The door shut with a hollow thud behind them, sealing the tension of the Commander’s quarters in its place. Flynn kept walking, hand still entwined with Amaya’s. He glanced down at her, concern tightening in his chest. Her skin was cold—unnaturally so—and that chill had crept up his own arm, absorbing the storm brewing within her.
But he said nothing.
Not yet.
Flynn’s eyes drifted forward—and narrowed.
Up ahead, beneath the long shadows of the treeline, two figures lingered. The Champion—still stationed exactly where they’d left her—stood in quiet conversation with a man Flynn recognized immediately by posture alone. Broad-shouldered. Sharp-eyed. A man so fastidious in his work that it bordered on artistry.
A necessary asset, but an endlessly irritating one.
Amber eyes flicked to the royal couple as they walked, lingering on Amaya. Then they caught Flynn’s gaze. The mason gave a small, sharp-edged smile, like he was laughing at his own joke. He turned his attention back to the Champion, eyes dancing with amusement.
Flynn gave them a wide berth, guiding Amaya toward the jail. Their next stop. Another fire to put out.
As they continued, the soldier’s grounds unfolded around them. Battered training dummies, barracks flanked with gear and noise. Soldiers milled about in wary groups, still keeping distance between factions, though the presence of two commanders under one roof might shift that, in time. He could only hope.
As the distance between them and the Champion grew, once he was sure they’d moved beyond stray ears, Flynn began to slow. He gave Amaya a quiet glance, a wordless signal, and gently tugged her toward the trees with him, veering from the path.
Just far enough for privacy.
The snow fluttered unnaturally around their feet with every step. Amaya was haunted by her father’s phantom, an oppressive weight that stilled her breath and stopped her heart.
Beneath the canopy, where snow struggled to touch the earth, Flynn stopped and turned to face her. His brow furrowed—not with anger or judgement. Just quiet worry.
"You okay?" he asked, voice low, his hand still entwined with hers.
It should’ve been harder to hear him, with her blood pounding in her ears, but his soft worry pierced through the storm — through
her.
Amaya held herself very still as she felt something fracture. But it was small — just a crack in her mask. If she could just…
focus, she could rebuild her walls, maintain her composure, keep this furious blizzard from tearing its way out of her —
Her hands were trembling. It wouldn’t have been obvious, but for the way Flynn’s steadiness wrapped around her.
Flynn, with his commanding voice and authority, and how he’d made her too solid, too tangible to the Commanders —
Volkov, with his evaluating eyes, like he hadn’t made up his mind about her years ago just like everyone else, like his first loyalty wouldn’t always be to the King —
Her father, and his inescapable presence even here, his heavy hand against her neck as he reminded her of the repercussions —
Elara, her hair and voice like a blanket of frost, waiting to be stained bloody —
Sir Abel, dead —
“Why did I not know there had been another death?” Her voice was soft as first snowfall, and just as bare. Her expression was blank. Ice blue eyes stared unseeing at Flynn’s chest, unable to look anywhere at all lest she find something else to weaken her defenses.
Flynn froze for a heartbeat, caught off guard. Of all the things she could have said, he hadn’t even considered that this would be the first thing she’d voice. The ice he felt along her fingertips, he realized, had been caused by him.
His heart sank.
She wouldn’t look at him—and he hated it. Hated that she wouldn’t see the fracture it’d caused in his expression. But he was grateful—grateful that her hand was still in his. That she hadn’t pulled away from him entirely.
“I…” His voice caught, dry in his throat, the words slow to form. Exhaling softly, he accepted another misstep he hadn’t meant to make.
“I didn’t want to upset you further…”Pale eyes cut to his, frigid with emotion that Amaya didn’t know how to voice. There was a sharp flicker of magic — the canopy above them shivered, stray snowflakes drifting down around their heads.
Shutting her eyes, Amaya fought to fold herself away again. Her frustration only built, directed inward, another revealing emotion that pressed against her failing walls. She forced a breath. It shook, a trembling cloud escaping her.
When she opened her eyes again, she wasn’t looking at Flynn. She took a step, trying to slip around him to retreat back to the path — back to the eyes of strangers that would press against her, and help maintain her walls.
Her fingers began to slip from his, and Flynn’s grip tightened instinctively, grounding them both in place. His heart lurched, a surge of dread sweeping through him in an instant.
“Amaya,” he said quickly, the plea already rising in his throat.
