Chapter 2 2

IRIS

Dinner feels like a blur before it even begins. The house still smells the same, like dried herbs, old wood, and lavender polish. But everything else? Different. Sharper. Heavier.

Darian walks just behind me, his steps hesitant. I can feel the tension in him without even looking. The same man who faced down guards and defied a king for me now looks completely out of place in my grandmother’s dining room. He hasn’t glanced once at my grandfather since they entered the house, and the feeling seems mutual.

We all sit.

Nana at the head of the table, Grandfather at the other. I take the middle seat on one side, and Darian lowers himself beside me. His movements are measured, too careful, like he’s trying not to break something already cracked.

“Eat,” Nana says gently, passing around a tray of roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables. “No one can think properly on an empty stomach.”

“I appreciate the food,” Darian says, voice low, “but I won’t stay long.”

I frown. “You should eat.”

He gives me a small look, part apology, part distance, like he's preparing to disappear.

He reaches for a glass of water, and I watch his hand, steady, precise even as everything inside him clearly isn't. Grandfather hasn’t said a word, just cuts into his food without ever raising his head.

Nana, ever the warm one, keeps trying to fill the silence with talk of her garden, the crops, the weather. It works, sort of. But Darian barely responds, and every so often I catch his eyes flicking across the table toward the man who’s been hunted for years by his family.

I reach under the table and touch his hand. Lightly. Just enough to ground him.

He glances at me, startled. I don’t say anything, just hold his gaze.

He’s doing this for me.

Every part of him, the stiffness, the restraint, the lack of appetite,  is a silent scream of what it’s costing him to be here. To leave me in the care of a man he’s sworn to destroy. And still, he’s here.

Still, he’s staying.

I squeeze his hand gently.

He squeezes back.

Nana clears her throat after a while. “So, Darian,” she says casually, “you’ll be checking in on Iris often?”

“If that’s alright with you,” he replies, his voice more confident this time. “I’d like to. I’ll keep my distance if I need to. But I need to know she’s safe.”

“I’ll look after her,” she says. “But it’d be cruel to keep a young girl from the only person she trusts right now.”

My heart clenches. I drop my eyes to the plate.

Then Nana says, “You’ll stay the night?”

He straightens. “I can’t. I should go. I’ve already-”

“You’re not leaving without dessert,” she interrupts firmly, standing up. “I made blueberry pie.”

He laughs softly. “You’re very persuasive.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice with stubborn men,” she mutters, shooting a look at Grandfather.

That earns a snort from him, the first sound he’s made all dinner. Still, he doesn’t speak.

Eventually, after the pie is passed around and silence settles again, Darian clears his throat. “I should go now.”

The words feel like a bucket of cold water. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth.

He pushes back his chair, rises. I follow quickly.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, already at his side.

We stop just beyond the porch, under the low hum of the flickering light, the darkness swallowing the edges of the woods. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, arms folded, eyes locked on a fixed point somewhere far beyond my grandfather’s fence.

I cross my arms, not from the cold, but because I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know what to do with any part of myself right now.

“You don’t trust him,” I say quietly.

He finally looks at me. “Would you?”

My shoulders sag. “He’s my family.”

His jaw tightens. “He destroyed mine.”

Silence again. The kind that scrapes the inside of your ribs.

Then, softer this time, he adds, “But I’ll respect your choice, Iris. That’s the thing about this, whatever this is between us. It doesn’t come with control. I just want you safe.”

My breath catches. Because in that moment, his eyes soften. There’s no anger in them. Just something raw. Something achingly tender.

“You’ve done enough for me,” I whisper. “You’ve risked everything-”

“I’d do it again,” he cuts in. “Without hesitation.”

I blink fast. The tears don’t fall, but they sting. He notices. Of course, he does. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. His touch is light, but the weight of it settles deep.

“I’m not used to this,” he says, voice rough. “Letting someone go when every part of me wants to stay.”

I smile, small. “So don’t.”

His laugh is hollow. “You know I can’t.”

“I know,” I whisper, stepping closer. “That’s the worst part.”

His hand lingers by my jaw now, fingers resting just under my chin. He tilts my head slightly, his eyes scanning mine like he’s memorizing everything. My lashes. My freckles. My sadness.

“Tell me you’ll be okay,” he says.

I try to nod, but my voice cracks instead. “Only if you come back.”

That’s what does it.

He pulls me in.

The kiss starts like a sigh. Gentle. Cautious. Like he’s trying not to shatter something. His lips brush mine once, twice, testing, waiting for permission. I give it by leaning in, closing the distance, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

And then it deepens.

It’s no longer soft. No longer slow. It’s all of the things we haven’t said. All of the tension. All of the longing from every stolen glance. It’s wild and warm and desperate.

His arms wrap fully around my waist, anchoring me to him, lifting me slightly as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

I feel his heartbeat against mine.

I feel every inch of him.  His strength, his restraint, and the breaking point he’s skimming.

My hands go to his neck, fingers threading into his hair as I pull him impossibly closer. His mouth parts against mine, urgent, searching, and I swear the earth tilts. For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the prophecy. Not the crown. Not the danger.

Just this. Just him. Just now.

He pulls away first. Barely.

Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the cold.

His voice is low. Wrecked.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes like the words hurt. “If I stay, I’ll ruin everything.”

I shake my head slowly. “You already ruined everything, Darian.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And then he kisses me again, shorter, but just as heavy. Just as full of everything we’re not saying.

When he pulls back this time, it’s final.

“I’ll come back,” he says. “No matter what it takes.”

I nod, barely holding myself together. “I’ll wait.”

He takes one last look at me, before he turns and walks to the car. He doesn’t look back.

I stay there long after the engine fades, the porch light still humming above me, my lips still tingling with goodbye.

IRIS

Dinner feels like a blur before it even begins. The house still smells the same, like dried herbs, old wood, and lavender polish. But everything else? Different. Sharper. Heavier.

Darian walks just behind me, his steps hesitant. I can feel the tension in him without even looking. The same man who faced down guards and defied a king for me now looks completely out of place in my grandmother’s dining room. He hasn’t glanced once at my grandfather since they entered the house, and the feeling seems mutual.

We all sit.

Nana at the head of the table, Grandfather at the other. I take the middle seat on one side, and Darian lowers himself beside me. His movements are measured, too careful, like he’s trying not to break something already cracked.

“Eat,” Nana says gently, passing around a tray of roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables. “No one can think properly on an empty stomach.”

“I appreciate the food,” Darian says, voice low, “but I won’t stay long.”

I frown. “You should eat.”

He gives me a small look, part apology, part distance, like he's preparing to disappear.

He reaches for a glass of water, and I watch his hand, steady, precise even as everything inside him clearly isn't. Grandfather hasn’t said a word, just cuts into his food without ever raising his head.

Nana, ever the warm one, keeps trying to fill the silence with talk of her garden, the crops, the weather. It works, sort of. But Darian barely responds, and every so often I catch his eyes flicking across the table toward the man who’s been hunted for years by his family.

I reach under the table and touch his hand. Lightly. Just enough to ground him.

He glances at me, startled. I don’t say anything, just hold his gaze.

He’s doing this for me.

Every part of him, the stiffness, the restraint, the lack of appetite,  is a silent scream of what it’s costing him to be here. To leave me in the care of a man he’s sworn to destroy. And still, he’s here.

Still, he’s staying.

I squeeze his hand gently.

He squeezes back.

Nana clears her throat after a while. “So, Darian,” she says casually, “you’ll be checking in on Iris often?”

“If that’s alright with you,” he replies, his voice more confident this time. “I’d like to. I’ll keep my distance if I need to. But I need to know she’s safe.”

“I’ll look after her,” she says. “But it’d be cruel to keep a young girl from the only person she trusts right now.”

My heart clenches. I drop my eyes to the plate.

Then Nana says, “You’ll stay the night?”

He straightens. “I can’t. I should go. I’ve already-”

“You’re not leaving without dessert,” she interrupts firmly, standing up. “I made blueberry pie.”

He laughs softly. “You’re very persuasive.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice with stubborn men,” she mutters, shooting a look at Grandfather.

That earns a snort from him, the first sound he’s made all dinner. Still, he doesn’t speak.

Eventually, after the pie is passed around and silence settles again, Darian clears his throat. “I should go now.”

The words feel like a bucket of cold water. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth.

He pushes back his chair, rises. I follow quickly.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, already at his side.

We stop just beyond the porch, under the low hum of the flickering light, the darkness swallowing the edges of the woods. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, arms folded, eyes locked on a fixed point somewhere far beyond my grandfather’s fence.

I cross my arms, not from the cold, but because I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know what to do with any part of myself right now.

“You don’t trust him,” I say quietly.

He finally looks at me. “Would you?”

My shoulders sag. “He’s my family.”

His jaw tightens. “He destroyed mine.”

Silence again. The kind that scrapes the inside of your ribs.

Then, softer this time, he adds, “But I’ll respect your choice, Iris. That’s the thing about this, whatever this is between us. It doesn’t come with control. I just want you safe.”

My breath catches. Because in that moment, his eyes soften. There’s no anger in them. Just something raw. Something achingly tender.

“You’ve done enough for me,” I whisper. “You’ve risked everything-”

“I’d do it again,” he cuts in. “Without hesitation.”

I blink fast. The tears don’t fall, but they sting. He notices. Of course, he does. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. His touch is light, but the weight of it settles deep.

“I’m not used to this,” he says, voice rough. “Letting someone go when every part of me wants to stay.”

I smile, small. “So don’t.”

His laugh is hollow. “You know I can’t.”

“I know,” I whisper, stepping closer. “That’s the worst part.”

His hand lingers by my jaw now, fingers resting just under my chin. He tilts my head slightly, his eyes scanning mine like he’s memorizing everything. My lashes. My freckles. My sadness.

“Tell me you’ll be okay,” he says.

I try to nod, but my voice cracks instead. “Only if you come back.”

That’s what does it.

He pulls me in.

The kiss starts like a sigh. Gentle. Cautious. Like he’s trying not to shatter something. His lips brush mine once, twice, testing, waiting for permission. I give it by leaning in, closing the distance, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

And then it deepens.

It’s no longer soft. No longer slow. It’s all of the things we haven’t said. All of the tension. All of the longing from every stolen glance. It’s wild and warm and desperate.

His arms wrap fully around my waist, anchoring me to him, lifting me slightly as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

I feel his heartbeat against mine.

I feel every inch of him.  His strength, his restraint, and the breaking point he’s skimming.

My hands go to his neck, fingers threading into his hair as I pull him impossibly closer. His mouth parts against mine, urgent, searching, and I swear the earth tilts. For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the prophecy. Not the crown. Not the danger.

