After the initial chaos of introductions and Dorian's exasperated acceptance of his unexpected royal guest, Alice reached into her travel pack with slightly apologetic expression.
"Baron Blackthorn, I do have something that might ease your concerns." She withdrew a sealed letter, the royal crest prominent in crimson wax. "From my father. He asked that I present this to you upon arrival."
Dorian took the letter with raised eyebrow, breaking the seal and unfolding the parchment. His eyes tracked across the page, expression shifting from residual exasperation to professional focus as he read.
Alice watched him process the contents, knowing what the letter contained. Her father had been characteristically thorough—official authorization for her training at Northwatch, acknowledgment of the arrangement made with Adrian, expressions of trust in House Blackthorn's competence and discretion. But also, she suspected, personal notes that carried weight beyond mere formality.
"The king writes that he trusts House Blackthorn implicitly to ensure your safety," Dorian said finally, looking up from the letter. "That he recognizes the risks inherent in border training but believes exposure to genuine demon combat will serve the kingdom's future defense needs." He paused, re-reading a section. "He also mentions that he expects you to be challenged, not coddled, and that any complaints you send home about training difficulty will be promptly ignored."
Alice smiled. "That sounds like Father."
"He concludes by noting that any harm befalling you while under Blackthorn protection would result in..." Dorian's expression turned wry, "extremely unpleasant consequences for everyone involved, but that he has complete confidence such measures won't be necessary given our family's two centuries of successfully not letting people die."
"Also sounds like Father," Alice admitted. "The threat wrapped in confidence is very much his style."
Elara had moved closer to read over her husband's shoulder. "He writes warmly about your dinner together. Says you and Dorian bonded over tactical discussions and possibly too much wine."
"We may have gotten slightly carried away," Dorian conceded. He folded the letter carefully. "This clarifies matters considerably. Official royal authorization, parental blessing, acknowledgment of risks—everything proper and documented. I withdraw my objections to the surprise, though I maintain that advance warning would have been appreciated."
"Noted for future royal visits," Adrian said.
"There will be future visits?"
"Probably not, but it seemed diplomatic to acknowledge the principle."
Dorian shook his head with reluctant fondness for his son's irreverence, then addressed the group formally. "Your Highness, Lady Elbrecht, High Knight—welcome officially to Northwatch. We'll arrange accommodations in the main keep, provide orientation to fortress layout and protocols, and begin planning training schedules. But first—" he glanced at the growing crowd of curious guards and personnel gathering around the courtyard's edges, "—we should probably address the rumor situation before it gets completely out of hand."
Alice followed his gaze, noting the increasing number of people who'd found reasons to be in the courtyard, all watching with barely concealed fascination. Word had clearly spread fast.
"What kind of rumors?" she asked.
"About the princess arriving at Northwatch," Lucien said with amused resignation. "About why she came with Lord Adrian specifically. About the nature of their relationship." He glanced at his brother. "You've created quite the speculation opportunity."
Adrian had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable. "I may not have considered the gossip implications."
"You never do," Elara observed fondly. "It's one of your more endearing blind spots." She turned to Alice with warm understanding. "Your Highness, I apologize in advance for the curiosity you'll face. Northwatch is close-knit community—everyone knows everyone's business eventually. The arrival of the princess accompanied by the baron's son will fuel speculation for weeks."
"I expected curiosity," Alice said. "Though I hope people understand I'm here for legitimate training, not..." she trailed off, uncertain how to phrase it diplomatically.
"Romance?" Mira supplied helpfully.
"I was going to say 'courtly games,' but yes."
"Good luck with that distinction," Garrick said with amusement. "Soldiers love few things more than gossip about their commanders' personal lives. Add royalty to the mix and it becomes irresistible."
"Wonderful," Alice muttered.
Dorian cleared his throat loudly, and the courtyard's background noise immediately quieted—testament to his authority and the respect he commanded. "Listen up! Princess Alice Valebright is here with royal authorization for border defense training. She's accompanied by her guardian Lady Elbrecht of House Elbrecht and High Knight Garrick Grimward. They'll be staying approximately two and a half months. Standard protocols apply—respectful behavior, professional conduct, and anyone caught spreading ridiculous rumors will find themselves on latrine duty for a month. Understood?"