“Please—”He stepped forward, moving to block her path, catching her other hand in his. His fingers wrapped around hers, firm despite his heart thundering inside his chest, holding onto her like she was something already halfway gone.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, eyes searching hers.
“I didn’t… I don’t know, I thought—” None of the words fit. Nothing made it right. He felt sick.
“I’m sorry.” he said, quieter this time.
The little crack he’d managed to form in her mask only widened as Amaya looked up at him, heard the fragile tone in his voice.
His hands were warm. Hers were still shaking.
Deep in the heart she tried to hide, something reached towards him painfully. Emotions, one by one, started to slip through her fractured eyes. She lowered them again, finding that indistinct spot on his chest.
“It’s not –” Amaya, normally so precise with her words, cut herself off. She pressed her lips together. Snow hung above their heads like a sword, a constant reminder of all the ways she could ruin herself. Ruin Flynn.
Flynn’s brows pulled together, waiting for her to elaborate.
Thoughts tumbled like a storm, emotions dangerous as hail. Amaya tried to breathe again, only to find the air caught on words she couldn’t even find.
Two people were dead because of her – because she’d used her words too recklessly, and hadn’t considered how immediate the consequences would be without her father here to punish her for them.
She’d never known anyone to
listen to what she had to say. Had never known her words to have weight. Amaya tried to search for any possible way to make him understand, when she could barely parse it out herself. All the while, she could feel her father’s lingering stare.
“Why,” she tried again, barely a whisper,
“did you agree to combining their quarters?”He blinked, thrown off by her question once again. He hadn’t recovered from the first wound, and now came another. There’d been no closure, just a pivot.
“It… felt right,” he said with a shake of his head and a small shrug, unsure of why she even felt the need to ask.
“I agreed with it.” Not good enough. He could feel that in the silence between them.
He looked down at her hands in his, searching for some deeper answer to her question.
“The Commanders are too comfortable. Neither wants to yield.” He drew in a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart.
“Building separate quarters for them only reinforced the divide.” He shook his head again, disappointment etched into his expression.
“It was a mistake.” Another mistake.
He lifted his gaze to hers again,
“You were right to suggest it. It was a good idea.”“I didn’t mean it, Flynn!” The words slipped out, too quick, too charged. But it wasn’t anger that flashed through her eyes as she looked up at him – it was fear.
More snowflakes drifted down around their heads, dusting their hair and the tops of their shoulders.
Amaya squeezed her eyes shut, tilting her head down again as she tried to rein herself in. There was too much heat radiating off of his body, bridging the narrow space between them. She could feel the way her fingers thawed against his, circulation returning painfully. She hadn’t realized she was numb.
She stood there for a long moment, trying to steady herself.
He studied her in the silence that followed, searching her face, trying to piece together what she
had meant. He replayed the meeting with the Commanders in his mind, searching for the subtle layers hidden beneath her words—the things she hadn’t said, the hints she’d left unspoken, the slight shifts in her tone or expression that might’ve meant more. He had watched her expertly navigate the war of words with the Commanders, each word calculated and deadly. But with him…
She was still playing the game. Only, he had never attempted to participate in it with her. They were speaking entirely different languages to one another, operating on different scripts.
Finally, he exhaled, his voice calm but certain.
“It was a good idea, whether or not you meant it.” He spoke with quiet conviction, trusting his instincts that it had been the right call. His gaze flicked briefly upward, warily eyeing the snow that threatened to spill over onto them, before returning to her.
“What did you mean, then?” His voice softened, careful, trying to find the right balance between pushing her for an answer and pulling back to give her space.
In the wake of his steadiness, his certainty, Amaya was suddenly self-conscious. Part of her wanted to simply… accept his assurances. If he’d made his decision, then what did it matter what she’d intended? She had no
real experience. Her veiled words, her intricate song she’d learned to play… Amaya imagined herself trying to explain it to him. It felt childish. It felt too revealing.
Her eyes opened, finding their hands between them. Flynn had enfolded hers so completely, she could barely see them. Even as the cold slipped away, she was still shaking.
She could still feel –
“It was something to lose,” she finally said. It was like forcing a ship through an iceflow, but somehow the words found passage. Her lips parted. Then closed again. She gave a small, imperceptible shake of her head as she looked to some indistinct point on the ground.
“Motivation. So when they compromised they could think it was their own idea.” Her eyes finally found his again.
