You feared three things in life—death, heights, and falling in love. The first was inevitable. The second, illogical. And the third… the most dangerous. Love had wrecked you before—lords and ladies with bright smiles and colder hearts. If your heart were a vase, it would be hairline-cracked and uneven, repaired too many times, barely holding shape.

But somehow, all three fears had met you here.

Thousands of feet above the earth, clinging far too tightly to her waist—your friend, your queen. The wind whipped past your ears as her dragon carved lazy circles through the sky, wings slicing the air with each beat. You hated being up this high. Hated the dizzying drop beneath your feet, the sense of weightlessness. But more than that, you hated how much you loved being this close to her.

Her warmth seeped through the leather of her riding gear, into your arms, your ribs. You breathed her in without meaning to. You were afraid to speak, afraid your voice would tremble. She had no idea, or maybe she did. Gods, maybe she knew everything.

You had followed her since you were twelve—small, awkward, loyal to a fault. A girl from a minor house, nothing exceptional except for your nearness. And still, she let you stay. She let you ride with her. She let you touch her like this.

And she had let you come today.

A soft, breathy laugh left her lips as you gave a startled yelp at the dragon’s sudden dip. You felt her body shake faintly with amusement beneath your arms. “You’re always so tense,” she said, her voice barely raised over the wind. “I wouldn’t have brought you if I thought you’d fall.”

She didn’t turn. She didn’t look back at you. Her words were gentle, measured. Practiced.

“I know,” you murmured, though your voice was swallowed by the sky.

You pressed your forehead lightly against her spine, hiding your shame. How pathetic you must seem—clinging like a child to the only goddess you had ever believed in. She belonged to the realm. To duty. To Harwin. You were just a shadow that had never quite let go.

She exhaled softly. You weren’t sure if it was a sigh or a breath meant to steady herself.

“Look,” she said after a pause, voice quieter now. “The clouds. The sky’s clear today. You can see all the way to the river.”

You didn’t lift your head.

If you looked up, you knew the only thing you would see was her. And that would be your undoing.

She hesitated then. Just long enough to notice. Her head tilted slightly, strands of silver hair brushing your cheek as she turned—only partially.

“Please,” she said, and there was something more in it now. A softness edged in ache. “Just once. Look.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. She didn’t press. Didn’t reach back. She just waited.

And gods help you, you looked.

The sky was vast and endless, yes. The wind sharp, the city glittering like a toy kingdom far below. But none of it mattered. All you saw—had ever seen—was her.

And for one terrible, aching moment, you thought she might see you too.