Just this. Just him. Just now.

He pulls away first. Barely.

Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the cold.

His voice is low. Wrecked.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes like the words hurt. “If I stay, I’ll ruin everything.”

I shake my head slowly. “You already ruined everything, Darian.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And then he kisses me again, shorter, but just as heavy. Just as full of everything we’re not saying.

When he pulls back this time, it’s final.

“I’ll come back,” he says. “No matter what it takes.”

I nod, barely holding myself together. “I’ll wait.”

He takes one last look at me, before he turns and walks to the car. He doesn’t look back.

I stay there long after the engine fades, the porch light still humming above me, my lips still tingling with goodbye.

IRIS

Dinner feels like a blur before it even begins. The house still smells the same, like dried herbs, old wood, and lavender polish. But everything else? Different. Sharper. Heavier.

Darian walks just behind me, his steps hesitant. I can feel the tension in him without even looking. The same man who faced down guards and defied a king for me now looks completely out of place in my grandmother’s dining room. He hasn’t glanced once at my grandfather since they entered the house, and the feeling seems mutual.

We all sit.

Nana at the head of the table, Grandfather at the other. I take the middle seat on one side, and Darian lowers himself beside me. His movements are measured, too careful, like he’s trying not to break something already cracked.

“Eat,” Nana says gently, passing around a tray of roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables. “No one can think properly on an empty stomach.”

“I appreciate the food,” Darian says, voice low, “but I won’t stay long.”

I frown. “You should eat.”

He gives me a small look, part apology, part distance, like he's preparing to disappear.

He reaches for a glass of water, and I watch his hand, steady, precise even as everything inside him clearly isn't. Grandfather hasn’t said a word, just cuts into his food without ever raising his head.

Nana, ever the warm one, keeps trying to fill the silence with talk of her garden, the crops, the weather. It works, sort of. But Darian barely responds, and every so often I catch his eyes flicking across the table toward the man who’s been hunted for years by his family.

I reach under the table and touch his hand. Lightly. Just enough to ground him.

He glances at me, startled. I don’t say anything, just hold his gaze.

He’s doing this for me.

Every part of him, the stiffness, the restraint, the lack of appetite,  is a silent scream of what it’s costing him to be here. To leave me in the care of a man he’s sworn to destroy. And still, he’s here.

Still, he’s staying.

I squeeze his hand gently.

He squeezes back.

Nana clears her throat after a while. “So, Darian,” she says casually, “you’ll be checking in on Iris often?”

“If that’s alright with you,” he replies, his voice more confident this time. “I’d like to. I’ll keep my distance if I need to. But I need to know she’s safe.”

“I’ll look after her,” she says. “But it’d be cruel to keep a young girl from the only person she trusts right now.”

My heart clenches. I drop my eyes to the plate.

Then Nana says, “You’ll stay the night?”

He straightens. “I can’t. I should go. I’ve already-”

“You’re not leaving without dessert,” she interrupts firmly, standing up. “I made blueberry pie.”

He laughs softly. “You’re very persuasive.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice with stubborn men,” she mutters, shooting a look at Grandfather.

That earns a snort from him, the first sound he’s made all dinner. Still, he doesn’t speak.

Eventually, after the pie is passed around and silence settles again, Darian clears his throat. “I should go now.”

The words feel like a bucket of cold water. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth.

He pushes back his chair, rises. I follow quickly.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, already at his side.

We stop just beyond the porch, under the low hum of the flickering light, the darkness swallowing the edges of the woods. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, arms folded, eyes locked on a fixed point somewhere far beyond my grandfather’s fence.

I cross my arms, not from the cold, but because I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know what to do with any part of myself right now.

“You don’t trust him,” I say quietly.

He finally looks at me. “Would you?”

My shoulders sag. “He’s my family.”

His jaw tightens. “He destroyed mine.”

Silence again. The kind that scrapes the inside of your ribs.

Then, softer this time, he adds, “But I’ll respect your choice, Iris. That’s the thing about this, whatever this is between us. It doesn’t come with control. I just want you safe.”

My breath catches. Because in that moment, his eyes soften. There’s no anger in them. Just something raw. Something achingly tender.

“You’ve done enough for me,” I whisper. “You’ve risked everything-”

“I’d do it again,” he cuts in. “Without hesitation.”

I blink fast. The tears don’t fall, but they sting. He notices. Of course, he does. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. His touch is light, but the weight of it settles deep.

“I’m not used to this,” he says, voice rough. “Letting someone go when every part of me wants to stay.”

I smile, small. “So don’t.”

His laugh is hollow. “You know I can’t.”

“I know,” I whisper, stepping closer. “That’s the worst part.”

His hand lingers by my jaw now, fingers resting just under my chin. He tilts my head slightly, his eyes scanning mine like he’s memorizing everything. My lashes. My freckles. My sadness.

“Tell me you’ll be okay,” he says.

I try to nod, but my voice cracks instead. “Only if you come back.”

That’s what does it.

He pulls me in.

The kiss starts like a sigh. Gentle. Cautious. Like he’s trying not to shatter something. His lips brush mine once, twice, testing, waiting for permission. I give it by leaning in, closing the distance, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

And then it deepens.

It’s no longer soft. No longer slow. It’s all of the things we haven’t said. All of the tension. All of the longing from every stolen glance. It’s wild and warm and desperate.

His arms wrap fully around my waist, anchoring me to him, lifting me slightly as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

I feel his heartbeat against mine.

I feel every inch of him.  His strength, his restraint, and the breaking point he’s skimming.

My hands go to his neck, fingers threading into his hair as I pull him impossibly closer. His mouth parts against mine, urgent, searching, and I swear the earth tilts. For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the prophecy. Not the crown. Not the danger.

Just this. Just him. Just now.

He pulls away first. Barely.

Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the cold.

His voice is low. Wrecked.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes like the words hurt. “If I stay, I’ll ruin everything.”

I shake my head slowly. “You already ruined everything, Darian.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And then he kisses me again, shorter, but just as heavy. Just as full of everything we’re not saying.

When he pulls back this time, it’s final.

“I’ll come back,” he says. “No matter what it takes.”

I nod, barely holding myself together. “I’ll wait.”

He takes one last look at me, before he turns and walks to the car. He doesn’t look back.

I stay there long after the engine fades, the porch light still humming above me, my lips still tingling with goodbye.

IRIS

Dinner feels like a blur before it even begins. The house still smells the same, like dried herbs, old wood, and lavender polish. But everything else? Different. Sharper. Heavier.

Darian walks just behind me, his steps hesitant. I can feel the tension in him without even looking. The same man who faced down guards and defied a king for me now looks completely out of place in my grandmother’s dining room. He hasn’t glanced once at my grandfather since they entered the house, and the feeling seems mutual.

We all sit.

Nana at the head of the table, Grandfather at the other. I take the middle seat on one side, and Darian lowers himself beside me. His movements are measured, too careful, like he’s trying not to break something already cracked.

“Eat,” Nana says gently, passing around a tray of roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables. “No one can think properly on an empty stomach.”

“I appreciate the food,” Darian says, voice low, “but I won’t stay long.”

I frown. “You should eat.”

He gives me a small look, part apology, part distance, like he's preparing to disappear.

He reaches for a glass of water, and I watch his hand, steady, precise even as everything inside him clearly isn't. Grandfather hasn’t said a word, just cuts into his food without ever raising his head.

Nana, ever the warm one, keeps trying to fill the silence with talk of her garden, the crops, the weather. It works, sort of. But Darian barely responds, and every so often I catch his eyes flicking across the table toward the man who’s been hunted for years by his family.

I reach under the table and touch his hand. Lightly. Just enough to ground him.

He glances at me, startled. I don’t say anything, just hold his gaze.

He’s doing this for me.

Every part of him, the stiffness, the restraint, the lack of appetite,  is a silent scream of what it’s costing him to be here. To leave me in the care of a man he’s sworn to destroy. And still, he’s here.

Still, he’s staying.

I squeeze his hand gently.

He squeezes back.

Nana clears her throat after a while. “So, Darian,” she says casually, “you’ll be checking in on Iris often?”

“If that’s alright with you,” he replies, his voice more confident this time. “I’d like to. I’ll keep my distance if I need to. But I need to know she’s safe.”

“I’ll look after her,” she says. “But it’d be cruel to keep a young girl from the only person she trusts right now.”

My heart clenches. I drop my eyes to the plate.

Then Nana says, “You’ll stay the night?”

He straightens. “I can’t. I should go. I’ve already-”

“You’re not leaving without dessert,” she interrupts firmly, standing up. “I made blueberry pie.”

He laughs softly. “You’re very persuasive.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice with stubborn men,” she mutters, shooting a look at Grandfather.

That earns a snort from him, the first sound he’s made all dinner. Still, he doesn’t speak.

Eventually, after the pie is passed around and silence settles again, Darian clears his throat. “I should go now.”

The words feel like a bucket of cold water. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth.

He pushes back his chair, rises. I follow quickly.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, already at his side.

We stop just beyond the porch, under the low hum of the flickering light, the darkness swallowing the edges of the woods. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, arms folded, eyes locked on a fixed point somewhere far beyond my grandfather’s fence.

I cross my arms, not from the cold, but because I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know what to do with any part of myself right now.

“You don’t trust him,” I say quietly.

He finally looks at me. “Would you?”

My shoulders sag. “He’s my family.”

His jaw tightens. “He destroyed mine.”

Silence again. The kind that scrapes the inside of your ribs.

Then, softer this time, he adds, “But I’ll respect your choice, Iris. That’s the thing about this, whatever this is between us. It doesn’t come with control. I just want you safe.”

My breath catches. Because in that moment, his eyes soften. There’s no anger in them. Just something raw. Something achingly tender.

“You’ve done enough for me,” I whisper. “You’ve risked everything-”

“I’d do it again,” he cuts in. “Without hesitation.”

I blink fast. The tears don’t fall, but they sting. He notices. Of course, he does. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. His touch is light, but the weight of it settles deep.

“I’m not used to this,” he says, voice rough. “Letting someone go when every part of me wants to stay.”

I smile, small. “So don’t.”

His laugh is hollow. “You know I can’t.”

“I know,” I whisper, stepping closer. “That’s the worst part.”

His hand lingers by my jaw now, fingers resting just under my chin. He tilts my head slightly, his eyes scanning mine like he’s memorizing everything. My lashes. My freckles. My sadness.

“Tell me you’ll be okay,” he says.

I try to nod, but my voice cracks instead. “Only if you come back.”

