 |
|---|
| Location: Town Square | Time: 10am |
The tension in his chest tightened with each step, the knot of anxiety growing as he considered the best way to mend the rift between them. A wave of nerves washed over him, and his mind raced with uncertainty about how to smooth things over. Every possible conversation with her felt like walking a tightrope, and he could only hope that his words, however clumsy, might help bridge the gap between them.
When Flynn finally reached his home, he hesitated at the door, listening for any sound inside. The house was quiet, but that didn’t mean much. Steeling himself, he called out, “Amaya?” His voice echoed softly in the silence, and he waited, holding his breath, for any sign of her presence.
Amaya froze where she sat at her vanity upstairs. Her heart rate spiked at the sound of Flynn’s voice. Hands balled into fists in her lap, Amaya evaluated her reflection - her makeup was once again impeccable, her hair neat and curling over her shoulder. The only sign she’d been crying was the slight puffiness of her eyes. And if her nose was a little pink, well, one could simply blame the chill in the air. Amaya covered her small box of rouge and wiped her stained fingers on her nearby handkerchief.
Looking into her own pale eyes, Amaya took a slow breath in. And the mask was in place once again.
She stood and drifted out of her room with silent steps. She stopped at the top of the stairs, a delicate hand placed on the wooden banister. And when she looked down, there he was - the Prince of Aurelia. She held the air in her lungs, fighting against the way her breath hitched, the way another sob tried to rip itself out of her body.
She would not cry in front of him. When she was sure her voice wouldn’t break, she spoke.
“Don’t look so fearful, Husband.” The title burned like bile in her throat, but her voice was airy and unbothered. “It’s your house after all.” His house, his town, his orders, his decisions. Anger was a tight, coiled thing wrapped around her heart, but her expression remained cool. “No need to tread lightly.”
Flynn’s breath caught when Amaya appeared at the top of the stairs. Despite everything that had happened, she looked stunning—poised and put together in a way that made him feel… a bit uneasy, if he was honest. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulder, perfectly arranged, and her skin, rich and warm, only made the pale blue of her eyes seem sharper and more piercing under the candle lighting of their home. She was undeniably regal and looked every bit the queen she was destined to become.
Despite taking a moment to appreciate her beauty, he was surprised to see her so composed, especially after how devastated she had been upon receiving the news of her mother's death—likely murder. Yet here she was, looking every bit the royal, her emotions hidden beneath a flawless exterior. Flynn, the Prince of Aurelia—the golden child—knew the game all too well. Royals often wore masks to hide their truths. Nonetheless, Flynn could feel the weight in her words when she referred to the house as “his.” The deliberate emphasis didn’t escape him, and it only deepened his discomfort.
Clearing his throat, he kept her gaze, his emerald eyes meeting hers as he entered further into the home but stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Amaya…” His voice came out soft, uncertain. He swallowed hard, trying to muster the courage to speak properly. “Are you... okay?” A small circle of ice began spreading over the banister beneath her hand.
The question felt hollow, but it was the best he could manage in the moment. ‘Idiot… Of course she isn’t okay!’ He thought, his heart beginning to race. "I—uh… I also wanted to talk to you about the town meeting, if that’s okay?" he said, awkwardly shifting his weight as he waited for her response and pondered why the hell this small woman made him so nervous.
Amaya stared down at him. Her fingers twitched on the banister, her magic leaking unnoticed from her skin. She couldn’t move. If she did, then the thin layer of calm she’d managed to fold over herself would shatter, and her emotions would be a storm made real. She couldn’t speak - all she wanted to do was scream, and wail, and be held.
She wanted her mother.
But instead she had him, a man who had the gall to be uncertain after making all the choices for himself.
“What is there to discuss that hasn’t already been decided?”
Flynn could feel it, the shift in the air around them—a subtle pulse, almost imperceptible to most, but unmistakable to him. The veil between the physical and the magical wavered as Amaya’s magic threatened to implode on itself, raw and uncontained. Though Flynn wasn’t highly skilled in magic himself, his training had drilled into him the importance of sensing its presence, particularly Lunarian magic. Amaya wasn’t stable, no matter how poised she appeared. She wasn’t okay, not even close.