“So they don’t resent you the next time you need something from them.”Flynn had never even played this game, he realized. His father had never taught him the art of manipulation, how to lure people into traps made of carefully placed words. Even his mother had urged him to be direct, to assert himself without hesitation. To make his will known in the room, should he desire it. Resentment held no weight—obedience did.
“I don’t want them thinking it was their idea, Amaya,” he said softly, his eyes shifting past her, weighing his words before continuing.
“Their resentment doesn’t concern me.”Her eyebrows pulled together, a new emotion cutting through her gaze – confusion. It caught her so off guard that for a moment it stilled the storm inside her.
For a brief moment, he fell silent again, wondering if he should have been softer in his approach with the Commanders. But then, a part of him fought back. With men like Volkov, showing any hint of hesitation, any sign of yielding, would have been perceived as weakness. If you gave an inch, they took a mile. That was the game he played.
“I need them to respect us as leaders.” His gaze returned to her,
“We make the decisions, and they follow. Resentment or not, they answer to us.” Amaya stared up at him, trying to process his words – his certainty that others would follow just… because he said so.
But why would he think otherwise? He’d built this town. Delayed their deaths, if only for a little while. Just because Amaya needed careful words and hidden motivations, didn’t mean
he did. There was that insecurity again, the feeling that she was a foolish child spinning intricate webs and building walls around herself because she’d never learned how to move through the world properly.
Still, his words didn’t sit right – they were so removed from her reality that she didn’t know what to make of them. The Commanders’ dissatisfied faces, Volkov’s disrespect, flashed in her mind again.
Flynn was so…
reckless. He wasn’t
concerned with their resentment? With what it might cause them to do?
Suddenly the snow above their heads was not the only thing that threatened him. Flynn was scattering kindling about his feet, waiting for someone to produce a match. The cold fear in her chest only intensified. Amaya felt the precious warmth of his hands, saw the tired green of his eyes – and all the battles he thought were necessary. They would be the death of him.
“Do they?” she asked carefully, still looking up at him.
“Or did our fathers order them here?” As gentle as her voice was, the words felt too harsh. But Amaya didn’t know how else to make him understand.
“What do the Commanders write, when they report back? What will come of it? What do they say to their men when they give their orders? What tone do they use when they speak of you? How do others hear it?” Flynn tensed. Just slightly, but Amaya could feel it. She’d tried to dull the razored edge of her words, but they burrowed in him all the same, hitting a place deeper than he had expected. He didn’t flinch, but something in him had been struck.
Amaya paused, holding his gaze intently. The muscles in her hands finally came back to life, fingers curling slightly into his. It was all she could do as she tried to soften her voice – soften
herself – so he wouldn’t think she was damning him.
“You think you have authority because you have a title that Volkov won’t even use.” Somehow, she managed to brush her thumb over the back of his palm. Snowflakes at their feet pulled in a mirrored arc, settling gently back on the ground.
“I have a title too, Flynn.” The words burned her with an icy grip, shameful like an admission of her own failures. But she leaned towards him and his warmth, holding his gaze. Amaya made herself continue for him.
“What did you know of me before all this?”It was a reminder – an echo of the same question she’d asked him yesterday, and Flynn had revealed that he’d known how the
Princess of Lunaris was treated. He’d known how little power she held in her own kingdom.
He’d known what her title had been worth.
For a long moment, he didn’t answer.
He looked down at their hands laced together, his grip loosening slightly. Not to let go, but to…
He didn’t fully know.
Her hands felt glacial in his. Too frozen to thaw through, too distant for his touch to mean anything. He drew in a breath, held it for a beat, then slowly let it go—trying to cool the heat building behind his ribs. The wounded pride. The voice in the back of his head telling him to recoil.
He wanted to deny it. To tell her he didn’t want people to obey simply for his title alone. That his decisions weren’t born of arrogance or ignorance. But she was looking at him so directly, speaking so openly, and he didn’t know if the denial would have been entirely true.
Desperately, he tried to separate ego from rationale.
It had been easier to do in Aurelia, when his decisions hadn’t meant life or death to him or anyone he’d loved.
Yet, even in her Kingdom, Amaya’s title had meant little. And something inside him cracked for her, understanding clicking into place as he tried to sort through the fear that had flashed through her eyes. She
had to operate this way, to control the room with charm and veiled suggestion. To read people before they could read her. It wasn’t weakness. It was survival.