That’s what does it.

He pulls me in.

The kiss starts like a sigh. Gentle. Cautious. Like he’s trying not to shatter something. His lips brush mine once, twice, testing, waiting for permission. I give it by leaning in, closing the distance, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

And then it deepens.

It’s no longer soft. No longer slow. It’s all of the things we haven’t said. All of the tension. All of the longing from every stolen glance. It’s wild and warm and desperate.

His arms wrap fully around my waist, anchoring me to him, lifting me slightly as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

I feel his heartbeat against mine.

I feel every inch of him.  His strength, his restraint, and the breaking point he’s skimming.

My hands go to his neck, fingers threading into his hair as I pull him impossibly closer. His mouth parts against mine, urgent, searching, and I swear the earth tilts. For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the prophecy. Not the crown. Not the danger.

Just this. Just him. Just now.

He pulls away first. Barely.

Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the cold.

His voice is low. Wrecked.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes like the words hurt. “If I stay, I’ll ruin everything.”

I shake my head slowly. “You already ruined everything, Darian.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And then he kisses me again, shorter, but just as heavy. Just as full of everything we’re not saying.

When he pulls back this time, it’s final.

“I’ll come back,” he says. “No matter what it takes.”

I nod, barely holding myself together. “I’ll wait.”

He takes one last look at me, before he turns and walks to the car. He doesn’t look back.

I stay there long after the engine fades, the porch light still humming above me, my lips still tingling with goodbye.

IRIS

Dinner feels like a blur before it even begins. The house still smells the same, like dried herbs, old wood, and lavender polish. But everything else? Different. Sharper. Heavier.

Darian walks just behind me, his steps hesitant. I can feel the tension in him without even looking. The same man who faced down guards and defied a king for me now looks completely out of place in my grandmother’s dining room. He hasn’t glanced once at my grandfather since they entered the house, and the feeling seems mutual.

We all sit.

Nana at the head of the table, Grandfather at the other. I take the middle seat on one side, and Darian lowers himself beside me. His movements are measured, too careful, like he’s trying not to break something already cracked.

“Eat,” Nana says gently, passing around a tray of roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables. “No one can think properly on an empty stomach.”

“I appreciate the food,” Darian says, voice low, “but I won’t stay long.”

I frown. “You should eat.”

He gives me a small look, part apology, part distance, like he's preparing to disappear.

He reaches for a glass of water, and I watch his hand, steady, precise even as everything inside him clearly isn't. Grandfather hasn’t said a word, just cuts into his food without ever raising his head.

Nana, ever the warm one, keeps trying to fill the silence with talk of her garden, the crops, the weather. It works, sort of. But Darian barely responds, and every so often I catch his eyes flicking across the table toward the man who’s been hunted for years by his family.

I reach under the table and touch his hand. Lightly. Just enough to ground him.

He glances at me, startled. I don’t say anything, just hold his gaze.

He’s doing this for me.

Every part of him, the stiffness, the restraint, the lack of appetite,  is a silent scream of what it’s costing him to be here. To leave me in the care of a man he’s sworn to destroy. And still, he’s here.

Still, he’s staying.

I squeeze his hand gently.

He squeezes back.

Nana clears her throat after a while. “So, Darian,” she says casually, “you’ll be checking in on Iris often?”

“If that’s alright with you,” he replies, his voice more confident this time. “I’d like to. I’ll keep my distance if I need to. But I need to know she’s safe.”

“I’ll look after her,” she says. “But it’d be cruel to keep a young girl from the only person she trusts right now.”

My heart clenches. I drop my eyes to the plate.

Then Nana says, “You’ll stay the night?”

He straightens. “I can’t. I should go. I’ve already-”

“You’re not leaving without dessert,” she interrupts firmly, standing up. “I made blueberry pie.”

He laughs softly. “You’re very persuasive.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice with stubborn men,” she mutters, shooting a look at Grandfather.

That earns a snort from him, the first sound he’s made all dinner. Still, he doesn’t speak.

Eventually, after the pie is passed around and silence settles again, Darian clears his throat. “I should go now.”

The words feel like a bucket of cold water. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth.

He pushes back his chair, rises. I follow quickly.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, already at his side.

We stop just beyond the porch, under the low hum of the flickering light, the darkness swallowing the edges of the woods. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, arms folded, eyes locked on a fixed point somewhere far beyond my grandfather’s fence.

I cross my arms, not from the cold, but because I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know what to do with any part of myself right now.

“You don’t trust him,” I say quietly.

He finally looks at me. “Would you?”

My shoulders sag. “He’s my family.”

His jaw tightens. “He destroyed mine.”

Silence again. The kind that scrapes the inside of your ribs.

Then, softer this time, he adds, “But I’ll respect your choice, Iris. That’s the thing about this, whatever this is between us. It doesn’t come with control. I just want you safe.”

My breath catches. Because in that moment, his eyes soften. There’s no anger in them. Just something raw. Something achingly tender.

“You’ve done enough for me,” I whisper. “You’ve risked everything-”

“I’d do it again,” he cuts in. “Without hesitation.”

I blink fast. The tears don’t fall, but they sting. He notices. Of course, he does. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. His touch is light, but the weight of it settles deep.

“I’m not used to this,” he says, voice rough. “Letting someone go when every part of me wants to stay.”

I smile, small. “So don’t.”

His laugh is hollow. “You know I can’t.”

“I know,” I whisper, stepping closer. “That’s the worst part.”

His hand lingers by my jaw now, fingers resting just under my chin. He tilts my head slightly, his eyes scanning mine like he’s memorizing everything. My lashes. My freckles. My sadness.

“Tell me you’ll be okay,” he says.

I try to nod, but my voice cracks instead. “Only if you come back.”

That’s what does it.

He pulls me in.

The kiss starts like a sigh. Gentle. Cautious. Like he’s trying not to shatter something. His lips brush mine once, twice, testing, waiting for permission. I give it by leaning in, closing the distance, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

And then it deepens.

It’s no longer soft. No longer slow. It’s all of the things we haven’t said. All of the tension. All of the longing from every stolen glance. It’s wild and warm and desperate.

His arms wrap fully around my waist, anchoring me to him, lifting me slightly as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

I feel his heartbeat against mine.

I feel every inch of him.  His strength, his restraint, and the breaking point he’s skimming.

My hands go to his neck, fingers threading into his hair as I pull him impossibly closer. His mouth parts against mine, urgent, searching, and I swear the earth tilts. For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the prophecy. Not the crown. Not the danger.

Just this. Just him. Just now.

He pulls away first. Barely.

Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the cold.

His voice is low. Wrecked.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes like the words hurt. “If I stay, I’ll ruin everything.”

I shake my head slowly. “You already ruined everything, Darian.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And then he kisses me again, shorter, but just as heavy. Just as full of everything we’re not saying.

When he pulls back this time, it’s final.

“I’ll come back,” he says. “No matter what it takes.”

I nod, barely holding myself together. “I’ll wait.”

He takes one last look at me, before he turns and walks to the car. He doesn’t look back.

I stay there long after the engine fades, the porch light still humming above me, my lips still tingling with goodbye.

IRIS

Dinner feels like a blur before it even begins. The house still smells the same, like dried herbs, old wood, and lavender polish. But everything else? Different. Sharper. Heavier.

Darian walks just behind me, his steps hesitant. I can feel the tension in him without even looking. The same man who faced down guards and defied a king for me now looks completely out of place in my grandmother’s dining room. He hasn’t glanced once at my grandfather since they entered the house, and the feeling seems mutual.

We all sit.

Nana at the head of the table, Grandfather at the other. I take the middle seat on one side, and Darian lowers himself beside me. His movements are measured, too careful, like he’s trying not to break something already cracked.

“Eat,” Nana says gently, passing around a tray of roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables. “No one can think properly on an empty stomach.”

“I appreciate the food,” Darian says, voice low, “but I won’t stay long.”

I frown. “You should eat.”

He gives me a small look, part apology, part distance, like he's preparing to disappear.

He reaches for a glass of water, and I watch his hand, steady, precise even as everything inside him clearly isn't. Grandfather hasn’t said a word, just cuts into his food without ever raising his head.

Nana, ever the warm one, keeps trying to fill the silence with talk of her garden, the crops, the weather. It works, sort of. But Darian barely responds, and every so often I catch his eyes flicking across the table toward the man who’s been hunted for years by his family.

I reach under the table and touch his hand. Lightly. Just enough to ground him.

He glances at me, startled. I don’t say anything, just hold his gaze.

He’s doing this for me.

Every part of him, the stiffness, the restraint, the lack of appetite,  is a silent scream of what it’s costing him to be here. To leave me in the care of a man he’s sworn to destroy. And still, he’s here.

Still, he’s staying.

I squeeze his hand gently.

He squeezes back.

Nana clears her throat after a while. “So, Darian,” she says casually, “you’ll be checking in on Iris often?”

“If that’s alright with you,” he replies, his voice more confident this time. “I’d like to. I’ll keep my distance if I need to. But I need to know she’s safe.”

“I’ll look after her,” she says. “But it’d be cruel to keep a young girl from the only person she trusts right now.”

My heart clenches. I drop my eyes to the plate.

Then Nana says, “You’ll stay the night?”

He straightens. “I can’t. I should go. I’ve already-”

“You’re not leaving without dessert,” she interrupts firmly, standing up. “I made blueberry pie.”

He laughs softly. “You’re very persuasive.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice with stubborn men,” she mutters, shooting a look at Grandfather.

That earns a snort from him, the first sound he’s made all dinner. Still, he doesn’t speak.

Eventually, after the pie is passed around and silence settles again, Darian clears his throat. “I should go now.”

The words feel like a bucket of cold water. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth.

He pushes back his chair, rises. I follow quickly.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, already at his side.

We stop just beyond the porch, under the low hum of the flickering light, the darkness swallowing the edges of the woods. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, arms folded, eyes locked on a fixed point somewhere far beyond my grandfather’s fence.

I cross my arms, not from the cold, but because I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know what to do with any part of myself right now.

“You don’t trust him,” I say quietly.

He finally looks at me. “Would you?”

My shoulders sag. “He’s my family.”

His jaw tightens. “He destroyed mine.”

Silence again. The kind that scrapes the inside of your ribs.

Then, softer this time, he adds, “But I’ll respect your choice, Iris. That’s the thing about this, whatever this is between us. It doesn’t come with control. I just want you safe.”

My breath catches. Because in that moment, his eyes soften. There’s no anger in them. Just something raw. Something achingly tender.

“You’ve done enough for me,” I whisper. “You’ve risked everything-”

“I’d do it again,” he cuts in. “Without hesitation.”