His heart clenched as he stood frozen for a moment, seeing her at the top of the stairs, so composed yet so fragile beneath that exterior. That’s when he noticed the ice forming over the banister. He frowned, unsure if he should address it after how she had reacted to him earlier that day. Slowly, he decided to ascend the stairs to meet her at the top, each step heavy with caution, not wanting to shatter her already fraying composure. Amaya’s breath stilled in her chest as he approached.
When he reached a few steps below her, Flynn reached into his pocket, pulling out the folded parchment he had spent the morning laboring over. His emerald green eyes held hers as he held it out to her. “I wanted to ask you,” he began, “if you’d like to speak during the town meeting? I didn’t know your mother well, and I... I don’t think it would be right for only me to speak about her in front of the people of Lunaris. It would mean more coming from you.” His voice remained calm and steady as he continued, “But I understand if you don’t want to. I can handle it, if you prefer.”
Flynn extended the parchment a little closer to her. “I’ve written something for the speech. If you’d like, you can read it, or tell me your thoughts.”
Amaya stared at the parchment like it was a viper. It hung in the air, a pitiful olive branch between them, and Amaya wanted to take it to the nearest candle and turn it to ash. Her eyes flicked back up to Flynn to snap more venom at him, but -
Ice met the sea. There was nothing sharp in his green eyes to cut herself against, no coldness, no fight, just… patience. Sadness. A vastness and depth that would swallow Amaya up, if she let it.
She pulled in a silent breath, fighting to keep her careful mask in place. Then she took the parchment with her free hand. Sliding it open with her thumb, her eyes moved over the Prince’s words. As Amaya took the paper, Flynn’s eyes darted back to the banister freezing underneath her palm.
Her hands tightened as she read, her breath becoming shallow. With each word the thick coil of her emotions tightened around her heart, closed her throat. Something burned hot behind her eyes. This was her mother’s eulogy. She was gone, had been gone for weeks and Amaya hadn’t known and she was never going to see her again -
A sharp crack cut through the air, something snapping under Amaya’s hand. She gasped, flinching away. She blinked rapidly, her breath coming in shaking spurts as she looked for the source of the noise.
The banister. A deep crack like a bolt of lightning the length of her hand marred the dark wood. Ice crystals painted a geometric design around it, the wood so severely chilled that it emitted a soft cascade of fog.
Flynn tensed as the banister finally cracked under the pressure of Amaya’s magic. His heart skipped a beat, and his hand shot out instinctively when she flinched, ready to steady her if she were to lose her balance. Amaya could only stare at the broken wood with wide eyes, lips parted. A tear rolled down her cheek.
She hadn’t even noticed she was calling that much magic. How had she not noticed?
“Are you hurt?” Flynn's voice was gentle but urgent as his eyes darted to her hand. She didn’t seem to hear him. His concern was palpable as he leaned a bit closer, scanning her arm, palm and fingers carefully. Internally, he resisted the urge to take her hand into his to further investigate. Seeing no visible harm, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
Once assured she was fine, Flynn’s gaze shifted back to her face, his worry still present but accompanied by a faint, warm smile. “Well,” he started, glancing briefly at the cracked banister, “I hated the way these stairs looked anyway. I think it looks better this way.”
She looked up at Flynn, for the first time unguarded. Her face was a canvas of heartbreak, and helplessness, and fear. Then, before her grief could finish clawing its way back up her throat, Amaya remembered herself.
She looked back at the now crinkled parchment like she could hide in it, fighting to control her breathing. She wasn’t reading anymore - she couldn’t bear to. But still she moved her eyes over the words that blurred together in her vision. Her hand wiped at her cheek in a swift motion. Then it hid in the folds of her dress, fist tight as she tried to pull every thread of her magic back into the tangled mess that was her heart.
When she was certain her mask was back in place, she looked up again. She couldn’t quite manage to meet his eyes. But her spine was straight. No fresh tears spilled. It would do.
