The celebration in the courtyard never truly begins.
Sunstone is tense. Watchful.
You follow Maddie up the tower steps in silence.
The moment the door closes behind you, the strength she wore at the gates slips.
Not entirely. But enough.
She exhales shakily, pressing her palms against the wooden table.
You’ve never seen her like this.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” you say softly.
She laughs once — breathless. “It was already done.”
“You could’ve negotiated.”
“I did.”
“With a declaration of near-war?”
She turns to face you. “If that’s what it takes.”
The golden light of sunset spills through the window, catching in her hair.
You step closer. “Maddie,” you murmur, voice gentler now. “They’ll come back.”
“I know.”
“They might not come with banners next time.”
Her jaw tightens. “I know.”
You swallow. “You shouldn’t risk your kingdom for me.”
Her eyes flash — not angry. Certain. “You are not a risk.”
You shake your head slightly. “You don’t owe me that.”
She steps toward you. Closes the distance.
“I am not doing this because I owe you.”
Silence settles between you — softer than before.
“I’m doing it,” she continues quietly, “because when they called you property, I wanted to tear down the gates myself.”
Your breath catches.
She looks at you like you’re something fragile and fierce at the same time.
“No one,” she says firmly, “will decide your life without you. Not while I stand.”
Your composure wavers. “You could lose everything,” you whisper.
She shakes her head. “I won’t lose you.”
The certainty in her voice steals the air from your lungs. You step closer until there’s barely space between you.
“Why?” you ask softly.
Her hand lifts — slow enough for you to pull away if you wanted.
You don’t. Her fingers brush your cheek. Warm. Steady.
“Because you chose us,” she says. “And I choose you.”
Not political. Not strategic. Choice.
Your hand finds her wrist gently, grounding.
“Maddie,” you breathe.
Her thumb traces lightly along your jaw.
“If you want to leave,” she whispers, “if you ever decide this is too much, I will not stop you.”
Your heart swells painfully. “And if I don’t?”
Her gaze drops briefly to your lips — then back to your eyes.
“Then stay.”
It’s not a command. It’s a plea wrapped in confidence.
You lean in first. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just sure.
Your lips brush hers softly — warm and steady and certain.
She stills for half a heartbeat— Then kisses you back.
Gentle. Intentional.
Her hand slides to your waist, grounding you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go.
It isn’t fiery. It isn’t reckless. It’s reassurance.
When you pull back, your foreheads rest together.
Outside, the last lanterns flicker against the darkening sky.
“They’ll say I manipulated you,” you murmur.
“They can say what they want.”
“They’ll say I’m a liability.”
“You’re not.”
You breathe her in.
“And if Frostholt declares war?”
Her answer is quiet.
“Then they’ll learn I’m not the girl in the tower anymore.”
You smile faintly.
“Neither am I.”
Her thumb brushes your cheek again.
“Stay,” she whispers.
This time, you don’t hesitate.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
And this kiss?
It isn’t escape. It’s a promise.