The wind of River Sile sang a mournful tune that evening.
The scent of roasting meat wafted through the clearing where Donato crouched beside a crackling fire, bare-chested, his muscles etched in the amber glow. Sweat glistened across his skin as he turned the skewered meat, eyes lost in thought.
Princess Elowen stood a few feet away, her heart thudding with feelings she could no longer hide.
Every time she looked at him, something inside her softened, despite the chaos surrounding them, despite the blood and the burden of the black book.
She admired his courage, his silence, his fire.
But tonight, she also carried a truth that could shatter everything.
"Donato," she called softly, her voice trembling.
He didn't turn, the knife in his hand reflected the flames. "Hmm?"
She hesitated, taking slow steps toward him.
The shadows of the trees danced around them, the air heavy with something unspoken.
When she finally reached him, she placed her hand gently on his arm.
