As Amaya’s voice, soft and fragile, reached him, Flynn’s heart lurched. The sound of her calling his name was a tremor in his chest, a breaking of the barriers she'd stubbornly built between them. The exhaustion and pain were evident in her expression, and the ice of worry still gripped him, but the sound of her voice, speaking his name, ignited something deep within—vulnerable, protective, and all-consuming.
“Amaya…” he whispered back to her, his voice heavy with a mixture of shock and tenderness. His brows furrowed, concern clear in his expression. Gently, he cupped her face in one hand, his thumb brushing over her cheek as his gaze locked onto hers. For a moment, he lost himself in the pale blue of her eyes, as if searching for something, some way to fix what had happened.
Amaya felt like she was still dreaming — like she was still floating in that water, even as the memory slipped through her fingers. She didn’t know that she recognized this new reality she’d woken up to, with Flynn’s hand on her cheek, his thumb smoothing over the last traces of salt on her skin. He was warm. How was he always so
warm?She didn’t look away from him. She couldn’t. In the darkness of her room, there was only the moonlight to see by. It cast everything in shadow and silver — except for his eyes, green as ever.
Silence stretched between them as he tried to find the right words, but all he could manage was,
“I’m sorry…” His voice wavered, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, the carefully constructed mask of the calm, collected Prince began to crack under the weight. Something inside Amaya broke with him.
“I’m so sorry.” He repeated, genuine regret reflected in his emerald eyes.
“I thought you’d be safe there, I thought—” He stopped himself, shaking his head, pulling his gaze away for a moment, as if to shake off the helplessness that gnawed at him. There was no justification. No excuse that could mend this mistake.
Amaya’s eyebrows drew together as she looked up at him, her sluggish mind trying to dust off the sleep and exhaustion. He was so heartbroken as he looked at her… had
she done this? Caused this? She wanted his eyes back on her again, suddenly desperate to find the answers there. But she couldn’t move. She was trapped in this moment, his hand on her cheek, her heart stuttering back to life.
“I’m just glad you’re alive.” he said, his voice softening as he returned his gaze to her again.
Breath drifted over her parted lips, like her lungs finally remembered how to work now that his eyes were once again on hers.
And then all at once it came back to her.
The man. The attack. Sir Abel.
Elara.
Amaya gasped back to life, suddenly frantic. Eyes wide, she tried to move her limbs only to find them covered by something warm and weighted.
Flynn’s hand fell away from Amaya’s face as she gasped, breaking the fragile calm that had enveloped them. Relief drained from him as quickly as it had come, replaced by alarm as she writhed beneath the weight of blankets.
“Amaya,” he said quickly, his voice laced with urgency.
“Amaya, stop—” The words were firm but gentle, an attempt to steady her before she pushed herself too far.
In the tangle, she brought her arms up by her sides to try and push herself upright. Pain lanced through her arm as she placed weight on her right palm. It was deep and aching as it shot from her wrist, outwards towards her fingers and elbow. Her arm buckled into the mattress and she let out another sharp sound of pain.
Flynn’s heart clenched at the sound. Without hesitation, he folded the blankets back to expose her arm. His eyes darted over her, searching for fresh blood stains or any sign that her injuries had worsened, but found nothing. A small mercy. Gently, he took her trembling hand in both of his, cupping it as though his touch alone could soothe the pain away.
She flinched at the feel of his hands against hers, a memory flashing in her mind — of hands, cold and pale, latching onto her, trapping her in a web spun to ensnare her mind.
Silently, Flynn cursed his lack of skill in healing magic. If he could, he would have expended every last drop of his mana reserves to help her. Instead, all he could offer her was his presence. And hope that her magic wouldn’t lash out in icy tendrils as it had before, freezing into his own skin. Still, he didn’t pull away.
"I'm here… Just breathe." he said softly, his gaze locked with hers, willing her to focus on his voice. The words felt hauntingly familiar, echoes from a moment when her magic had spiraled out of control. Back then, he had whispered the same words, trying to steady her.
He cut through the fog of her adrenaline. That voice, those words, soft and close…
Flynn captured her attention again, fear sharp in her gaze. But she wasn’t afraid of him. No, with sudden clarity, Amaya realized she’d
never been afraid of him. What was stranger — that this was surprising, or that it had ever been an option at all?