“Remove the fourth and fifth sentences from the second paragraph,” she said, holding the parchment back out to him. Her voice was still too tight. She tried to swallow. The sentences in question were about… well, her. Her mother’s love for her. Amaya didn’t think she could stand to hear him say those words aloud - either she’d start sobbing or she’d kill him. “I’ll speak where you’ve indicated.”
Flynn took the parchment from Amaya's hand, his fingers brushing lightly against hers as he scanned the lines she had pointed out. His frown deepened and he didn’t bother hiding the disappointment on his face. He read over the sentences again and a quiet, defeated sigh escaped him.
He remained silent for a few moments, the weight of what he’d written and what she wanted removed settling uncomfortably in his chest. He didn’t want to take them out. The words were true, and he wanted the town to hear them, to know that even a stranger could see how much the Queen had loved her daughter. It felt wrong to erase such sentiments, but arguing with her now could only end badly, especially when her magic was so out of control. His mind flashed briefly to the thought of being frozen in ice until someone came to thaw him out, and he suppressed a shudder.
He was wary of her magic, but more than that, he was concerned for her wellbeing. She wasn’t in control, which could be detrimental to both her and others around her. For a moment, he considered asking Eris to help Amaya with her magic. Maybe she could offer some guidance, some way to ease this storm inside her. But he hesitated. Would Amaya even accept help? She seemed to resist anything he offered over the last two months. For now, he would keep that thought to himself.
Folding the paper carefully, the Prince slipped it back into his pocket, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers. “I’ll do as you ask,” he said softly. He paused, searching her face, looking for a flicker of something—anything—that would tell him more about what she was feeling. “But... I hope you know that what I wrote is true.”
Amaya finally met his gaze again, her eyes flashing with emotion for the barest moment - before she quickly smothered it behind her cool façade. She imagined running away into the frost and wilderness.
“I’ll grieve their Queen with them. Not my mother.”
Flynn nodded at her response, letting silence hang between them for a few breaths while he held her gaze. He understood. Who was he to tell her when and how to grieve? He could not yet know what it was like to publicly grieve a mother while still being expected to maintain the poised composure of royalty.
“Very well.” he finally said, taking one step down on the stairway before offering out his hand for her to take. “Shall we go together, then?”
Amaya couldn’t quite hide the shock she felt - it was there in the slight widening of her eyes, in the way she leaned (almost flinched, really) away from his hand. She knew it was clear to him that her magic was not under control. She could very well freeze his hand if she took it.
Not that she would ever admit to caring.
Her fists had buried themselves deeper into the folds of her dress. She couldn’t tell if she was imagining the ice at her fingertips, or if her untethered magic was still seeping into the world. Amaya looked back up at Flynn, expecting to see hesitance or a challenge or judgment, but… there was just that patience again. That openness that offended her so, when he displayed his anxieties for all to see. But it stilled her now. The sharp rejection that had come to her like a reflex, died on her tongue.
Slowly, Amaya forced one hand to uncurl against the fabric of her dress. She kept it close to her body as she raised it, eyes flicking down to ensure she’d sealed off every last ounce of her magic from it. Her mind spun through the exercises she’d drilled years ago, when she’d first learned to harness. After one last look up at Flynn to make sure he wasn’t second guessing this, she placed her hand lightly onto his, barely touching his skin.
Flynn felt the icy chill of Amaya’s hand seep into his as he intertwined his fingers with hers, but he held her firmly and without hesitation. The coldness from her magic radiated from her skin, but he kept his grip steady and unwavering, trusting her in this brief moment not to harm him—this, in itself, felt like a small victory. It was the first time she’d allowed any sort of sustained contact, but he wasn't about to ruin the moment by pointing it out. The quiet between them felt delicate, as if a single word could shatter it.
Without a word, he began to descend the stairs with her, step by step. Together, they moved through the house, Flynn leading her toward the front door as he wondered what was going through his wife's mind at that moment. She had clearly been hesitant to take his hand, but he was glad that she had.
