Page 170 of A Sunwoven Ascent

He would not say it. Would not push her.

Not when, at last, she was letting him close.

“We could not be more different,” she breathed, her fingers roaming over the keys. “And yet I find myself drawn to you more with each passing day.”

Holden went still, and before he could stop himself, the thought slipped free.

Fuck, you are so beautiful.

Aurelia turned to him in an instant, her wide eyes searching his face.

“What?” he asked, confusion catching in his chest. “You heard that?”

She did not pull away. Did not panic. Instead, a shy smile touched her lips, and after a few long, quiet seconds, her voice brushed against his mind in return.

You are quite handsome yourself.

Then she returned to the piano as though nothing extraordinary had happened.

Holden sat there, stunned, before letting out a long exhale. He would do it. All of it. Every ridiculous part of this life. He would sip tea with her every morning if she asked. He would sit through endless songs, learn every note she played, brush her hair until she fell asleep. He would stand in crowded ballrooms and pretend to be a lord of whatever damned place she needed him to be.

None of it mattered, so long as she chose him.

Because he had already chosen her.

And there was no going back.

***

The festival was over. They had made it through, though Alaric would carry the proof of it for the rest of his life. New scars marked his body now, reminders of the battle, of the guards who had fought beside him and fallen. The thought pained him, but they had fought with honor in Lord Aron Duskwood’s name. They had fought for his children. For the land. For the chance that others might live to see another morning.

And somehow, Alaric had survived.

Call it luck or training. He did not care. He was alive, and that meant he could see Heidara’s face every day. He would have followed her like a dog across the world if she asked, and she knew it, though she had never once demanded it of him.

He was ready to step away from noble life, though not entirely. He would manage his family’s trade business, oversee the routes, maintain the Stonebridge connection to the Duskwoods and Lord Cillian. But he no longer needed marble halls, endless tea, or wealth wrapped around him like a blanket. He enjoyed those comforts from time to time, but they were not where he belonged. He had found his true calling in the land itself.

He understood his mother better now. Understood why she had loved being outside, tending her enormous garden while his father never once complained as she planted more and more. He had allowed her that piece of herself because he knew it mattered. Because some parts of a person were not meant to be pruned back for the sake of propriety.

But Alaric was not meant for gardens alone. He was meant for trails, forests, mountains, and rivers. Meant to guide, to travel, to feel the ground and stone beneath his feet and understand what others could not. He could help the packs when they needed him and still serve his family in his own way. A different way. A freer one.

He watched as Heidara packed her dagger belt, sliding her two favorites into place. The one on her right had seen the most use, its bone handle worn smooth from her grip, though it remained the blade she sharpened most carefully. The one on her left was kept for necessity, which, with Heidara, meant something swift and unpleasant for anyone foolish enough to threaten her.

She glanced up and caught him smiling.

“What is it?” she asked, tilting her head.

He crossed to her, unable to help himself. “You are unbelievably perfect.”

A soft hum left her as she strolled toward him.

Alaric caught her by the hips and pulled her into a kiss, slow and certain and full of everything he still did not know how to say.

She drew back, her mouth brushing his. “Are you ready for our next adventure?”

He smiled against her lips.

“Always.”