This fear she felt, like ice encasing her heart and freezing her veins, wasn’t for Flynn. It was for
her. Her mistakes. Her failures. Every mark against her, tallied in a careful ledger with the royal seal emblazoned on its cover — the latest ones drawn in blood.
“Please, don’t move,” Flynn murmured, a quiet plea, his gaze unwavering.
“You need to rest…”She pressed her lips together. Her eyes started to burn with unshed tears as his voice washed over her. Emotions swirled, a tangled, terrified mix of grief and helplessness. But still she was trapped, held in his eyes.
“I’ve asked Elara to find Lady Hightower, the Sage. She should be here soon.” he continued, trying to reassure her. He longed to say more, to promise her that nothing would ever harm her again, but in that moment, words seemed inadequate. And like something he couldn’t possibly deliver on.
“Elara did what she could to get you stable. Lady Hightower should be able to provide more assistance.” Something loosened in Amaya’s chest —
Elara. She was alive. Relief flooded her as she finally closed her eyes again, turning her world dark. She sank back into the bed. A tear escaped, slowly rolling down her cheek.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked, glancing at her wrist.
“Elara said the blight-born… injected you… with his blood?”Amaya let out a shaking breath. Her eyes still closed, there was nothing but the feel of her bed beneath her. The weight of her blanket. The ache in her body. The warmth of Flynn’s hands still wrapped around hers.
Her fingers curled around his large palm. Her grip was weak. Pain still echoed down her hand, exhaustion keeping her from holding too tight. But she needed to feel his hand — his weight, his warmth, his
pulse. She needed to erase the memory of cold hands trapping her, a voice echoing in her mind,
Until next time my pretty snow dove…“He used it to form a… a psychic link.” Trying to force the words out was like trying to wrench herself free from his grip, as foreign blood forced and tore its way through her. Her voice was frail and small. She kept her eyes closed. Flashes of memory fought against the reality she tried to anchor herself in, her narrow world made only of her bed and Flynn’s hands.
“To speak with me.”This is your fault.Amaya finally opened her eyes again, looking up at Flynn. The moonlight painted him in muted colors.
“Is he…” Her voice trailed off, like she was afraid to even give life to the question. If she didn’t know the answer then she wouldn’t have to face whatever came next.
He shook his head solemnly, lips pressed into a thin frown.
“The guards are hunting for him as we speak.” he said quietly, wishing he had better news to share.
“They’ll find him.” he added, his tone assured despite the doubt whispering in the back of his mind. He knew the guards assigned here were not Aurelia’s best, nor Lunaris’. Competent, but not elite—expendable, should Dawnhaven fail.
Flynn’s attention snapped to the door as a light knock broke the silence. He straightened, turning to see the guard from earlier standing in the doorway, holding a candle. The man’s expression held a faint trace of worry as his gaze shifted between the Prince and Princess.
“Pardon, Your Highnesses…” the guard said, gesturing to the candle.
“May I?”Flynn glanced back at Amaya briefly before rising to his feet. Amaya’s hand was suddenly cold. The space next to her on her bed was achingly empty.
“I’ll take it,” Flynn said, crossing the room.
“Keep watch outside,” he instructed firmly, taking the candle.
“Lady Hightower should be on her way.”As the guard nodded, Flynn hesitated for a moment, then added,
“Double the watch around this area and report any updates on the search for the blight-born. I want to know the moment there’s progress.”“Right away, Sir.” The guard gave a nod as he turned, disappearing into the dim lighting of their home.
Without any eyes on her, Amaya swiped at her damp cheek. Her hand —
cold and empty and alone — curled into a loose fist, as if to keep from reaching out. She pressed her eyes shut again. Tried to listen to her shaking breath. Her thundering heart. Crimson flashed in her mind, staining the snow, a scream piercing the air.
Closing the door, Flynn moved through the room, lighting unlit candles scattered about until a soft, warm glow pushed back the darkness. Returning to Amaya’s side, he placed the candle on her nightstand.
A heavy sigh escaped him as he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Running a hand through his hair, he stared at the wooden floorboards, his muscles tense with unspoken thoughts.
After a moment, he straightened and shifted, angling his body to face her again.