I blink fast. The tears don’t fall, but they sting. He notices. Of course, he does. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. His touch is light, but the weight of it settles deep.

“I’m not used to this,” he says, voice rough. “Letting someone go when every part of me wants to stay.”

I smile, small. “So don’t.”

His laugh is hollow. “You know I can’t.”

“I know,” I whisper, stepping closer. “That’s the worst part.”

His hand lingers by my jaw now, fingers resting just under my chin. He tilts my head slightly, his eyes scanning mine like he’s memorizing everything. My lashes. My freckles. My sadness.

“Tell me you’ll be okay,” he says.

I try to nod, but my voice cracks instead. “Only if you come back.”

That’s what does it.

He pulls me in.

The kiss starts like a sigh. Gentle. Cautious. Like he’s trying not to shatter something. His lips brush mine once, twice, testing, waiting for permission. I give it by leaning in, closing the distance, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

And then it deepens.

It’s no longer soft. No longer slow. It’s all of the things we haven’t said. All of the tension. All of the longing from every stolen glance. It’s wild and warm and desperate.

His arms wrap fully around my waist, anchoring me to him, lifting me slightly as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

I feel his heartbeat against mine.

I feel every inch of him.  His strength, his restraint, and the breaking point he’s skimming.

My hands go to his neck, fingers threading into his hair as I pull him impossibly closer. His mouth parts against mine, urgent, searching, and I swear the earth tilts. For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the prophecy. Not the crown. Not the danger.

Just this. Just him. Just now.

He pulls away first. Barely.

Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the cold.

His voice is low. Wrecked.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes like the words hurt. “If I stay, I’ll ruin everything.”

I shake my head slowly. “You already ruined everything, Darian.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And then he kisses me again, shorter, but just as heavy. Just as full of everything we’re not saying.

When he pulls back this time, it’s final.

“I’ll come back,” he says. “No matter what it takes.”

I nod, barely holding myself together. “I’ll wait.”

He takes one last look at me, before he turns and walks to the car. He doesn’t look back.

I stay there long after the engine fades, the porch light still humming above me, my lips still tingling with goodbye.

IRIS

Dinner feels like a blur before it even begins. The house still smells the same, like dried herbs, old wood, and lavender polish. But everything else? Different. Sharper. Heavier.

Darian walks just behind me, his steps hesitant. I can feel the tension in him without even looking. The same man who faced down guards and defied a king for me now looks completely out of place in my grandmother’s dining room. He hasn’t glanced once at my grandfather since they entered the house, and the feeling seems mutual.

We all sit.

Nana at the head of the table, Grandfather at the other. I take the middle seat on one side, and Darian lowers himself beside me. His movements are measured, too careful, like he’s trying not to break something already cracked.

“Eat,” Nana says gently, passing around a tray of roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables. “No one can think properly on an empty stomach.”

“I appreciate the food,” Darian says, voice low, “but I won’t stay long.”

I frown. “You should eat.”

He gives me a small look, part apology, part distance, like he's preparing to disappear.

He reaches for a glass of water, and I watch his hand, steady, precise even as everything inside him clearly isn't. Grandfather hasn’t said a word, just cuts into his food without ever raising his head.

Nana, ever the warm one, keeps trying to fill the silence with talk of her garden, the crops, the weather. It works, sort of. But Darian barely responds, and every so often I catch his eyes flicking across the table toward the man who’s been hunted for years by his family.

I reach under the table and touch his hand. Lightly. Just enough to ground him.

He glances at me, startled. I don’t say anything, just hold his gaze.

He’s doing this for me.

Every part of him, the stiffness, the restraint, the lack of appetite,  is a silent scream of what it’s costing him to be here. To leave me in the care of a man he’s sworn to destroy. And still, he’s here.

Still, he’s staying.

I squeeze his hand gently.

He squeezes back.

Nana clears her throat after a while. “So, Darian,” she says casually, “you’ll be checking in on Iris often?”

“If that’s alright with you,” he replies, his voice more confident this time. “I’d like to. I’ll keep my distance if I need to. But I need to know she’s safe.”

“I’ll look after her,” she says. “But it’d be cruel to keep a young girl from the only person she trusts right now.”

My heart clenches. I drop my eyes to the plate.

Then Nana says, “You’ll stay the night?”

He straightens. “I can’t. I should go. I’ve already-”

“You’re not leaving without dessert,” she interrupts firmly, standing up. “I made blueberry pie.”

He laughs softly. “You’re very persuasive.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice with stubborn men,” she mutters, shooting a look at Grandfather.

That earns a snort from him, the first sound he’s made all dinner. Still, he doesn’t speak.

Eventually, after the pie is passed around and silence settles again, Darian clears his throat. “I should go now.”

The words feel like a bucket of cold water. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth.

He pushes back his chair, rises. I follow quickly.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, already at his side.

We stop just beyond the porch, under the low hum of the flickering light, the darkness swallowing the edges of the woods. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, arms folded, eyes locked on a fixed point somewhere far beyond my grandfather’s fence.

I cross my arms, not from the cold, but because I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know what to do with any part of myself right now.

“You don’t trust him,” I say quietly.

He finally looks at me. “Would you?”

My shoulders sag. “He’s my family.”

His jaw tightens. “He destroyed mine.”

Silence again. The kind that scrapes the inside of your ribs.

Then, softer this time, he adds, “But I’ll respect your choice, Iris. That’s the thing about this, whatever this is between us. It doesn’t come with control. I just want you safe.”

My breath catches. Because in that moment, his eyes soften. There’s no anger in them. Just something raw. Something achingly tender.

“You’ve done enough for me,” I whisper. “You’ve risked everything-”

“I’d do it again,” he cuts in. “Without hesitation.”

I blink fast. The tears don’t fall, but they sting. He notices. Of course, he does. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. His touch is light, but the weight of it settles deep.

“I’m not used to this,” he says, voice rough. “Letting someone go when every part of me wants to stay.”

I smile, small. “So don’t.”

His laugh is hollow. “You know I can’t.”

“I know,” I whisper, stepping closer. “That’s the worst part.”

His hand lingers by my jaw now, fingers resting just under my chin. He tilts my head slightly, his eyes scanning mine like he’s memorizing everything. My lashes. My freckles. My sadness.

“Tell me you’ll be okay,” he says.

I try to nod, but my voice cracks instead. “Only if you come back.”

That’s what does it.

He pulls me in.

The kiss starts like a sigh. Gentle. Cautious. Like he’s trying not to shatter something. His lips brush mine once, twice, testing, waiting for permission. I give it by leaning in, closing the distance, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

And then it deepens.

It’s no longer soft. No longer slow. It’s all of the things we haven’t said. All of the tension. All of the longing from every stolen glance. It’s wild and warm and desperate.

His arms wrap fully around my waist, anchoring me to him, lifting me slightly as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

I feel his heartbeat against mine.

I feel every inch of him.  His strength, his restraint, and the breaking point he’s skimming.

My hands go to his neck, fingers threading into his hair as I pull him impossibly closer. His mouth parts against mine, urgent, searching, and I swear the earth tilts. For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the prophecy. Not the crown. Not the danger.

Just this. Just him. Just now.

He pulls away first. Barely.

Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the cold.

His voice is low. Wrecked.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes like the words hurt. “If I stay, I’ll ruin everything.”

I shake my head slowly. “You already ruined everything, Darian.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And then he kisses me again, shorter, but just as heavy. Just as full of everything we’re not saying.

When he pulls back this time, it’s final.

“I’ll come back,” he says. “No matter what it takes.”

I nod, barely holding myself together. “I’ll wait.”

He takes one last look at me, before he turns and walks to the car. He doesn’t look back.

I stay there long after the engine fades, the porch light still humming above me, my lips still tingling with goodbye.

IRIS

Dinner feels like a blur before it even begins. The house still smells the same, like dried herbs, old wood, and lavender polish. But everything else? Different. Sharper. Heavier.

Darian walks just behind me, his steps hesitant. I can feel the tension in him without even looking. The same man who faced down guards and defied a king for me now looks completely out of place in my grandmother’s dining room. He hasn’t glanced once at my grandfather since they entered the house, and the feeling seems mutual.

We all sit.

Nana at the head of the table, Grandfather at the other. I take the middle seat on one side, and Darian lowers himself beside me. His movements are measured, too careful, like he’s trying not to break something already cracked.

“Eat,” Nana says gently, passing around a tray of roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables. “No one can think properly on an empty stomach.”

“I appreciate the food,” Darian says, voice low, “but I won’t stay long.”

I frown. “You should eat.”

He gives me a small look, part apology, part distance, like he's preparing to disappear.

He reaches for a glass of water, and I watch his hand, steady, precise even as everything inside him clearly isn't. Grandfather hasn’t said a word, just cuts into his food without ever raising his head.

Nana, ever the warm one, keeps trying to fill the silence with talk of her garden, the crops, the weather. It works, sort of. But Darian barely responds, and every so often I catch his eyes flicking across the table toward the man who’s been hunted for years by his family.

I reach under the table and touch his hand. Lightly. Just enough to ground him.

He glances at me, startled. I don’t say anything, just hold his gaze.

He’s doing this for me.

Every part of him, the stiffness, the restraint, the lack of appetite,  is a silent scream of what it’s costing him to be here. To leave me in the care of a man he’s sworn to destroy. And still, he’s here.

Still, he’s staying.

I squeeze his hand gently.

He squeezes back.

Nana clears her throat after a while. “So, Darian,” she says casually, “you’ll be checking in on Iris often?”

“If that’s alright with you,” he replies, his voice more confident this time. “I’d like to. I’ll keep my distance if I need to. But I need to know she’s safe.”

“I’ll look after her,” she says. “But it’d be cruel to keep a young girl from the only person she trusts right now.”

My heart clenches. I drop my eyes to the plate.

Then Nana says, “You’ll stay the night?”

He straightens. “I can’t. I should go. I’ve already-”

“You’re not leaving without dessert,” she interrupts firmly, standing up. “I made blueberry pie.”

He laughs softly. “You’re very persuasive.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice with stubborn men,” she mutters, shooting a look at Grandfather.

That earns a snort from him, the first sound he’s made all dinner. Still, he doesn’t speak.

Eventually, after the pie is passed around and silence settles again, Darian clears his throat. “I should go now.”

The words feel like a bucket of cold water. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth.

He pushes back his chair, rises. I follow quickly.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, already at his side.

We stop just beyond the porch, under the low hum of the flickering light, the darkness swallowing the edges of the woods. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, arms folded, eyes locked on a fixed point somewhere far beyond my grandfather’s fence.

