Days had passed since the feast, and Athax, for all its polished beauty, had begun to feel the shift of new forces moving through it.
Killan strode down the corridor toward Aya's chambers, barely responding to the greetings of servants and guards. His black boots rang sharp against the marble floors. He had meant only to speak with her — to discuss plans for the upcoming campaign — but part of him itched for the sight of her after days spent entangled in council meetings and noble appeasements.
He rapped once against the door and pushed it open.
Empty.
Only the scent of northern pine lingered faintly in the air, carried on the crisp spring breeze from the open windows.
A young woman looked up from where she was folding linens near the hearth. She dropped a quick curtsy, cheeks flushed.
"Good morning, Your Grace," she said hurriedly. "Lady Aya is not here."
Killan's brow quirked. "And where might she be?"
"Training," the girl answered with a shy smile. "At the practice fields. She left before dawn."
He chuckled under his breath. "Of course she did."
He studied the girl for a moment. She was southern — dark-haired, slight — but there was a fondness in her voice when she spoke of Aya.
"And you are?"
"Raina, Your Grace. I serve Lady Aya. She—" Raina hesitated, then smiled again, brighter. "I've been assigned by Lord Vignir to be her chambermaid."
Killan gave her a nod of approval before turning on his heel. He would find Aya himself.
The training fields were set beyond the western walls, surrounded by stone outcrops and low hills. A few other lords had gathered to watch the northern warriors drill — drawn by curiosity, skepticism, or both.
Killan found Vignir and Harlan standing together at the edge of the fields, arms folded, eyes sharp.
"You're late," Vignir said with a smirk, not looking away from the field.
Killan stepped up beside them and followed their gaze.
Aya moved like a storm.
She wore light training leathers, her dark hair tied back just enough to keep her vision clear, a long, thin sword flashing in her hand. Shin and Masa sparred with her in turn, their strikes quick, calculated — but even together, they struggled to press her back. She ducked, twisted, knocked aside Masa's hammer, and caught Shin's wrist, sending him sprawling with an elegant sweep of her leg.
The gathered warriors laughed and clapped at the show of skill, no insult taken among them.
Even among Athax's seasoned men, her speed and precision drew murmurs of admiration.
"I'll be damned," Harlan muttered under his breath. "She's better than half our captains."
"She's northern," Vignir said with a shrug, as if that explained everything. "They don't breed soft up there. Also helps if you're unusually strong. Must be one of their gifts, no?"
Killan said nothing for a long moment, watching as Aya offered Shin her hand to rise, grinning as he groaned in mock defeat.
There was a lightness to her here, among her people, that the courts and feasts had not dulled. Strength, yes — but also a strange kind of joy.
It struck him harder than he expected.
"She's a wonder, isn't she?" Killan said quietly.
"She is," Vignir said, casting him a sideways look. "Well done, my friend."
Killan didn't answer. He only watched as Aya, bright-eyed and laughing, turned toward him — and saw him standing there.
The smile softened into something warmer, quieter.
She gave him a quick bow — a warrior's greeting, an equal's acknowledgment.
And for the first time since the weight of crown and duty had settled on his shoulders, Killan felt it lift. Just a little.
Killan didn't wait for an invitation.
He stepped down from the edge of the field, ignoring Vignir's muttered chuckle behind him, and made his way across the packed dirt. The warriors parted easily at his approach, offering brief nods of respect.
Aya wiped the back of her hand across her brow and turned to face him fully, sword still in hand.
"Your Highness," she greeted, catching her breath lightly.
Killan's lips twitched. "You're full of titles today, Lady Aya. Should I be worried?"
She laughed under her breath. "Only if you mean to cross blades with me."
He stopped a few paces away, considering her.
"You fight good," he said. "Not just that—clean, efficient. No wasted movement."
"My Brother taught me well," she said simply, nodding at her Brother's direction, some ways away from them.
He nodded at Captain Elex, acknowledging his presence, and then glanced at the racks of training weapons laid out nearby — swords, axes, spears, bows.
"Which weapons do you favor?" he asked.
Aya tilted her head, thoughtful.
"Longswords, mostly," she said. "The thinner blades suit me better because of the weight."
She walked toward one of the weapon racks and selected a slender northern longsword — slightly curved, light enough to dance but heavy enough to strike true.
"I also train with daggers," she added, drawing a second smaller blade from her belt and spinning it neatly between her fingers. "And bows, when needed."
Killan smiled, intrigued. "A woman of many talents."
She flashed him a grin. "You sound surprised."
"When it comes to you—yes," he said, and there was something genuine in the way he said it that softened her stance for a breath.
Then he reached for a training sword of his own.
"Care for a match?"
Around them, the warriors' chatter dimmed, attention sharpening.
Aya arched a brow but shifted easily into a ready stance. "As you wish, Your Highness."
They circled each other lightly, feet kicking up small clouds of dust. Killan made the first move — a probing strike, easily parried. Aya answered with a quick feint, forcing him to step back.
He was heavier, stronger, but she was faster and more precise.
Blades clashed, rang, slid apart again. Each exchange was sharper, tighter, until neither could find a clean opening.
