The night over Arven's palace was velvet dark, the moon a pale coin suspended in a sky full of jeweled stars. The council session had finally ended, leaving the halls heavy with the echoes of arguments and the faint scent of smoldering torches.
Vanda slipped through the silent corridors, his senses sharpened by a restless energy he couldn't name. At the far end of the upper gallery, a slim figure stood by the open terrace doors, her outline silvered by moonlight.
"Daya," he said softly.
She turned, her face bright against the night. "I thought you might need air after all those hours of… diplomacy."
"Diplomacy," he echoed with a wry smile. "A polite word for endless posturing."
"I found something better than posturing." She gestured toward the rooftop garden beyond the terrace. "The stars are fierce tonight."
Vanda followed her outside. Cool air wrapped around them, carrying the faint perfume of night-blooming flowers. Lanterns glowed like captured fireflies, their warm light softening the sharp edges of the stone balustrade.
Daya moved to the center of the garden where an old marble bench waited. She sat and patted the space beside her. "Join me, Your Highness—if dragons deign to sit on plain marble."
He laughed quietly and took the seat, the bench creaking under his weight. "I sit where I please."
For a time they simply watched the stars. Somewhere below, the city murmured in its sleep.
"You once told me dragons can feel the pull of the sky," Daya said. "Do the stars call to you?"
"Yes," Vanda admitted. "Each one burns with the same fire that lives in me. Sometimes I think they remind me who I truly am." He turned to her, golden eyes catching starlight. "And what about you? What do the stars say to a woman who dares stand beside a dragon?"
Daya smiled faintly. "They tell me not to be afraid of their fire. That light can warm as much as it burns."
Something tightened in Vanda's chest. "You are not afraid of me?"
"You already asked me that," she teased gently. "And I already answered."
His gaze dropped to the loose strand of hair that had escaped her braid. Without thinking, he reached out and brushed it back behind her ear. Her breath caught, and the quiet night deepened around them.
"Daya," he said, voice low. "I have faced armies without hesitation. But when I look at you…" He faltered, the admission a strange vulnerability.
She met his eyes, steady and unflinching. "When you look at me?"
"It feels like standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing I could fall and never want to stop falling."
Her heart pounded. She had dreamed of such words but never believed she'd hear them. "Vanda…"
He leaned closer, the heat of his presence wrapping her in a cocoon of warmth that smelled faintly of smoke and pine. For a heartbeat the world shrank to the space between them.
"I can't promise you a quiet life," he murmured. "A dragon's path is fire and danger. But I can promise you truth, and that I will protect what we share—whatever name it takes."
Daya's voice was barely a whisper. "And if I choose that path with you?"
"Then the stars themselves will witness it."
The distance between them closed until their foreheads touched, a simple, intimate press that sent a tremor through them both. No kiss followed—only a deep, wordless understanding, bright and sure as the constellations above.
A sudden clatter shattered the moment. A palace messenger burst onto the terrace, panting. "Your Highness! Urgent news—the king calls for you at once. A border battalion has sighted movement from the north!"
Vanda drew a slow breath, forcing the dragon fire back under his skin. He stood, every inch the prince once more. "Tell the king I come."
The messenger bowed and fled.
Vanda turned to Daya, regret flickering across his face. "Duty waits for no heart."
She rose, her hand finding his briefly. "Go. The stars will still be here when you return."
For a moment he held her gaze, the silent promise of more lingering in the air. Then he strode away into the night, leaving the garden scented with flowers and the unspoken vow of two hearts newly bound.