I cross my arms, not from the cold, but because I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know what to do with any part of myself right now.

“You don’t trust him,” I say quietly.

He finally looks at me. “Would you?”

My shoulders sag. “He’s my family.”

His jaw tightens. “He destroyed mine.”

Silence again. The kind that scrapes the inside of your ribs.

Then, softer this time, he adds, “But I’ll respect your choice, Iris. That’s the thing about this, whatever this is between us. It doesn’t come with control. I just want you safe.”

My breath catches. Because in that moment, his eyes soften. There’s no anger in them. Just something raw. Something achingly tender.

“You’ve done enough for me,” I whisper. “You’ve risked everything-”

“I’d do it again,” he cuts in. “Without hesitation.”

I blink fast. The tears don’t fall, but they sting. He notices. Of course, he does. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. His touch is light, but the weight of it settles deep.

“I’m not used to this,” he says, voice rough. “Letting someone go when every part of me wants to stay.”

I smile, small. “So don’t.”

His laugh is hollow. “You know I can’t.”

“I know,” I whisper, stepping closer. “That’s the worst part.”

His hand lingers by my jaw now, fingers resting just under my chin. He tilts my head slightly, his eyes scanning mine like he’s memorizing everything. My lashes. My freckles. My sadness.

“Tell me you’ll be okay,” he says.

I try to nod, but my voice cracks instead. “Only if you come back.”

That’s what does it.

He pulls me in.

The kiss starts like a sigh. Gentle. Cautious. Like he’s trying not to shatter something. His lips brush mine once, twice, testing, waiting for permission. I give it by leaning in, closing the distance, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

And then it deepens.

It’s no longer soft. No longer slow. It’s all of the things we haven’t said. All of the tension. All of the longing from every stolen glance. It’s wild and warm and desperate.

His arms wrap fully around my waist, anchoring me to him, lifting me slightly as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

I feel his heartbeat against mine.

I feel every inch of him.  His strength, his restraint, and the breaking point he’s skimming.

My hands go to his neck, fingers threading into his hair as I pull him impossibly closer. His mouth parts against mine, urgent, searching, and I swear the earth tilts. For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the prophecy. Not the crown. Not the danger.

Just this. Just him. Just now.

He pulls away first. Barely.

Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the cold.

His voice is low. Wrecked.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes like the words hurt. “If I stay, I’ll ruin everything.”

I shake my head slowly. “You already ruined everything, Darian.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And then he kisses me again, shorter, but just as heavy. Just as full of everything we’re not saying.

When he pulls back this time, it’s final.

“I’ll come back,” he says. “No matter what it takes.”

I nod, barely holding myself together. “I’ll wait.”

He takes one last look at me, before he turns and walks to the car. He doesn’t look back.

I stay there long after the engine fades, the porch light still humming above me, my lips still tingling with goodbye.

IRIS

Dinner feels like a blur before it even begins. The house still smells the same, like dried herbs, old wood, and lavender polish. But everything else? Different. Sharper. Heavier.

Darian walks just behind me, his steps hesitant. I can feel the tension in him without even looking. The same man who faced down guards and defied a king for me now looks completely out of place in my grandmother’s dining room. He hasn’t glanced once at my grandfather since they entered the house, and the feeling seems mutual.

We all sit.

Nana at the head of the table, Grandfather at the other. I take the middle seat on one side, and Darian lowers himself beside me. His movements are measured, too careful, like he’s trying not to break something already cracked.

“Eat,” Nana says gently, passing around a tray of roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables. “No one can think properly on an empty stomach.”

“I appreciate the food,” Darian says, voice low, “but I won’t stay long.”

I frown. “You should eat.”

He gives me a small look, part apology, part distance, like he's preparing to disappear.

He reaches for a glass of water, and I watch his hand, steady, precise even as everything inside him clearly isn't. Grandfather hasn’t said a word, just cuts into his food without ever raising his head.

Nana, ever the warm one, keeps trying to fill the silence with talk of her garden, the crops, the weather. It works, sort of. But Darian barely responds, and every so often I catch his eyes flicking across the table toward the man who’s been hunted for years by his family.

I reach under the table and touch his hand. Lightly. Just enough to ground him.

He glances at me, startled. I don’t say anything, just hold his gaze.

He’s doing this for me.

Every part of him, the stiffness, the restraint, the lack of appetite,  is a silent scream of what it’s costing him to be here. To leave me in the care of a man he’s sworn to destroy. And still, he’s here.

Still, he’s staying.

I squeeze his hand gently.

He squeezes back.

Nana clears her throat after a while. “So, Darian,” she says casually, “you’ll be checking in on Iris often?”

“If that’s alright with you,” he replies, his voice more confident this time. “I’d like to. I’ll keep my distance if I need to. But I need to know she’s safe.”

“I’ll look after her,” she says. “But it’d be cruel to keep a young girl from the only person she trusts right now.”

My heart clenches. I drop my eyes to the plate.

Then Nana says, “You’ll stay the night?”

He straightens. “I can’t. I should go. I’ve already-”

“You’re not leaving without dessert,” she interrupts firmly, standing up. “I made blueberry pie.”

He laughs softly. “You’re very persuasive.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice with stubborn men,” she mutters, shooting a look at Grandfather.

That earns a snort from him, the first sound he’s made all dinner. Still, he doesn’t speak.

Eventually, after the pie is passed around and silence settles again, Darian clears his throat. “I should go now.”

The words feel like a bucket of cold water. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth.

He pushes back his chair, rises. I follow quickly.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, already at his side.

We stop just beyond the porch, under the low hum of the flickering light, the darkness swallowing the edges of the woods. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, arms folded, eyes locked on a fixed point somewhere far beyond my grandfather’s fence.

I cross my arms, not from the cold, but because I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know what to do with any part of myself right now.

“You don’t trust him,” I say quietly.

He finally looks at me. “Would you?”

My shoulders sag. “He’s my family.”

His jaw tightens. “He destroyed mine.”

Silence again. The kind that scrapes the inside of your ribs.

Then, softer this time, he adds, “But I’ll respect your choice, Iris. That’s the thing about this, whatever this is between us. It doesn’t come with control. I just want you safe.”

My breath catches. Because in that moment, his eyes soften. There’s no anger in them. Just something raw. Something achingly tender.

“You’ve done enough for me,” I whisper. “You’ve risked everything-”

“I’d do it again,” he cuts in. “Without hesitation.”

I blink fast. The tears don’t fall, but they sting. He notices. Of course, he does. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. His touch is light, but the weight of it settles deep.

“I’m not used to this,” he says, voice rough. “Letting someone go when every part of me wants to stay.”

I smile, small. “So don’t.”

His laugh is hollow. “You know I can’t.”

“I know,” I whisper, stepping closer. “That’s the worst part.”

His hand lingers by my jaw now, fingers resting just under my chin. He tilts my head slightly, his eyes scanning mine like he’s memorizing everything. My lashes. My freckles. My sadness.

“Tell me you’ll be okay,” he says.

I try to nod, but my voice cracks instead. “Only if you come back.”

That’s what does it.

He pulls me in.

The kiss starts like a sigh. Gentle. Cautious. Like he’s trying not to shatter something. His lips brush mine once, twice, testing, waiting for permission. I give it by leaning in, closing the distance, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

And then it deepens.

It’s no longer soft. No longer slow. It’s all of the things we haven’t said. All of the tension. All of the longing from every stolen glance. It’s wild and warm and desperate.

His arms wrap fully around my waist, anchoring me to him, lifting me slightly as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

I feel his heartbeat against mine.

I feel every inch of him.  His strength, his restraint, and the breaking point he’s skimming.

My hands go to his neck, fingers threading into his hair as I pull him impossibly closer. His mouth parts against mine, urgent, searching, and I swear the earth tilts. For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the prophecy. Not the crown. Not the danger.

Just this. Just him. Just now.

He pulls away first. Barely.

Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the cold.

His voice is low. Wrecked.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes like the words hurt. “If I stay, I’ll ruin everything.”

I shake my head slowly. “You already ruined everything, Darian.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And then he kisses me again, shorter, but just as heavy. Just as full of everything we’re not saying.

When he pulls back this time, it’s final.

“I’ll come back,” he says. “No matter what it takes.”

I nod, barely holding myself together. “I’ll wait.”

He takes one last look at me, before he turns and walks to the car. He doesn’t look back.

I stay there long after the engine fades, the porch light still humming above me, my lips still tingling with goodbye.

IRIS

Dinner feels like a blur before it even begins. The house still smells the same, like dried herbs, old wood, and lavender polish. But everything else? Different. Sharper. Heavier.

Darian walks just behind me, his steps hesitant. I can feel the tension in him without even looking. The same man who faced down guards and defied a king for me now looks completely out of place in my grandmother’s dining room. He hasn’t glanced once at my grandfather since they entered the house, and the feeling seems mutual.

We all sit.

Nana at the head of the table, Grandfather at the other. I take the middle seat on one side, and Darian lowers himself beside me. His movements are measured, too careful, like he’s trying not to break something already cracked.

“Eat,” Nana says gently, passing around a tray of roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables. “No one can think properly on an empty stomach.”

“I appreciate the food,” Darian says, voice low, “but I won’t stay long.”

I frown. “You should eat.”

He gives me a small look, part apology, part distance, like he's preparing to disappear.

He reaches for a glass of water, and I watch his hand, steady, precise even as everything inside him clearly isn't. Grandfather hasn’t said a word, just cuts into his food without ever raising his head.

Nana, ever the warm one, keeps trying to fill the silence with talk of her garden, the crops, the weather. It works, sort of. But Darian barely responds, and every so often I catch his eyes flicking across the table toward the man who’s been hunted for years by his family.

I reach under the table and touch his hand. Lightly. Just enough to ground him.

He glances at me, startled. I don’t say anything, just hold his gaze.

He’s doing this for me.

Every part of him, the stiffness, the restraint, the lack of appetite,  is a silent scream of what it’s costing him to be here. To leave me in the care of a man he’s sworn to destroy. And still, he’s here.

Still, he’s staying.

I squeeze his hand gently.

He squeezes back.

Nana clears her throat after a while. “So, Darian,” she says casually, “you’ll be checking in on Iris often?”

“If that’s alright with you,” he replies, his voice more confident this time. “I’d like to. I’ll keep my distance if I need to. But I need to know she’s safe.”

“I’ll look after her,” she says. “But it’d be cruel to keep a young girl from the only person she trusts right now.”

My heart clenches. I drop my eyes to the plate.

Then Nana says, “You’ll stay the night?”

