The roads are too wet to travel, forcing us to stay at Ravenspire for another day. I spend it locked in my room, replaying my aunt's words until they embed themselves beneath my skin, unshakable.

  When we finally leave, there is only silence. The kind that stretches between people with too much to say and no idea where to begin.

  Days pass this way. The King's Blade barely speaks. I barely look at him. Finn tries, at first, to fill the quiet with idle chatter when we set up camp on the third night, but even he gives up eventually.

  Doubt takes root inside me. Ugly and deep.

  'A child playing princess while the world sharpens its teeth.'

  I'm not ready--not prepared--for this.

  My hands curl into fists as I sit before the fire, the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me, making me feel smaller, more fragile than I want to admit.

  I barely notice Rael move closer until something lands in my lap.

  Books. Two of them.

  I blink down at them, then up at him. He settles beside me, arms draped over his knees, his face shadowy in the firelight.

  I lift the first book, turning it over in my hands. Varethia: A Historical Account.

  "Where did you get this?"

  "Ravenspire has a large library." I open my mouth to reply but he cuts in before I can accuse him of theft. "It was gathering dust. Doubt anyone will miss it."

  I stare at the cover, pulse thrumming. "Why?"

  His gaze meets mine, steady. "You should know what you're walking into."

  'He is one of them. Not your friend, not your ally.'

  My fingers tighten around the book's edges. "Why do you care?"

  Rael sighs. "It's dangerous how little you know."

  A pit forms in my stomach.

  He leans back, his eyes catching the firelight. "Your aunt has a sharp tongue."

  Heat creeps up my neck, pooling in my cheeks.

  "Demons have great hearing," he says, as if that explains everything.

  "So you were eavesdropping."

  His mouth twitches. "Not intentionally."

  I frown, staring at the fire. "It doesn't matter, anyway. She was dru--"

  "I misjudged you." He murmurs.

  I blink.

  "You sat there and let her rip you apart," he continues, his tone even. "Didn't scream, didn't cry... I thought you were fragile." His gaze dances over me, assessing, like he's seeing something new. "I might've been wrong."

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  My heart sputters. "I couldn't even defend myself," I grumble, frustration curling around the words.

  Rael studies me for a long moment before speaking. "Her words were meant to shatter you... but you didn't break."

  I swallow, uncertain what to do with that. It doesn't feel like strength. It feels like failure. But as I meet his eyes, there's something there I don't expect—almost like approval.

  I tear my eyes away to observe the second book. It's smaller than the first, pocket-sized, its edges worn soft. My fingers trace the cover, slow and deliberate.

  The Last Starlit King.

  "And this one?" I ask, my voice softer than I mean for it to be.

  I can feel his gaze on me, but I refuse to meet it as he leans back against a tree, "It was my favorite as a child." He mutters the words as though they are some sacred secret.

  I look at him in surprise. He isn't watching me anymore, his gaze distant, fixed somewhere beyond the fire. "I didn't steal that one," he says after a pause.

  I force my attention back to the book, pretending I don't notice the way the space between us feels impossibly small. I turn the book over carefully, the leather is worn, the gold lettering faded, as if it has been held a thousand times before. "Your favorite?"

  His mouth curls at the edges, a trace of humor in his voice. "I was once a child too, princess."

  Suddenly, I am a child again, hiding behind a pillar in the throne room, too small to understand, too afraid to look away. A guard stands before my father, shaking with rage, his blade unsheathed.

  Steel flashes. A single strike. Silence.

  Later, in my mother's arms, I sob into her silken sleeves. "Why would he try to hurt Father?" My voice is small, trembling.

  She brushes damp strands of hair from my face. "Hurt people hurt others, my love. Some strike out in desperation. Some in hatred. And some—" her fingers curl against my back "—because they know nothing else."

  She presses a kiss to my temple, her voice soft. "Weapons are not born, my sweet, they are made—forged by the hands that should have held them more gently."

  Now, staring at the royal guard's favorite book in my lap, I wonder who he might have been before he was honed to a point.

  "What's it about?" I ask quietly, pushing away the thought.

  "A ruler abandoned by the gods" he starts, tilting his head back slightly, "doomed to watch his kingdom crumble and the stars fade one by one."

  I trace my fingers over the worn spine, feeling the weight of his words. "Sounds tragic."

  Rael shrugs. "Depends on how you look at it."

  I study him for a long moment. Then, softer, "Why give it to me?"

  He turns back to me, crimson eyes gleaming. "Maybe so you'll stop bombarding me with questions. Or maybe," his voice dips lower, "because you might learn something from it."

  A beat of silence stretches between us.

  "Think of it as a peace offering."

  The memory of our argument echoes through my mind. "I—" I pause, forcing myself to look at him. "I'm sorry. For everything I said before."

  He holds my gaze for a long moment before shaking his head. "No need."

  My brows knit, but he focuses on the fire, his expression calm. "You weren't wrong."

  The tightness in my chest loosens, just a little.

  I run my fingers absently over the cover as his eyes flit back to me. He observes me. Not with judgment, nor pity. Just watching. "Thank you," I whisper.

  "I do want that one back when you're finished." A ghost of a smile curves his lips.

  Warmth blooms in my chest as I let out a breath of laughter. "I'll try not to ruin it, then."

  "For your sake, I'd hope not," he says, stretching out a leg, the golden flames casting sharp shadows over his features. "That book's older than you."

  "Hm," my curiosity spikes, "how old are you?"

  He scoffs. "Let's just say if I counted my age in human years, you'd be dust by now."

  I frown. "And how old is your King?"

  His brow lifts, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Afraid he'll be too ancient to dance at your wedding?"

  My frown deepens. "That's not an answer."

  Ruby eyes glint sharply. "Then maybe you should stop asking questions you don't truly want the answers to."

  A shiver crawls down my spine, but I don't look away. "I'd rather know the truth than stay blind."

  He tilts his head, studying me. Then, he smirks. "Good. That history book will be a start, then."

  I gesture to the smaller novel. "And this one?"

  "A distraction."

  There's something almost fond in the way he says it, but it's gone before I can be sure.

  I run my fingers over the faded title again, staring down at the pages, and for the first time in days, I don't feel entirely alone.