Opening the front door for her, the chill of the outside air greeted them as they stepped into the cold darkness of the day. He glanced upwards, noticing the clouds gathering, their edges illuminated by the pale radiance of the moon. The sky mirrored the atmosphere between them—tense, but calm for now.
As they walked into the crisp air, Flynn cast a brief glance her way, half-expecting her to pull away, but she remained beside him, still holding his hand. A moment of unexpected peace lingered between them, and thankfully, he didn’t feel the need to fill it with words.
Amaya spent the entire walk through the town methodically folding away every bit of magic, emotion, and pain deep into the space hidden between her spine and her heart. It was odd, touching Flynn in this small way. Intimidating and disorienting. She tried not to think on it. Instead she focused on his hand - how his palm encompassed her own, long fingers tying her to him. How his steady warmth seeped into her. If she could just protect this little candle flame between their hands, hold her frigid magic at bay as the steady beat of his pulse slowed her own, then maybe there was hope that she could hold herself together long enough to make it through the speech.
When they reached the outskirts of the town center, the faint murmur of the gathered crowd began to grow louder, an uneasy energy building in the air. Flynn paused, casting a glance at Amaya, feeling the steady warmth now between their hands. It was strange, but grounding at the same time.
"Ready?" he asked, his voice now carrying a more firm and confident tone than he had been using with her earlier. Easily, Flynn stepped into his Princely role once more. Wearing his own mask this time. Strong, certain of his every decision, a man of the people. His shoulders straightened, and his gaze sharpened as if all the uncertainty had melted away in an instant. Flynn had been trained to wear the title of Prince as effortlessly as the cloak around his shoulders, his voice steady and unyielding. In that moment, he was no longer just a husband trying to bridge a fragile gap or a leader second-guessing his choices. He was the embodiment of Aurelia’s future, ready to face the crowd, regardless of their loyalties. With Amaya at his side, they would face whatever awaited them together—or so he hoped.
The Princess didn’t react outwardly to his shift in demeanor, but she noticed it all the same. He seemed taller beside her - or perhaps Amaya just felt smaller, fragile and uncertain in the wake of his confidence. But she still saw it for what it was. Some quiet part of her felt… sad for him. Flynn, who so often wore his emotions on his face, had walls to retreat behind, too. He was a Prince, after all.
Amaya carefully untwined their fingers, drawing her hand back. She kept her gaze straight ahead. The loss of his warmth was immediate, shocking her skin. Amaya drew her hands together in front of her legs. There was a small intake of breath as heat met ice - she’d been so focused on protecting Flynn’s hand that she hadn’t noticed her other hand growing numb in the cold winter air. The temperature difference was almost painful as she gripped her hands together, trying to thaw.
The pain grounded her. Her face remained placid and poised, chin held high. The shaking of her hands was almost imperceptible as she shuttered away her emotions and kept her gaze straight ahead.
Just off to the side of the stage, a young Aurelian herald stood, scanning the gathered crowd. His eyes caught movement at the far edge of the square, and in an instant, his posture straightened. He recognized the unmistakable forms of the Prince and Princess approaching. With a sense of urgency, he hurried onto the stage. Once positioned at the center, he cleared his throat and raised his voice, trained for moments like this.
"Ladies and gentlemen of Dawnhaven!" His voice boomed across the square, instantly drawing attention. The murmurs of the crowd began to hush, curiosity and tension thickening the air. "It is my great honor to present to you—Amaya Selu, Princess of Lunaris, and Flynn Astaros, Prince of Aurelia!"
As the names rang out, the anticipation rippled through the crowd. Slowly, all eyes turned toward the approaching figures. Amaya and Flynn, walking hand in hand, ascended the wooden stage that had been crafted for this moment. The crowd’s murmur faded entirely as the two royals came into full view, their contrasting presences—Amaya’s cold, reserved grace and Flynn’s commanding yet steady demeanor—setting the tone for what was to come. The stage creaked softly beneath their feet, and a weighted silence settled, the town holding its breath for what would come next.
