(Four days before the wedding.)

You’ve tried to run again.

He knows because your boots are still muddy.

Simon doesn’t say anything at first.

He just watches you pace across your chambers like a caged storm, hair tangled from wind, green dress wrinkled from climbing somewhere you absolutely should not have been climbing.

“You cannot lock me into this!” you snap, though he hasn’t spoken.

“I didn’t,” he says quietly.

“You didn’t stop them either!”

That one lands. He straightens slightly, but he doesn’t rise to the anger. He never does.

You’re shaking — not from fear. From fury. From feeling powerless.

“I am not some treaty,” you continue. “I’m not parchment to be signed and sealed.”

Simon steps closer, but not too close. He knows when you need space.

“You’re not,” he agrees.

“Then why does it feel like I am?” Your voice cracks — just barely. That’s what gets him. Not the yelling. Not the threats to refuse at the altar. The crack.

He’s seen you furious before. Seen you reckless. Seen you bleed and laugh and charge into forests without a second thought.

But this? This is you feeling trapped. And that is the one thing he cannot stand.

“You think I don’t know what this is doing to you?” he says softly.

You turn on him instantly. “Then fix it!”

He wishes he could. Gods, he wishes he could. “I cannot undo the arrangement,” he admits. “But I can stand beside you in it.”

“I don’t want you beside me. I want out.”

He exhales slowly.

You look so young when you’re this upset. Not a princess. Not a warrior. Just his little sister who used to climb too high in trees and refuse help getting down.

“You’re not alone in this,” he says again.

“I don’t need anyone!”

“That’s not true.”

You glare at him — hurt more than angry now.

“You don’t even know her,” you push. “You don’t know what she’ll turn into once I’m trapped there.”

Simon’s jaw tightens slightly.

“I have watched her,” he says evenly.

That makes you pause. “And?”

“And she has not once spoken of you as property.”

You falter — just for a second.

“She watches you the way a general watches a battlefield,” he continues. “Not to conquer it. To understand it.”

You scoff, but it’s weaker. “She’s calm,” you mutter bitterly. “I hate that.”

“I know.”

“You like her.”

“I respect her.”

Your eyes flash. “Traitor.”

That almost makes him smile. Almost.

“I will never side against you,” he says firmly.

And that part is absolute. You stop pacing.

Silence stretches between you. Then quieter: “I don’t want to wake up somewhere I don’t belong.”

He steps closer this time — close enough that if you wanted to lean into him, you could.

“You will not belong to a place,” he says gently. “You will make it yours.”

You shake your head.

“What if I can’t?”

Simon’s voice lowers.

“You have run fifty-two times in three months.”

You blink. “You’ve been counting too?”

“Yes.”

A beat.

“You are not someone who disappears quietly,” he continues. “You are not someone who becomes small. If Silverwyn cannot handle you, Silverwyn will change.”

You look at him like you want to believe that.

Like you’re terrified to.

“And if I refuse?” you whisper.

He doesn’t hesitate.

“Then I will stand behind you when you do.”

No politics. No hesitation.

Just loyalty.

You swallow hard.

“I hate this,” you murmur.

“I know.”

“I hate feeling powerless.”

“I know.”

You finally stop moving.

And for the first time tonight, you look tired instead of furious.

Simon gently rests a hand on your shoulder — steady, grounding.

“I cannot choose for you,” he says. “But whatever you decide — I will not let you face it alone.”

Outside, the wind howls against Embermere’s cliffs.

Inside, you’re still shaking.

But you’re not shaking by yourself.