He straightens. “I can’t. I should go. I’ve already-”

“You’re not leaving without dessert,” she interrupts firmly, standing up. “I made blueberry pie.”

He laughs softly. “You’re very persuasive.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice with stubborn men,” she mutters, shooting a look at Grandfather.

That earns a snort from him, the first sound he’s made all dinner. Still, he doesn’t speak.

Eventually, after the pie is passed around and silence settles again, Darian clears his throat. “I should go now.”

The words feel like a bucket of cold water. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth.

He pushes back his chair, rises. I follow quickly.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, already at his side.

We stop just beyond the porch, under the low hum of the flickering light, the darkness swallowing the edges of the woods. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, arms folded, eyes locked on a fixed point somewhere far beyond my grandfather’s fence.

I cross my arms, not from the cold, but because I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know what to do with any part of myself right now.

“You don’t trust him,” I say quietly.

He finally looks at me. “Would you?”

My shoulders sag. “He’s my family.”

His jaw tightens. “He destroyed mine.”

Silence again. The kind that scrapes the inside of your ribs.

Then, softer this time, he adds, “But I’ll respect your choice, Iris. That’s the thing about this, whatever this is between us. It doesn’t come with control. I just want you safe.”

My breath catches. Because in that moment, his eyes soften. There’s no anger in them. Just something raw. Something achingly tender.

“You’ve done enough for me,” I whisper. “You’ve risked everything-”

“I’d do it again,” he cuts in. “Without hesitation.”

I blink fast. The tears don’t fall, but they sting. He notices. Of course, he does. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. His touch is light, but the weight of it settles deep.

“I’m not used to this,” he says, voice rough. “Letting someone go when every part of me wants to stay.”

I smile, small. “So don’t.”

His laugh is hollow. “You know I can’t.”

“I know,” I whisper, stepping closer. “That’s the worst part.”

His hand lingers by my jaw now, fingers resting just under my chin. He tilts my head slightly, his eyes scanning mine like he’s memorizing everything. My lashes. My freckles. My sadness.

“Tell me you’ll be okay,” he says.

I try to nod, but my voice cracks instead. “Only if you come back.”

That’s what does it.

He pulls me in.

The kiss starts like a sigh. Gentle. Cautious. Like he’s trying not to shatter something. His lips brush mine once, twice, testing, waiting for permission. I give it by leaning in, closing the distance, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

And then it deepens.

It’s no longer soft. No longer slow. It’s all of the things we haven’t said. All of the tension. All of the longing from every stolen glance. It’s wild and warm and desperate.

His arms wrap fully around my waist, anchoring me to him, lifting me slightly as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

I feel his heartbeat against mine.

I feel every inch of him.  His strength, his restraint, and the breaking point he’s skimming.

My hands go to his neck, fingers threading into his hair as I pull him impossibly closer. His mouth parts against mine, urgent, searching, and I swear the earth tilts. For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the prophecy. Not the crown. Not the danger.

Just this. Just him. Just now.

He pulls away first. Barely.

Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the cold.

His voice is low. Wrecked.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes like the words hurt. “If I stay, I’ll ruin everything.”

I shake my head slowly. “You already ruined everything, Darian.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And then he kisses me again, shorter, but just as heavy. Just as full of everything we’re not saying.

When he pulls back this time, it’s final.

“I’ll come back,” he says. “No matter what it takes.”

I nod, barely holding myself together. “I’ll wait.”

He takes one last look at me, before he turns and walks to the car. He doesn’t look back.

I stay there long after the engine fades, the porch light still humming above me, my lips still tingling with goodbye.

IRIS

Dinner feels like a blur before it even begins. The house still smells the same, like dried herbs, old wood, and lavender polish. But everything else? Different. Sharper. Heavier.

Darian walks just behind me, his steps hesitant. I can feel the tension in him without even looking. The same man who faced down guards and defied a king for me now looks completely out of place in my grandmother’s dining room. He hasn’t glanced once at my grandfather since they entered the house, and the feeling seems mutual.

We all sit.

Nana at the head of the table, Grandfather at the other. I take the middle seat on one side, and Darian lowers himself beside me. His movements are measured, too careful, like he’s trying not to break something already cracked.

“Eat,” Nana says gently, passing around a tray of roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables. “No one can think properly on an empty stomach.”

“I appreciate the food,” Darian says, voice low, “but I won’t stay long.”

I frown. “You should eat.”

He gives me a small look, part apology, part distance, like he's preparing to disappear.

He reaches for a glass of water, and I watch his hand, steady, precise even as everything inside him clearly isn't. Grandfather hasn’t said a word, just cuts into his food without ever raising his head.

Nana, ever the warm one, keeps trying to fill the silence with talk of her garden, the crops, the weather. It works, sort of. But Darian barely responds, and every so often I catch his eyes flicking across the table toward the man who’s been hunted for years by his family.

I reach under the table and touch his hand. Lightly. Just enough to ground him.

He glances at me, startled. I don’t say anything, just hold his gaze.

He’s doing this for me.

Every part of him, the stiffness, the restraint, the lack of appetite,  is a silent scream of what it’s costing him to be here. To leave me in the care of a man he’s sworn to destroy. And still, he’s here.

Still, he’s staying.

I squeeze his hand gently.

He squeezes back.

Nana clears her throat after a while. “So, Darian,” she says casually, “you’ll be checking in on Iris often?”

“If that’s alright with you,” he replies, his voice more confident this time. “I’d like to. I’ll keep my distance if I need to. But I need to know she’s safe.”

“I’ll look after her,” she says. “But it’d be cruel to keep a young girl from the only person she trusts right now.”

My heart clenches. I drop my eyes to the plate.

Then Nana says, “You’ll stay the night?”

He straightens. “I can’t. I should go. I’ve already-”

“You’re not leaving without dessert,” she interrupts firmly, standing up. “I made blueberry pie.”

He laughs softly. “You’re very persuasive.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice with stubborn men,” she mutters, shooting a look at Grandfather.

That earns a snort from him, the first sound he’s made all dinner. Still, he doesn’t speak.

Eventually, after the pie is passed around and silence settles again, Darian clears his throat. “I should go now.”

The words feel like a bucket of cold water. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth.

He pushes back his chair, rises. I follow quickly.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, already at his side.

We stop just beyond the porch, under the low hum of the flickering light, the darkness swallowing the edges of the woods. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, arms folded, eyes locked on a fixed point somewhere far beyond my grandfather’s fence.

I cross my arms, not from the cold, but because I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know what to do with any part of myself right now.

“You don’t trust him,” I say quietly.

He finally looks at me. “Would you?”

My shoulders sag. “He’s my family.”

His jaw tightens. “He destroyed mine.”

Silence again. The kind that scrapes the inside of your ribs.

Then, softer this time, he adds, “But I’ll respect your choice, Iris. That’s the thing about this, whatever this is between us. It doesn’t come with control. I just want you safe.”

My breath catches. Because in that moment, his eyes soften. There’s no anger in them. Just something raw. Something achingly tender.

“You’ve done enough for me,” I whisper. “You’ve risked everything-”

“I’d do it again,” he cuts in. “Without hesitation.”

I blink fast. The tears don’t fall, but they sting. He notices. Of course, he does. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. His touch is light, but the weight of it settles deep.

“I’m not used to this,” he says, voice rough. “Letting someone go when every part of me wants to stay.”

I smile, small. “So don’t.”

His laugh is hollow. “You know I can’t.”

“I know,” I whisper, stepping closer. “That’s the worst part.”

His hand lingers by my jaw now, fingers resting just under my chin. He tilts my head slightly, his eyes scanning mine like he’s memorizing everything. My lashes. My freckles. My sadness.

“Tell me you’ll be okay,” he says.

I try to nod, but my voice cracks instead. “Only if you come back.”

That’s what does it.

He pulls me in.

The kiss starts like a sigh. Gentle. Cautious. Like he’s trying not to shatter something. His lips brush mine once, twice, testing, waiting for permission. I give it by leaning in, closing the distance, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

And then it deepens.

It’s no longer soft. No longer slow. It’s all of the things we haven’t said. All of the tension. All of the longing from every stolen glance. It’s wild and warm and desperate.

His arms wrap fully around my waist, anchoring me to him, lifting me slightly as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

I feel his heartbeat against mine.

I feel every inch of him.  His strength, his restraint, and the breaking point he’s skimming.

My hands go to his neck, fingers threading into his hair as I pull him impossibly closer. His mouth parts against mine, urgent, searching, and I swear the earth tilts. For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the prophecy. Not the crown. Not the danger.

Just this. Just him. Just now.

He pulls away first. Barely.

Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the cold.

His voice is low. Wrecked.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes like the words hurt. “If I stay, I’ll ruin everything.”

I shake my head slowly. “You already ruined everything, Darian.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And then he kisses me again, shorter, but just as heavy. Just as full of everything we’re not saying.

When he pulls back this time, it’s final.

“I’ll come back,” he says. “No matter what it takes.”

I nod, barely holding myself together. “I’ll wait.”

He takes one last look at me, before he turns and walks to the car. He doesn’t look back.

I stay there long after the engine fades, the porch light still humming above me, my lips still tingling with goodbye.

IRIS

Dinner feels like a blur before it even begins. The house still smells the same, like dried herbs, old wood, and lavender polish. But everything else? Different. Sharper. Heavier.

Darian walks just behind me, his steps hesitant. I can feel the tension in him without even looking. The same man who faced down guards and defied a king for me now looks completely out of place in my grandmother’s dining room. He hasn’t glanced once at my grandfather since they entered the house, and the feeling seems mutual.

We all sit.

Nana at the head of the table, Grandfather at the other. I take the middle seat on one side, and Darian lowers himself beside me. His movements are measured, too careful, like he’s trying not to break something already cracked.

“Eat,” Nana says gently, passing around a tray of roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables. “No one can think properly on an empty stomach.”

“I appreciate the food,” Darian says, voice low, “but I won’t stay long.”

I frown. “You should eat.”

He gives me a small look, part apology, part distance, like he's preparing to disappear.

He reaches for a glass of water, and I watch his hand, steady, precise even as everything inside him clearly isn't. Grandfather hasn’t said a word, just cuts into his food without ever raising his head.

Nana, ever the warm one, keeps trying to fill the silence with talk of her garden, the crops, the weather. It works, sort of. But Darian barely responds, and every so often I catch his eyes flicking across the table toward the man who’s been hunted for years by his family.

I reach under the table and touch his hand. Lightly. Just enough to ground him.

He glances at me, startled. I don’t say anything, just hold his gaze.

He’s doing this for me.