“Did the blight-born say what he wanted with you? And—” he paused, his brows furrowing in confusion.
“How did you end up so far from the tavern?”Amaya flinched at the question — a sign of how shaken she was, that she couldn’t hide such a reaction. When she opened her eyes, the world wasn’t moonlit silver anymore. Instead her room was bathed in flickering gold, the warm glow of the candles dotting the perimeter like orbiting stars.
Her eyes found him again at the center. He seemed farther away somehow, even as he sat once more at the edge of her bed. Pain echoed from her arm as her fist curled tighter, but at least her magic was quiet in her blood. It was apparently drained by the events of the day. Amaya’s mouth was dry. She tried to find the words to explain herself.
“I…” She pressed her lips together. Then she gave a small shake of her head, looking away from him.
“He was hungry. I don’t think he even knew who I was.” Her heart hammered in her chest as she remembered his face — that moment he’d looked at her with pure grief, like he hoped she could offer something that she’d never had to begin with. It wasn’t just blood he’d been after.
“I realized he was trying to magic me and alerted the guards. We — I led him away.”As he listened, a knot of worry tightened in his chest. The thought of Amaya putting herself in harm's way like that made him feel physically ill.
‘Does she even realize the danger she put herself in?’ he thought, a feeling of guilt passing through him. He hadn’t involved her in the day-to-day operations, like interviewing the blight-born, and perhaps she didn’t comprehend just how unpredictable these creatures could be. Why else would she take it upon herself to do such a thing?
Though, he didn’t doubt her intelligence—far from it. And truthfully, he couldn’t entirely fault her, either. If he had been in her place, would he have done any different? He doubted it. He would’ve put himself between a feral blight-born and innocent lives without hesitation, just as she had. They both cared deeply for their people, and that shared instinct was something he admired about her.
She knew exactly what she was doing, and that made it worse.
“You could have been killed.” he said firmly, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that conveyed the depth of his feelings.
“One wrong move—hell, even one wrong word, and—” he cut himself off, trying desperately to keep himself composed. He drew in a deep breath, pulling his gaze away from her, and stayed silent as he gathered himself.
“Please… don’t put yourself in danger like that again.” he said finally, returning his gaze to her, his voice softer this time.
“I couldn’t stand to lose you.”Amaya stared up at him with wide eyes. She’d been bracing herself for a reprimand, or a demand for an explanation, or disbelief at her recklessness — at the very least, some remark on the blood that had been spilt because of her
foolishness. But Flynn offered none of that. Just his green eyes filled with an emotion she didn’t know how to name, and his plea. Something pulled painfully at her heart. It was like a tether had been fastened around it, tying her to him. She didn’t know when it’d been placed there. Quiet words slipped out of Amaya before she could stop them.
“Am I yours to lose?”His expression shifted instantly, brows knitting together as if she’d struck him with an unexpected blow. Her words cut through him like the edge of a blade. Just like that, it felt as if her barriers had returned and their fragile connection slipped right through his fingers.
The look in his eyes changed—worry giving way to something deeper. Confusion, disbelief, and a flicker of hurt mingled in his gaze. His lips parted to respond, but no words came. Instead, he studied her intently, searching her face for some clue to the reason behind her doubt, as though he couldn't quite believe she didn’t already know.
Amaya watched it all play across his face, her breath still in her chest and her heart pounding in her ears.
Finally, after a moment that felt far too long, his voice broke the silence, steady and certain.
“Yes. You are.” he said simply, matter-of-factly, the conviction in his tone leaving no room for question.
“I apologize,” he continued, his gaze unwavering,
“if I haven’t been forward enough with you, Amaya. So let me be clear.” His voice dropped slightly, quieter, but no less firm.
“I care for you—deeply. The thought of losing you… terrified me.”His hand reached for hers, hesitating for just a moment before he gently took it in his own.
“As much as you’ll allow it,” he said, his voice softening,
“you are mine. And I am yours.”His words washed over her like the tide. His hand warmed hers, his pulse whispering into her skin.
Amaya was floating again. The sea held her, with its salt and patience, and for the first time since she was a child, she thought that perhaps she wouldn’t drown.
Her fingers moved slightly, to press into the skin of his hand. It was hesitant. It should’ve been a simple motion — he’d laid himself bare like it
was simple. Like affection for her was the most logical outcome for this mess they’d found themselves in.