You see things that I don’t. You know things I can’t begin to perceive.He’d said those words to her once. He’d meant them. And now, they echoed in his mind—sharp and truer than ever.
This caution was her way—her strength. A subtler blade than the one Flynn had been raised to wield. But no less effective. She didn’t meet force with force. She moved around it. Held the tension in a smile until her opponent cut themselves on their own arrogance. She could command a room without all the debate that Flynn had been forged within.
And he could learn something from that.
The sharp edges around his ego softened, and for a moment, he managed to see past himself.
She wasn’t against him. She was his partner. A soft voice trying to guide him when the shadows of his heritage threatened to reshape the man he was trying to be.
“You’re right…” he said finally, voice low. Guarded. Afraid that articulating his thoughts wouldn’t come out in the way he intended. Something flickered in her eyes – surprise. Softness. A worry she tried to stifle.
His eyes remained focused on their hands.
“I don’t know what they say or do when I’m not in the room.” There was no defiance in his tone, only quiet reflection.
He met her gaze again.
“But I don’t want to play games. I don’t want to be a man who manipulates his way into loyalty. I want them to follow because I make the right calls. Because they trust me to lead with their best interests in mind. Not because I wear a crown. Or because they’re afraid of what happens if they don’t.”A breath passed between them.
“But you’re right,” he added more softly.
“The trust isn’t there yet. And your way… it would have fostered that better.”His mind flicked through names and faces.
Barrett. Hightower. Nightingale.At least with the nobles he’d brought from Aurelia, Flynn knew exactly where he stood. He had proven himself to them. Proven that he was not his father—at least not in the ways that counted. Not so rigid. Not so absolute. Flynn could listen when it mattered. Change course when he needed to. In the council chambers, he’d saved lives before he’d ever drawn a sword. He’d made decisions that had worked. That had persuaded his father not to slaughter innocent blight-born for simply existing.
That was why the Commander, the Sage, and his Advisor had come to Dawnhaven. That was why they stood with him now. Not because they were ordered to, but because they believed in the cause. Believed in him.
“Barrett didn’t come because my father told him to.” He said, some part of his ego still slipping out in defense of itself.
“My father left the summons to me. Said if the plan was mine, the burden was too.”And it had stung—that neither of his parents had lifted a finger to gather people, to stall what was coming. Aside from forcing church members to come along, they’d left it to him to chase the impossible. To convince nobles to risk their lives on a dream. But still… he had done it.
“I gave him a choice. I didn’t demand it. He came because I asked.” Another pause.
“I earned that much.”But Volkov… Volkov was different. Flynn didn’t know why he’d come—or any of the high-standing Lunarians, for that matter. Flynn had heard that the Lunarian King had threatened death to those who disobeyed the summons, but why? Would he truly go so far as to kill those who walked away?
Flynn had noticed every time Volkov refused to use the proper title, of course, but he’d let it pass. Not because he didn’t care. But because he did.
Stripping Volkov of rank or sending him away might satisfy his pride—but what would it prove? That he was thin-skinned and could silence anyone who challenged him?
No. He knew he needed to earn Volkov’s respect, just as he’d stated. Lamenting over proper titles wouldn’t work. Not with men like him. He had to prove himself a better leader. Steady, but not submissive. Rational. Patient (which, admittedly, could use work). Flynn needed to show him that he was not just a boy playing King. That he was someone worth following.
“I haven’t corrected Volkov because he’s trying to provoke me.” He added, keeping his gaze on Amaya as he tried to sort through every thought spiraling in his mind.
“He’s testing the water. But if I make the right decisions—if I lead well—he’ll have no choice than to see me for what I am. Through action… and time.” The thought was optimistic, he knew. Volkov could very well have no intention of ever bending the knee to anyone but King Jericho. Perhaps Lunarians were just as he’d heard—incapable of change or further consideration. But he’d glimpsed change in Amaya. And Flynn had to hold onto hope, however fragile. If this plan were going to work, he needed to believe. And if all came crashing down, he would meet the consequences with a clear conscience—knowing he’d done what he could to shift the tide, rather than be swept away by it.