As Flynn took center stage, he could feel his own nerves beginning to creep in as he looked upon the many faces before him. Although he’d been trained all his life to speak in front of crowds, he found himself growing nervous now—an unfamiliar sensation for him. Speaking to Aurelians, who admired him, was something he could manage with ease. But addressing the Lunarians who likely harbored little affection for him, save for the safety Dawnhaven provided, was a different challenge altogether. Nonetheless, the mask he had dawned remained strong and his facial expression remained calm and steady. Having gone over his speech many times earlier that morning, Flynn did not take out the parchment from his pocket and began to speak on it from memory.
"Citizens of Dawnhaven, thank you for gathering here today.” he began, easily able to project his voice in a clear and commanding way. “I stand before you with news from the capital of Lunaris that may be deeply upsetting to many of you. We have just learned that Queen Anjali, who was beloved by many, tragically passed away about a month ago. The King has remarried and, according to our sources, she is with child as well.”
Flynn paused as the crowd began to whisper among themselves at the news, the ripples of surprise beginning to spread.
“I understand that this news may come as a shock to those who held Queen Anjali in such high regard. While I did not have the privilege of knowing her well, I had the honor of meeting her once before I married her daughter, your princess, Amaya. In that brief encounter, Queen Anjali showed me great kindness.”
Recalling the lines that Amaya had not wanted him to say, Flynn’s mind recited the words internally, causing him to hesitate just briefly in his speech. I saw the love in her eyes as she watched Amaya walk down the aisle to become my wife. It is clear to me that the Queen was not only beloved but also a devoted mother who raised a remarkable daughter.
“For that, I am profoundly grateful.” He continued, excluding those lines and staying true to his word. “At this time, I would like to invite Princess Amaya to say a few words about her mother and share her thoughts during this difficult moment."
Turning towards Amaya, Flynn held her gaze for a heartbeat, searching her eyes as if silently asking if she was alright. She offered him no answer. Only the briefest glance, like she couldn’t look away fast enough. His emerald eyes softened, though his expression remained composed. The crowd seemed to fade, and for a brief second, it was just the two of them on that stage, bound together by this shared weight. He knew how much this moment meant, how much it cost her.
Taking a small step back, Flynn offered her the space to speak and left the center stage to her—this was her moment.
Standing alone, Amaya looked out over the crowd of people - her people. Whether they were from Lunaris or not, that they were here in Dawnhaven, meant Amaya was responsible for them in some way. And she hardly recognized any of them.
There were the members of her royal guard. Flynn’s blightborn advisor with whom she’d barely exchanged two words. The sage, Eris, that Flynn so often met with. But Amaya felt disconnected from them all, as she stood above the eclectic group of humans and otherworldly blightborn. She didn’t even know who amongst them was Lunarian. Amaya filled with shame that she couldn’t afford to feel in this moment.
Amaya searched the crowd for Elara, her handmaiden - her only friend. Something in her chest loosened as she found her silver form. She tried to draw strength from the only person in this world who truly knew her, now that her mother was gone.
“Words seem inadequate to describe the enormity of this loss.” Her voice was softer than Flynn’s had been - less commanding. But it carried through the crowd like a breeze. She hadn’t thought of what to say on the walk here. It had felt too dangerous, with the fragile grip she had on her emotions. But her mother deserved this. Amaya tried to swallow.
“There are some here who may be unfamiliar with Queen Anjali. She had several monikers, but the most common one was the Winter Queen. I understand that to Aurelians, this may seem an unforgiving thing to call her, but please know that it was a term of deep affection. There is beauty in winter - snow blanketing an evergreen, like a quilt draped around a child.”
Amaya was seven years old, fear like ice in her veins, stopping her heart, as she threw soaking, freezing body into her mother’s embrace.
“A chill in the air that urges communities closer together, sharing food and warmth.”
She was fifteen, sitting in her mother’s study as they both read independently - but never out of reach of each other.
“A quiet stillness that soothes your racing thoughts, and urges you to simply be.”