…Why couldn’t it be?
Amaya looked away from him. After a moment she pulled her hand from his.
She moved slowly, weighed down by pain and this newfound weakness in her body. Careful not to agitate her arm, Amaya managed to sit up in her bed. Leaning back against the headboard, she was finally near eye level with Flynn again. She still wasn’t looking at him.
Then, she reached back out to ghost her shy hand over his. It was the first time she’d initiated any sort of contact with him at all, rather than an answer for his requests or an obligation for the sake of appearances. She didn’t have the nerve to wrap her fingers around his, as he’d always done so easily. But it was what she could offer.
Unable to help himself, Flynn closed the gap between their hands, his fingers sliding gently to interlock with hers. His pulse quickened slightly, their touch sparking something within. He wanted more. But the fear of pushing her too far, of breaking this fragile moment, held him back.
It was a long moment of Amaya listening to her own pounding heart before she managed to softly say,
“What did you know of me before all this?”Flynn hesitated, his gaze drifting down to their intertwined hands, lost in thought. He had known this question would come some day—he had been waiting for it, in a way—but hearing her finally say it made him falter. The memory of the months before he’d sent the marriage proposal flooded back.
When he had originally proposed the idea to his parents, the King and Queen were both appalled. He’d spent days in heated arguments with them, desperately pleading with them for a chance.
But the Queen had only been swayed after a painstaking investigation into Amaya’s life. Just as she had always done with Flynn’s possible suitors—the Queen demanded to know everything. From her upbringing to her circle of acquaintances, even her favorite foods and her daily habits. Luckily for the Queen, King Auric had carefully placed spies within Lunarian walls years ago.
When they finally received information back, Flynn was struck by how little they actually knew about Amaya. She was more shadow than person in their eyes, a Princess locked away behind the cold walls of her castle, unseen and unheard. What they did know chilled him—her father’s treatment of her was far from kind. The way he looked at her, the words he never spoke while under the watchful gaze of others, the fear in her eyes—it said enough.
Flynn’s mother, however, had only seen this as an opportunity. The meek, quiet Princess could be easily controlled by a man like Flynn. Her son was charming and assertive, and Amaya was already trained to submit to him. They could use this to their advantage.
The thought twisted his gut, and he clenched his jaw, unable to stop the disgust that surged within him. That cold, calculating look in his mother’s eyes would be forever burned into his memory.
Still, he had sent the proposal. He had felt an odd sense of sorrow for her, this Princess so different from his siblings—so unlike his bold, confident, and unyielding sisters. She was fragile. And yet, the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew she was strong in ways he couldn’t quite comprehend.
He shifted closer, looking back at her now.
“Before I knew you… I only knew the stories they told me,” he began, wishing she would lay her eyes on him again.
“They told me you were quiet, reserved… hidden from your own kingdom. They told me you were afraid… weak… that you were not like your mother, the shining light in a dark kingdom.” He paused, his thumb gently brushing over her hand as he spoke.
Amaya held very still as she tried to not shrink into herself. She’d asked her question because she’d thought she’d need to explain her own shortcomings — why she was incapable of being whatever it was that he saw when he looked at her. But he’d already known.
His words were predictable. But the sharp pain in her chest was no less real, nor was the burning sensation behind her eyes as she thought of all the ways she’d been diminished. She’d never been real to the people of Lunaris – just a shadow on a wall, silent and intangible. Her eyes were unfocused as she looked at some distant spot at the edge of her bed.
He inhaled, his heart aching for the woman in front of him, this woman so much more than the timid, broken image they’d painted for him. A quiet desperation filled him. The need to reach her, to make her see what he saw, to know what he knew was true.
With a gentle motion, his free hand lifted, fingers brushing against her chin. He didn’t want to startle her, didn’t want to push her, but he needed her to understand—to look at him. Slowly, he turned her face toward him, tilting it ever so slightly until their eyes met. Her breath stuttered.
For a long moment, he didn’t speak, simply letting the quiet tension hang in the air between them, his gaze steady, warm. His heart beat harder now, though it wasn’t out of fear.
“But when I saw you for the first time… I saw something they didn’t.” his voice softened, eyes comfortably lost in hers once more.