Killan lunged, but Aya twisted out of reach, the tip of her sword grazing his sleeve — a warning.
She smirked.
He laughed, low and genuine.
Another flurry of strikes, another near fall, until finally they both pulled back, breathing hard, swords lowered.
A draw.
"A fair match," Killan said, offering her a nod of respect.
Aya spun her sword once and slid it neatly back into its scabbard.
"For now," she teased.
The warriors around them clapped and cheered lightly, pleased by the show. Even Harlan whistled through his teeth.
Killan stepped closer, voice low enough for only her to hear.
"I look forward to the rematch, Lady Aya."
She smiled — a real, unguarded smile — and for a moment, the sun caught in her dark hair and storm-gray eyes, and he felt something shift between them.
The warriors slowly drifted back to their drills and sparring as the energy of the match faded. Aya handed her training sword to Shin and took off her gloves, turning just in time to see Killan still watching her — thoughtful, almost amused.
"Walk with me?" he asked, offering his arm in a way that was more casual than formal.
Aya hesitated only a second before accepting, her fingers resting lightly against the bend of his elbow. His presence was warm, steady, but not suffocating. The easy kind of strength she hadn't realized she craved.
They strolled along the edge of the training fields, where the grass grew wild and the spring sun was beginning to soften the last chill in the air.
"You've settled in quickly," Killan said after a few moments, his tone admiring.
"I'm trying to," Aya answered, glancing at the line of soldiers drilling beyond the fields. "The North is not so different in some ways. But there's... a brightness here." She smiled slightly. "As if the land itself doesn't remember old wars the way ours does."
Killan followed her gaze, thoughtful.
"It has seen its share," he said. "But the South buries its scars faster. Puts flowers over the graves, pretends not to remember."
Aya's mouth quirked upward. "A stark contrast. The North keeps its scars sharp."
"And you wear them well," Killan said, more softly than he intended.
They walked a few more paces in silence, the hum of distant steel and shouted orders filling the air between them.
Finally, Killan exhaled. "The Council meets tomorrow. I'd like you and your party to attend."
Aya raised a brow, curious.
"I'll be introducing you — properly — as my intended. There will be questions. Arguments, perhaps. I'd prefer you heard them yourself rather than through gossip."
She nodded, a calm acceptance in her features. "I would expect nothing less."
Killan watched her a moment, admiring her bearing — the way she met conflict not with show but with stillness. That quiet iron again.
"And there's something else," he said after a pause. "The Council has confirmed a date. The wedding will take place in three weeks."
Aya tilted her head, neither surprised nor overly moved. "That soon?"
Killan stopped for a moment to look at her face, "Don't tell me you've changed your mind?"
"No, silly," she tapped his arm, her voice amused.
"There's pressure," he admitted. "From all sides. The timing serves both the alliance and the people — they want stability. And they want spectacle."
Aya studied him for a breath. "So we give them both?"
"We do." He hesitated. "We should speak about it. The rites, the traditions. What you want observed, what you don't."
She offered a faint smile. "I'll need a lot of help. I don't know anything about weddings. And maybe Elex's and Nana's advice, if I can get her to write back quickly enough."
"Lady Ioanna?" Killan voiced out. "We can send our fastest messenger to Peduviel if needed."
"I would be grateful for it," Aya nodded.
Killan's expression softened. "And after the wedding… you'll have to get used to the rest. The feasts. The petitions. The court and its pace. It all moves slower than life on the field."
Aya chuckled under her breath. "Life at court... I sometimes wish I had left you and your men alone on that road from Stuenia."
Killan laughed. "Really?"
She gave him a sidelong look, her voice softer now. "Not really. It wouldn't have changed anything. You would've come through anyway."
There was something weighted in the silence between them then — something not quite spoken.
Killan's voice lowered. "Still… I'm glad you didn't."
Aya met his gaze, unflinching, and nodded.
They reached the old stone archway leading back into the main castle. Aya paused, hand still lightly against his arm, feeling the quiet buzz of the moment — a strange peace between two worlds neither had thought they'd ever bridge.
Killan caught her eye and, for a beat longer than necessary, held her gaze.
He hesitated again, as if weighing his words carefully, and then said, "Aya — about the marriage. About everything that comes after." He leaned forward slightly, his voice steady but sincere. "I'll never ask you for anything you do not wish to give. Not even the duties expected of a wife. This is a choice for both of us — always."
Aya blinked, caught off guard by the earnestness of it. Slowly, a small, genuine smile curved her lips — one that touched even the steel of her storm-colored eyes.
"Then we are agreed," she said. "We move forward... together."
Killan inclined his head, a rare softness in his smile. "Together."
Later, when Killan returned to his own chambers, the fire had burned low, and the wine left on the table was untouched. He didn't light a candle. Instead, he sat by the window, gazing out at the quiet sprawl of Athax beneath the stars. There was still so much to be done — alliances to hold, enemies to name, a kingdom to keep steady — but for the first time in a long while, he felt a measure of calm. Not because everything was certain. But because Aya had said together. And that, he thought, might be enough.