She was twenty-four, and it was the last time she would ever see her mother alive. Her wedding was in mere hours. The Queen had dismissed all of Amaya’s attendants, until it was just the two of them looking at each other in the reflection of her mirror. Slowly, silently, her mother helped her dress in her ornate wedding gown. She combed her fingers through Amaya’s hair, weaving the strands together into an elegant design. She threaded fine, sparkling jewels into her hair, around her neck, circling her wrist. And when Amaya had finally been transformed into the bride they were all awaiting, her mother wiped her tears with gentle hands, and placed a long, soft kiss at the crown of her head.
“She was all of these things to the people of Lunaris.” Her beautiful mother, who’d traveled across the ocean and through the mountains to rule over a kingdom that did not know her - but still grew to love her. “She was patient, when it was easier to be afraid. Kind, when it was easier to be cold. Fair, when it was easier to be cruel. And now without her… this land of frost and moonlight seems colder. The night seems darker, without her brilliance.”
Amaya let her gaze refocus again over the crowd - people who would never know her. But they deserved to. She thought of her father, and with sudden clarity realized that she hated him. Ice so cold that it burned filled her body. She made a decision fueled in equal parts by love for her mother and spite towards her father.
“When the settlement of Dawnhaven was proposed to the Kingdom of Lunaris, Queen Anjali was its strongest advocate at court.” The King had despised how influential his wife had been amongst the other nobles. And while he’d managed to stifle any public knowledge of her power while she was alive, Amaya would see to it that her legacy was known. “She was adamant that the collaboration between our two kingdoms, and the offer of sanctuary to those touched by the blight, was the only choice that we could afford to make.” You must survive, my darling girl. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, as Amaya fought to hold steady against the churn of her emotions. “And so all of us here, Lunarian and Aurelian, human and blightborn, have been touched by her tireless belief that the world can become more patient, kinder, and fairer, as long as there are those endeavoring to see it so. If you loved her, as -” as I did. Her voice broke, the words trapping themselves in her throat.
She couldn’t breathe. If she did, if she let her lungs work, she would gasp and sob and wail. Her world narrowed to nothing but the thunderous pounding of her heart. Hot tears burned at her eyes, threatening to fall. She couldn’t break, not here, in front of strangers, in front of Flynn. The warmth had long since left her hands, where she held them in front of her dress.
Amaya tried to swallow. She tried to breathe. The tears came perilously close to falling, and Amaya tilted her head up to the sky, like they wouldn’t fall if she simply refused to allow them. But she paused as she looked up.
Snow.
Full, soft flakes drifted through the air, landing on her cheek as gently as her mother’s touch. Amaya was captivated. Bits of sparkling white powder adorned her dark hair like jewels, melted into her white dress like lace. The shining moon emerged behind the clouds, filling Amaya’s vision.
A single tear finally crested over her cheek.
“If you grieve for her,” she said softly, still transfixed. She looked back out over the crowd. Her voice was fragile, but didn’t falter. “There are no flowers you could leave at her grave, no songs you could sing, that would be more fitting a tribute to her memory than simply…proving her right.” Her face flashed in Amaya’s mind, a soft smile and bright blue eyes nestled in a loving expression. She wondered what her mother would see, if she looked out over this crowd.
“Just prove her right. That’s all she would ask.”
Amaya let her gaze drop, forcing herself to not drop her composure anymore than she had already. Then she dismissed herself, and turned to walk to the back of the stage. If Flynn had expected to continue the meeting with her involvement, then she supposed he would have to improvise. She simply didn’t have any more in her.
Her footsteps marked a simple path through the gathering snow on the stage. Amaya turned to face the crowd again when she arrived at the back, head held high and eyes unfocused. She didn’t bother to wipe the tear track on her face.
As Amaya finished her speech and made her way toward the back of the stage, Flynn glanced at her, hoping to catch her eye. He offered her a faint, supportive smile—one he hoped would remind her that she wasn’t alone in this—but she didn’t meet his gaze. She passed him as though the weight of the world were still pressing down on her shoulders alone. His heart sank for her, knowing how difficult this moment had been. Nonetheless, her speech had left him with a deep sense of pride. Despite the turmoil she was enduring, despite the weight of grief and anger that he knew threatened to consume her, she stood there, composed and regal. She had faced the crowd with strength, her words steady, even as her heart undoubtedly ached. He admired her resilience.