“You were reserved, sure…” he trailed off for a moment, his eyes never leaving hers.
“I could see you’d suffered. But the way you’d looked at me that day—with such defiance.” he smirked, amused by the memory of her in her wedding dress, glaring daggers from across the room when she thought he hadn’t seen.
“I could see you were wise, too. Observing, while everyone else drunkenly babbled…” A surprised breath escaped Amaya at the memory. The corners of her mouth twitched up for just a moment.
“You were the strongest in that room. A quiet strength that people overlook, the most dangerous kind. I could see the truth of it in your eyes...” his thumb lightly traced her jawline, his gaze drifting briefly to her lips for a moment before returning to her eyes.
Her lips parted at the touch. The only things that mattered in the world were his hands and the way he looked at her.
“Fierce, despite it all.” his voice dropped, barely above a whisper.
Was she leaning towards him? She hadn’t told her body to move, but it was as if he had a gravitational pull all his own. His words filled the space between them, another tether securing her fragile heart to his.
“I knew they were wrong about you then.”His words didn’t seem true, not when Amaya felt so small and breakable. But he said them with such certainty, she was almost convinced. They nestled deep in her chest, radiating heat that warmed her from the inside out.
Amaya reached up towards the hand that cupped her face, as if seeking another connection. Her fingers barely grazed the back of his palm. Then, slowly, hesitantly, they slid along his skin, until her entire hand was against his. They were close enough that his breath ghosted over his skin. He was all she could see – his golden hair, the flecks of olive and orange and seafoam that made his green eyes alive with color, the curve of his cheekbones and jaw… but even as he drew her in, Amaya found herself hesitating.
Her voice was soft when she spoke, a fragile thread reaching towards him.
“My entire life, he took things from me that I didn’t even know I could lose.” She couldn’t name him. His specter still had his hand around her neck, his hateful eyes smothering the light. Amaya felt stunted and malformed, like a sapling planted at the start of winter with only shadow and frost to live off of. And now, here was the sun. And it was
blinding.
“And now I…” The words caught in her throat.
Flynn’s chest tightened, the trembling in her voice threading into his soul. Every part of him ached to take away her fear, her pain, to shield her from all the hurt she’d endured.
Amaya looked down, finally breaking away from his gaze. She was trembling. Her hands curled tighter around his, like she could anchor herself against her own emotions. When her eyes returned to him, they were unguarded for the first time – vulnerable, and fearful, and hopeful all at once.
Lost once again in the depths of her striking blue eyes, he felt the breath leave his lungs. Her gaze held him captive, and every inch of his being ached to close the space between them.
“Flynn, I don’t know how to do this.” How to be strong. Survive.
Be his.She wanted to, though. What a terrifying thought –
wanting.
“I don’t know either,” he confessed, his lips curving into a faint, rueful smile. His gaze fell to her lips again, lingering there for just a moment longer. Suddenly, all the hesitation he had felt since the day they met dissolved, and his heart answered for him.
His lips met hers with a tender urgency, sparks dancing across his skin the moment they touched. Every unspoken word, every longing glance, every tether of their fragile bond coming alive in a single heartbeat.
A rush of warmth flooded him, an exhilarating wave of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he leaned into her. Her lips were soft and hesitant against his, but he poured everything he felt into that moment—his reverence for her, his yearning, his promise that he would be there, no matter what.
His heart thundered against his chest as his hand slid from her chin to the nape of her neck, his fingers threading into the dark waves of her hair, tangling in the silken strands cascading down her back. The world around them faded, leaving only the intoxicating closeness of her.
His lips found hers again, and this time, the kiss deepended, slow and searching. A small sound escaped her, a hand coming up to rest on his chest.
Instinctively, he drew her closer, driven by an unspoken need for a deeper connection. He had spent so long trying to understand her, to unravel the layers she kept hidden, and now, with all her barriers gone, he found himself eager to know more. Another slender hand found the side of his face, fingers drifting into his hair.
As if coming to his senses, Flynn slowly pulled away from her—only slightly. He rested his forehead gently against hers, his eyes still closed as if savoring the moment a little longer. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and steady, filled with a quiet hunger he fought to push back.
“But you’re not alone anymore.”
