
That startled a laugh out of her.
A real one.
Soren looked far too satisfied afterward.
"You did that on purpose."
"Obviously."
Freya shook her head.
But she was still smiling.
And as the carriage continued toward the capital, she found herself looking ahead instead of behind.
Toward home.
Toward whatever came next.
And for the first time—
she wasn't thinking about how to escape it.