Every part of him, the stiffness, the restraint, the lack of appetite,  is a silent scream of what it’s costing him to be here. To leave me in the care of a man he’s sworn to destroy. And still, he’s here.

Still, he’s staying.

I squeeze his hand gently.

He squeezes back.

Nana clears her throat after a while. “So, Darian,” she says casually, “you’ll be checking in on Iris often?”

“If that’s alright with you,” he replies, his voice more confident this time. “I’d like to. I’ll keep my distance if I need to. But I need to know she’s safe.”

“I’ll look after her,” she says. “But it’d be cruel to keep a young girl from the only person she trusts right now.”

My heart clenches. I drop my eyes to the plate.

Then Nana says, “You’ll stay the night?”

He straightens. “I can’t. I should go. I’ve already-”

“You’re not leaving without dessert,” she interrupts firmly, standing up. “I made blueberry pie.”

He laughs softly. “You’re very persuasive.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice with stubborn men,” she mutters, shooting a look at Grandfather.

That earns a snort from him, the first sound he’s made all dinner. Still, he doesn’t speak.

Eventually, after the pie is passed around and silence settles again, Darian clears his throat. “I should go now.”

The words feel like a bucket of cold water. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth.

He pushes back his chair, rises. I follow quickly.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, already at his side.

We stop just beyond the porch, under the low hum of the flickering light, the darkness swallowing the edges of the woods. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, arms folded, eyes locked on a fixed point somewhere far beyond my grandfather’s fence.

I cross my arms, not from the cold, but because I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know what to do with any part of myself right now.

“You don’t trust him,” I say quietly.

He finally looks at me. “Would you?”

My shoulders sag. “He’s my family.”

His jaw tightens. “He destroyed mine.”

Silence again. The kind that scrapes the inside of your ribs.

Then, softer this time, he adds, “But I’ll respect your choice, Iris. That’s the thing about this, whatever this is between us. It doesn’t come with control. I just want you safe.”

My breath catches. Because in that moment, his eyes soften. There’s no anger in them. Just something raw. Something achingly tender.

“You’ve done enough for me,” I whisper. “You’ve risked everything-”

“I’d do it again,” he cuts in. “Without hesitation.”

I blink fast. The tears don’t fall, but they sting. He notices. Of course, he does. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. His touch is light, but the weight of it settles deep.

“I’m not used to this,” he says, voice rough. “Letting someone go when every part of me wants to stay.”

I smile, small. “So don’t.”

His laugh is hollow. “You know I can’t.”

“I know,” I whisper, stepping closer. “That’s the worst part.”

His hand lingers by my jaw now, fingers resting just under my chin. He tilts my head slightly, his eyes scanning mine like he’s memorizing everything. My lashes. My freckles. My sadness.

“Tell me you’ll be okay,” he says.

I try to nod, but my voice cracks instead. “Only if you come back.”

That’s what does it.

He pulls me in.

The kiss starts like a sigh. Gentle. Cautious. Like he’s trying not to shatter something. His lips brush mine once, twice, testing, waiting for permission. I give it by leaning in, closing the distance, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

And then it deepens.

It’s no longer soft. No longer slow. It’s all of the things we haven’t said. All of the tension. All of the longing from every stolen glance. It’s wild and warm and desperate.

His arms wrap fully around my waist, anchoring me to him, lifting me slightly as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

I feel his heartbeat against mine.

I feel every inch of him.  His strength, his restraint, and the breaking point he’s skimming.

My hands go to his neck, fingers threading into his hair as I pull him impossibly closer. His mouth parts against mine, urgent, searching, and I swear the earth tilts. For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the prophecy. Not the crown. Not the danger.

Just this. Just him. Just now.

He pulls away first. Barely.

Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the cold.

His voice is low. Wrecked.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes like the words hurt. “If I stay, I’ll ruin everything.”

I shake my head slowly. “You already ruined everything, Darian.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And then he kisses me again, shorter, but just as heavy. Just as full of everything we’re not saying.

When he pulls back this time, it’s final.

“I’ll come back,” he says. “No matter what it takes.”

I nod, barely holding myself together. “I’ll wait.”

He takes one last look at me, before he turns and walks to the car. He doesn’t look back.

I stay there long after the engine fades, the porch light still humming above me, my lips still tingling with goodbye.

IRIS

Dinner feels like a blur before it even begins. The house still smells the same, like dried herbs, old wood, and lavender polish. But everything else? Different. Sharper. Heavier.

Darian walks just behind me, his steps hesitant. I can feel the tension in him without even looking. The same man who faced down guards and defied a king for me now looks completely out of place in my grandmother’s dining room. He hasn’t glanced once at my grandfather since they entered the house, and the feeling seems mutual.

We all sit.

Nana at the head of the table, Grandfather at the other. I take the middle seat on one side, and Darian lowers himself beside me. His movements are measured, too careful, like he’s trying not to break something already cracked.

“Eat,” Nana says gently, passing around a tray of roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables. “No one can think properly on an empty stomach.”

“I appreciate the food,” Darian says, voice low, “but I won’t stay long.”

I frown. “You should eat.”

He gives me a small look, part apology, part distance, like he's preparing to disappear.

He reaches for a glass of water, and I watch his hand, steady, precise even as everything inside him clearly isn't. Grandfather hasn’t said a word, just cuts into his food without ever raising his head.

Nana, ever the warm one, keeps trying to fill the silence with talk of her garden, the crops, the weather. It works, sort of. But Darian barely responds, and every so often I catch his eyes flicking across the table toward the man who’s been hunted for years by his family.

I reach under the table and touch his hand. Lightly. Just enough to ground him.

He glances at me, startled. I don’t say anything, just hold his gaze.

He’s doing this for me.

Every part of him, the stiffness, the restraint, the lack of appetite,  is a silent scream of what it’s costing him to be here. To leave me in the care of a man he’s sworn to destroy. And still, he’s here.

Still, he’s staying.

I squeeze his hand gently.

He squeezes back.

Nana clears her throat after a while. “So, Darian,” she says casually, “you’ll be checking in on Iris often?”

“If that’s alright with you,” he replies, his voice more confident this time. “I’d like to. I’ll keep my distance if I need to. But I need to know she’s safe.”

“I’ll look after her,” she says. “But it’d be cruel to keep a young girl from the only person she trusts right now.”

My heart clenches. I drop my eyes to the plate.

Then Nana says, “You’ll stay the night?”

He straightens. “I can’t. I should go. I’ve already-”

“You’re not leaving without dessert,” she interrupts firmly, standing up. “I made blueberry pie.”

He laughs softly. “You’re very persuasive.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice with stubborn men,” she mutters, shooting a look at Grandfather.

That earns a snort from him, the first sound he’s made all dinner. Still, he doesn’t speak.

Eventually, after the pie is passed around and silence settles again, Darian clears his throat. “I should go now.”

The words feel like a bucket of cold water. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth.

He pushes back his chair, rises. I follow quickly.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, already at his side.

We stop just beyond the porch, under the low hum of the flickering light, the darkness swallowing the edges of the woods. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, arms folded, eyes locked on a fixed point somewhere far beyond my grandfather’s fence.

I cross my arms, not from the cold, but because I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know what to do with any part of myself right now.

“You don’t trust him,” I say quietly.

He finally looks at me. “Would you?”

My shoulders sag. “He’s my family.”

His jaw tightens. “He destroyed mine.”

Silence again. The kind that scrapes the inside of your ribs.

Then, softer this time, he adds, “But I’ll respect your choice, Iris. That’s the thing about this, whatever this is between us. It doesn’t come with control. I just want you safe.”

My breath catches. Because in that moment, his eyes soften. There’s no anger in them. Just something raw. Something achingly tender.

“You’ve done enough for me,” I whisper. “You’ve risked everything-”

“I’d do it again,” he cuts in. “Without hesitation.”

I blink fast. The tears don’t fall, but they sting. He notices. Of course, he does. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. His touch is light, but the weight of it settles deep.

“I’m not used to this,” he says, voice rough. “Letting someone go when every part of me wants to stay.”

I smile, small. “So don’t.”

His laugh is hollow. “You know I can’t.”

“I know,” I whisper, stepping closer. “That’s the worst part.”

His hand lingers by my jaw now, fingers resting just under my chin. He tilts my head slightly, his eyes scanning mine like he’s memorizing everything. My lashes. My freckles. My sadness.

“Tell me you’ll be okay,” he says.

I try to nod, but my voice cracks instead. “Only if you come back.”

That’s what does it.

He pulls me in.

The kiss starts like a sigh. Gentle. Cautious. Like he’s trying not to shatter something. His lips brush mine once, twice, testing, waiting for permission. I give it by leaning in, closing the distance, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

And then it deepens.

It’s no longer soft. No longer slow. It’s all of the things we haven’t said. All of the tension. All of the longing from every stolen glance. It’s wild and warm and desperate.

His arms wrap fully around my waist, anchoring me to him, lifting me slightly as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

I feel his heartbeat against mine.

I feel every inch of him.  His strength, his restraint, and the breaking point he’s skimming.

My hands go to his neck, fingers threading into his hair as I pull him impossibly closer. His mouth parts against mine, urgent, searching, and I swear the earth tilts. For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the prophecy. Not the crown. Not the danger.

Just this. Just him. Just now.

He pulls away first. Barely.

Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the cold.

His voice is low. Wrecked.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes like the words hurt. “If I stay, I’ll ruin everything.”

I shake my head slowly. “You already ruined everything, Darian.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And then he kisses me again, shorter, but just as heavy. Just as full of everything we’re not saying.

When he pulls back this time, it’s final.

“I’ll come back,” he says. “No matter what it takes.”

I nod, barely holding myself together. “I’ll wait.”

He takes one last look at me, before he turns and walks to the car. He doesn’t look back.

I stay there long after the engine fades, the porch light still humming above me, my lips still tingling with goodbye.

IRIS

Dinner feels like a blur before it even begins. The house still smells the same, like dried herbs, old wood, and lavender polish. But everything else? Different. Sharper. Heavier.

Darian walks just behind me, his steps hesitant. I can feel the tension in him without even looking. The same man who faced down guards and defied a king for me now looks completely out of place in my grandmother’s dining room. He hasn’t glanced once at my grandfather since they entered the house, and the feeling seems mutual.

We all sit.

Nana at the head of the table, Grandfather at the other. I take the middle seat on one side, and Darian lowers himself beside me. His movements are measured, too careful, like he’s trying not to break something already cracked.

“Eat,” Nana says gently, passing around a tray of roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables. “No one can think properly on an empty stomach.”

“I appreciate the food,” Darian says, voice low, “but I won’t stay long.”