Amaya looked up at him, brows drawn together, eyes clear and focused, thoughts and emotions spinning around his words. She wanted to rebut him. Sometimes it didn’t matter how well you proved yourself, how noble your intentions, how deftly you maneuvered a conversation –
Sometimes who you were and what you were capable of had been decided long before a conversation ever began. You couldn’t
convince someone of something that they didn’t want to believe. You had to work around them.
It wasn’t a
game as he’d called it – it was the only way Amaya’d had any voice at all. It was the only reason she was still alive.
A bitter thought occurred to her, cutting her to the core. Perhaps what was true for her simply wasn’t true for him. Maybe Flynn was simply someone people could place their trust in. He’d never needed
games because they were just for those not meant for real power.
Her eyes drifted back down to their hands. Beyond them, on the snow dusted ground, there was the faint outline of Flynn’s shadow. She tried not to see her father in it.
“I… I’m not asking you to stop thinking the way you do. I need it. You see the things I miss… clearly. But I… ” He gave a faint shake of his head, the corner of his mouth twitching—not quite a smile.
“I was raised to walk straight into the fire, not circle it.” Amaya’s lips pressed together, afraid of how unconcerned he was. The fire wouldn’t just burn, it would
consume him.
His fingers curled a little tighter around hers again.
“But I want to learn how to do this with you. To get better at it. At… all of it.”He took another breath, trying to will the ache in his chest to disappear.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For not… not knowing what you needed from me.”His gentle apology pierced through her in a way she’d never learned how to defend against. She took in a shaking breath, unprepared for the emotion that surged through her. She remembered the night before – his simple acknowledgements of her pain striking her like lightning, and the storm surge that had threatened to drown her as he pulled her close.
Words caught in Amaya’s throat, too honest to be given shape.
He spoke truths into existence like it was his right. Like his wants and motivations wouldn’t be turned into a blade against him.
Amaya saw his eyes, green as the sea and just as inescapable, as he said she was
his. As he called her a partner. She looked up at him – it felt like a risk. His eyes were the same now, looking down at her instead of up at the canopy of snow that might collapse around their heads — like it simply wasn’t a concern. But she could feel the weight of the avalanche as if it had already buried her.
His hands were impossibly warm. His eyes impossibly open. Amaya felt her throat freezing shut in response as more cracks formed across her walls. If she spoke they would collapse.
…Would that be so awful? A small voice hissed an answer, even as something in her pulled dangerously toward him.
She looked down, back to the spot on his chest. Amaya blinked rapidly. She hadn’t realized her eyes were damp. Her hands curled around his the slightest bit. Then reckless impulse carried her. She let out a shaking breath and stepped forward across the small distance that separated them – into Flynn’s warmth. Snowflakes at their feet pulled forward like the tide. He froze for half a heartbeat, breath catching in his throat. Slowly, his arms rose, then folded around her like instinct, like gravity pulling him home. He held her cautiously at first, then drew her in tighter. Amaya’s head bowed, tucking against him as her eyes closed. She sighed, and his scent washed over her.
There were still too many things she disagreed with, too many fears swimming in her mind. But this — she knew she wanted this, at least. The simplicity of being held. Honesty was easier this way – warm and hidden, too close for him to see the emotions playing across her face.
“There are things for me to learn too,” she murmured into his chest. It wasn’t quite an apology, wasn’t quite vulnerability, but it still felt like baring herself.
Somehow, she’d always managed this—turning his world sideways with a single movement. She’d iced the ground beneath his feet just as easily as she’d done with the Commanders, leaving him unsteady, unsure where the cracks might spider out next. And yet, he wanted to stay.
He lowered his cheek to rest against the top of her head, eyes drifting shut. Absorbing the scent of her, the feel of her—he let it ground him. Or maybe it unmoored him entirely. He wasn’t sure. He tried not to think about how loud his heart must’ve sounded to her, pounding against his chest. Though—maybe she was used to it by now.
For longer than he probably realized, he just held her. Then, quietly, his voice barely more than a breath, he asked,
“Do you want to go see them now?” He opened his eyes, fixed on some indistinct point in the gravel path between guard camps.
“At the temple?”She tensed in his hold, pressing herself closer to him. If a damp spot formed on his coat beneath her closed eye, Amaya couldn’t see it. She could pretend it wasn’t there.
She made herself nod.
Snowflakes trembled like her breath as they fell.
JJ Doe
Qia
BlackRoseSiren
Beard Dad
The Muse
enmuni
Dezuel
Pen Name
PrinceAlexus
Snowdrops