Instinctively, his eyes dropped to her hands, searching for any signs of her magic slipping free. To his relief, there was no frost, no telltale shimmer of ice or uncontrolled power. For now, it seemed she had it under control.
Stepping forward into the center of the stage once more, Flynn scanned the gathered crowd—his people. Lunarians and Aurelians alike stood before him, the tension thick in the air, the anticipation palpable. The snowflakes fell softly around them, a cold hush settling over the town. This was his moment now, but his mind lingered on Amaya. He had to carry on, but he would not forget the quiet strength she had shown, even if she refused to look at him. With a steady breath, he turned his focus to the task at hand, ready to address the people.
"Thank you, Princess, not only for your words but for your strength in sharing them." Flynn said, his voice warm as he glanced toward her before turning back to the crowd, admiration for her evident in his tone. "As we process this news, I want to acknowledge the uncertainty it brings to all of us. It is concerning, not only because of the loss of a cherished Queen but also because of the rapid changes happening in the Lunarian capital. These events remind us of the fragile nature of our world and the importance of standing united as we face the challenges ahead.
Dawnhaven is a place where people from different backgrounds, beliefs, and lands come together for a common purpose. In these trying times, it is more important than ever that we remain strong and united. We must continue our efforts towards finding a cure and ensuring the safety and well-being of our community. I want to extend my heartfelt gratitude to all the human citizens of Dawnhaven for your acceptance and support of the blight-born. Your contributions, remarkable generosity, and willingness to embrace them have played a crucial role in our city’s progress. I firmly believe that the blight-born, despite their circumstances, deserve a second chance at life. They have greatly contributed to our city, and their resilience exemplifies the spirit we all share. Our mission to return them to civilization and stop the blight is a testament to our collective strength and compassion.” Flynn paused for a few heartbeats, his eyes finding his blight-born advisor who had been invaluable during this time.
“Let us remember that while we may come from different kingdoms, our shared determination and strength will guide us through these dark times.” As Flynn reached the final words of his speech, he allowed a brief silence to settle over the crowd. “Together, we will weather this storm as one.”
Taking a steadying breath, he turned to leave, his gaze naturally seeking out Amaya. Between them, the snowflakes fell faster, their gentle descent gathering upon the dirt and gravel roads below. Closing the distance between them, Flynn extended his hand toward her. His emerald eyes locked with hers, a silent, hesitant plea reflected there, as if asking for her permission to hold her hand once more. His fingers lightly brushed hers, seeking the delicate touch of her hand in his so that they might leave the stage as one.
The cold breeze tugged at his cloak, the temperature notably beginning to drop, but Flynn’s focus remained on Amaya, waiting to see if she would allow another moment of connection despite her vulnerable state.
Amaya took a slow breath in, still looking straight ahead. Then she answered his silent request, placing her hand in his. It was a careful motion, more performance than connection. Amaya knew her role here, before the eyes of Dawnhaven. She couldn’t afford to open herself up right now - not somewhere so public, after such a monumental revelation.
Not when her control was hanging by a thread.
And so, sealing herself away, Amaya allowed her husband to lead her by the hand, off of the stage. The warmth was familiar this time. So was the snow, as it coated Dawnhaven.
Flynn felt a wave of relief wash over him as Amaya's hand gently slipped into his. The simple act of her accepting his touch was a quiet victory, a reassurance amid the crowd’s scrutiny. Despite their vast differences, at least they could agree to appear as a united front among the people of Dawnhaven.
With her hand securely in his, Flynn guided her off the stage. The crisp, winter wind grew stronger, sending flurries of snow swirling around them as they descended the steps. The guards, ever vigilant, fell into formation behind them, their presence a formal shield against the encroaching cold and any potential threats.
The couple moved in silence, their path illuminated by the dim glow of lanterns as they made their way back toward their cabin. The wind whipped through the trees, its mournful howl an omen for what was to come.
Collaboration with @c3p-0h
2x Like
2x Thank
2x Thank