I frown. “You should eat.”

He gives me a small look, part apology, part distance, like he's preparing to disappear.

He reaches for a glass of water, and I watch his hand, steady, precise even as everything inside him clearly isn't. Grandfather hasn’t said a word, just cuts into his food without ever raising his head.

Nana, ever the warm one, keeps trying to fill the silence with talk of her garden, the crops, the weather. It works, sort of. But Darian barely responds, and every so often I catch his eyes flicking across the table toward the man who’s been hunted for years by his family.

I reach under the table and touch his hand. Lightly. Just enough to ground him.

He glances at me, startled. I don’t say anything, just hold his gaze.

He’s doing this for me.

Every part of him, the stiffness, the restraint, the lack of appetite,  is a silent scream of what it’s costing him to be here. To leave me in the care of a man he’s sworn to destroy. And still, he’s here.

Still, he’s staying.

I squeeze his hand gently.

He squeezes back.

Nana clears her throat after a while. “So, Darian,” she says casually, “you’ll be checking in on Iris often?”

“If that’s alright with you,” he replies, his voice more confident this time. “I’d like to. I’ll keep my distance if I need to. But I need to know she’s safe.”

“I’ll look after her,” she says. “But it’d be cruel to keep a young girl from the only person she trusts right now.”

My heart clenches. I drop my eyes to the plate.

Then Nana says, “You’ll stay the night?”

He straightens. “I can’t. I should go. I’ve already-”

“You’re not leaving without dessert,” she interrupts firmly, standing up. “I made blueberry pie.”

He laughs softly. “You’re very persuasive.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice with stubborn men,” she mutters, shooting a look at Grandfather.

That earns a snort from him, the first sound he’s made all dinner. Still, he doesn’t speak.

Eventually, after the pie is passed around and silence settles again, Darian clears his throat. “I should go now.”

The words feel like a bucket of cold water. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth.

He pushes back his chair, rises. I follow quickly.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, already at his side.

We stop just beyond the porch, under the low hum of the flickering light, the darkness swallowing the edges of the woods. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, arms folded, eyes locked on a fixed point somewhere far beyond my grandfather’s fence.

I cross my arms, not from the cold, but because I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know what to do with any part of myself right now.

“You don’t trust him,” I say quietly.

He finally looks at me. “Would you?”

My shoulders sag. “He’s my family.”

His jaw tightens. “He destroyed mine.”

Silence again. The kind that scrapes the inside of your ribs.

Then, softer this time, he adds, “But I’ll respect your choice, Iris. That’s the thing about this, whatever this is between us. It doesn’t come with control. I just want you safe.”

My breath catches. Because in that moment, his eyes soften. There’s no anger in them. Just something raw. Something achingly tender.

“You’ve done enough for me,” I whisper. “You’ve risked everything-”

“I’d do it again,” he cuts in. “Without hesitation.”

I blink fast. The tears don’t fall, but they sting. He notices. Of course, he does. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. His touch is light, but the weight of it settles deep.

“I’m not used to this,” he says, voice rough. “Letting someone go when every part of me wants to stay.”

I smile, small. “So don’t.”

His laugh is hollow. “You know I can’t.”

“I know,” I whisper, stepping closer. “That’s the worst part.”

His hand lingers by my jaw now, fingers resting just under my chin. He tilts my head slightly, his eyes scanning mine like he’s memorizing everything. My lashes. My freckles. My sadness.

“Tell me you’ll be okay,” he says.

I try to nod, but my voice cracks instead. “Only if you come back.”

That’s what does it.

He pulls me in.

The kiss starts like a sigh. Gentle. Cautious. Like he’s trying not to shatter something. His lips brush mine once, twice, testing, waiting for permission. I give it by leaning in, closing the distance, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

And then it deepens.

It’s no longer soft. No longer slow. It’s all of the things we haven’t said. All of the tension. All of the longing from every stolen glance. It’s wild and warm and desperate.

His arms wrap fully around my waist, anchoring me to him, lifting me slightly as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

I feel his heartbeat against mine.

I feel every inch of him.  His strength, his restraint, and the breaking point he’s skimming.

My hands go to his neck, fingers threading into his hair as I pull him impossibly closer. His mouth parts against mine, urgent, searching, and I swear the earth tilts. For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the prophecy. Not the crown. Not the danger.

Just this. Just him. Just now.

He pulls away first. Barely.

Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the cold.

His voice is low. Wrecked.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes like the words hurt. “If I stay, I’ll ruin everything.”

I shake my head slowly. “You already ruined everything, Darian.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And then he kisses me again, shorter, but just as heavy. Just as full of everything we’re not saying.

When he pulls back this time, it’s final.

“I’ll come back,” he says. “No matter what it takes.”

I nod, barely holding myself together. “I’ll wait.”

He takes one last look at me, before he turns and walks to the car. He doesn’t look back.

I stay there long after the engine fades, the porch light still humming above me, my lips still tingling with goodbye.

IRIS

Dinner feels like a blur before it even begins. The house still smells the same, like dried herbs, old wood, and lavender polish. But everything else? Different. Sharper. Heavier.

Darian walks just behind me, his steps hesitant. I can feel the tension in him without even looking. The same man who faced down guards and defied a king for me now looks completely out of place in my grandmother’s dining room. He hasn’t glanced once at my grandfather since they entered the house, and the feeling seems mutual.

We all sit.

Nana at the head of the table, Grandfather at the other. I take the middle seat on one side, and Darian lowers himself beside me. His movements are measured, too careful, like he’s trying not to break something already cracked.

“Eat,” Nana says gently, passing around a tray of roasted potatoes and grilled vegetables. “No one can think properly on an empty stomach.”

“I appreciate the food,” Darian says, voice low, “but I won’t stay long.”

I frown. “You should eat.”

He gives me a small look, part apology, part distance, like he's preparing to disappear.

He reaches for a glass of water, and I watch his hand, steady, precise even as everything inside him clearly isn't. Grandfather hasn’t said a word, just cuts into his food without ever raising his head.

Nana, ever the warm one, keeps trying to fill the silence with talk of her garden, the crops, the weather. It works, sort of. But Darian barely responds, and every so often I catch his eyes flicking across the table toward the man who’s been hunted for years by his family.

I reach under the table and touch his hand. Lightly. Just enough to ground him.

He glances at me, startled. I don’t say anything, just hold his gaze.

He’s doing this for me.

Every part of him, the stiffness, the restraint, the lack of appetite,  is a silent scream of what it’s costing him to be here. To leave me in the care of a man he’s sworn to destroy. And still, he’s here.

Still, he’s staying.

I squeeze his hand gently.

He squeezes back.

Nana clears her throat after a while. “So, Darian,” she says casually, “you’ll be checking in on Iris often?”

“If that’s alright with you,” he replies, his voice more confident this time. “I’d like to. I’ll keep my distance if I need to. But I need to know she’s safe.”

“I’ll look after her,” she says. “But it’d be cruel to keep a young girl from the only person she trusts right now.”

My heart clenches. I drop my eyes to the plate.

Then Nana says, “You’ll stay the night?”

He straightens. “I can’t. I should go. I’ve already-”

“You’re not leaving without dessert,” she interrupts firmly, standing up. “I made blueberry pie.”

He laughs softly. “You’re very persuasive.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice with stubborn men,” she mutters, shooting a look at Grandfather.

That earns a snort from him, the first sound he’s made all dinner. Still, he doesn’t speak.

Eventually, after the pie is passed around and silence settles again, Darian clears his throat. “I should go now.”

The words feel like a bucket of cold water. I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth.

He pushes back his chair, rises. I follow quickly.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say, already at his side.

We stop just beyond the porch, under the low hum of the flickering light, the darkness swallowing the edges of the woods. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, arms folded, eyes locked on a fixed point somewhere far beyond my grandfather’s fence.

I cross my arms, not from the cold, but because I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know what to do with any part of myself right now.

“You don’t trust him,” I say quietly.

He finally looks at me. “Would you?”

My shoulders sag. “He’s my family.”

His jaw tightens. “He destroyed mine.”

Silence again. The kind that scrapes the inside of your ribs.

Then, softer this time, he adds, “But I’ll respect your choice, Iris. That’s the thing about this, whatever this is between us. It doesn’t come with control. I just want you safe.”

My breath catches. Because in that moment, his eyes soften. There’s no anger in them. Just something raw. Something achingly tender.

“You’ve done enough for me,” I whisper. “You’ve risked everything-”

“I’d do it again,” he cuts in. “Without hesitation.”

I blink fast. The tears don’t fall, but they sting. He notices. Of course, he does. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray curl behind my ear. His touch is light, but the weight of it settles deep.

“I’m not used to this,” he says, voice rough. “Letting someone go when every part of me wants to stay.”

I smile, small. “So don’t.”

His laugh is hollow. “You know I can’t.”

“I know,” I whisper, stepping closer. “That’s the worst part.”

His hand lingers by my jaw now, fingers resting just under my chin. He tilts my head slightly, his eyes scanning mine like he’s memorizing everything. My lashes. My freckles. My sadness.

“Tell me you’ll be okay,” he says.

I try to nod, but my voice cracks instead. “Only if you come back.”

That’s what does it.

He pulls me in.

The kiss starts like a sigh. Gentle. Cautious. Like he’s trying not to shatter something. His lips brush mine once, twice, testing, waiting for permission. I give it by leaning in, closing the distance, curling my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

And then it deepens.

It’s no longer soft. No longer slow. It’s all of the things we haven’t said. All of the tension. All of the longing from every stolen glance. It’s wild and warm and desperate.

His arms wrap fully around my waist, anchoring me to him, lifting me slightly as though he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

I feel his heartbeat against mine.

I feel every inch of him.  His strength, his restraint, and the breaking point he’s skimming.

My hands go to his neck, fingers threading into his hair as I pull him impossibly closer. His mouth parts against mine, urgent, searching, and I swear the earth tilts. For a moment, nothing else exists. Not the prophecy. Not the crown. Not the danger.

Just this. Just him. Just now.

He pulls away first. Barely.

Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling in the cold.

His voice is low. Wrecked.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes like the words hurt. “If I stay, I’ll ruin everything.”

I shake my head slowly. “You already ruined everything, Darian.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And then he kisses me again, shorter, but just as heavy. Just as full of everything we’re not saying.

When he pulls back this time, it’s final.

“I’ll come back,” he says. “No matter what it takes.”

I nod, barely holding myself together. “I’ll wait.”

He takes one last look at me, before he turns and walks to the car. He doesn’t look back.

I stay there long after the engine fades, the porch light still humming above me, my lips still tingling with goodbye.