"Yes, Baron!" came the chorused response from assembled guards.
"Good. Now get back to work. We still have a border to defend."
The crowd dispersed with remarkable speed, though Alice caught several backward glances and whispered conversations that suggested Dorian's warning about rumors wouldn't fully prevent speculation.
"That should help," Dorian said without much conviction. "Or at least establish that blatant gossip carries consequences."
"I appreciate the effort," Alice replied diplomatically.
"Now then—let's get you settled. Adrian, show them the guest quarters in the keep. We'll have proper dinner tonight once everyone's had time to recover from travel. Say, seventh hour?"
"Seventh hour works," Adrian confirmed.
"Good. Your Highness, we'll do proper welcome dinner—nothing as elaborate as the capital's formal affairs, but substantial meal with good food and better company." Dorian smiled. "And possibly wine, though I promise to remain more sober than last time."
"I make no such promises," Elara said cheerfully. "Royal guests deserve proper celebration, which includes proper drinking."
Adrian led them through Northwatch's main keep, explaining the fortress's layout as they walked.
"The keep is the fortress's heart—command center, living quarters for ranking officers and their families, storage for critical supplies and records. Most guards live in the barracks complexes we passed entering, but senior personnel have quarters here for quick response to emergencies."
The interior was less austere than Alice had expected. Still functional—stone walls, practical furnishings, minimal decoration—but lived-in. Tapestries depicting border battles hung in corridors, not for beauty but as historical record. Training weapons lined walls at intervals, ready for immediate use. Children's laughter echoed from somewhere above—reminder that Northwatch housed families, not just soldiers.
"How many children grow up here?" Alice asked.
"Currently? About three hundred." Adrian gestured toward the upper floors. "They're raised knowing what these walls mean, what their parents do, what they'll likely do themselves when old enough. Most children born at Northwatch become border guards eventually. It's legacy passed through blood and training both."
They climbed stairs to the keep's third floor, where Adrian indicated a corridor of well-maintained rooms. "Guest quarters. We don't get visitors often, but when we do—inspectors from the capital, reinforcement commanders during incursions, occasionally nobles touring border defenses—these rooms serve well enough."
He opened doors in sequence, showing them the accommodations. Simple but comfortable—beds with good linens, windows overlooking different sections of the fortress, small adjoining rooms for washing and privacy. Not luxurious by capital standards, but substantial upgrade from way station sleeping arrangements.
"Your Highness," Adrian indicated the largest room, "this will be yours. Lady Elbrecht, the adjoining chamber connects through this door—guardian tradition. High Knight, the room across the hall."
"These are excellent," Alice said, genuinely pleased. The room had window with view toward the northern border—mountains visible in distance, the wild lands demons inhabited. Perfect reminder of why she'd come.
"My quarters are down this corridor," Adrian continued, "along with my family's rooms. Training grounds are accessed through the keep's east wing—indoor facilities for weather protection, outdoor yards for full combat exercises. Armory is in the keep's basement levels, medical facilities on the second floor. Mess hall serves meals at dawn, midday, and evening, though officers can arrange private dining when appropriate."
"Which we'll be doing tonight," Mira observed.
"Father insists on proper welcome dinner for distinguished guests. It's tradition—break bread together, establish rapport, make visitors feel honored despite the fortress's general austerity." Adrian smiled slightly. "Also gives him excuse to break out the good wine and complain about boring administrative duties while drinking it."
"Your father is delightful when drunk," Alice said fondly, remembering the castle dinner.
"He's mortified by his behavior that night," Adrian admitted. "Kept muttering about appropriate decorum and setting bad examples."
"Please tell him I found his drunken tactical theories fascinating."
"That will only encourage him."
They continued the tour—showing them the keep's library where border records and demon behavior documentation were maintained, the command center where patrol schedules and threat assessments were coordinated, the training halls where Adrian had learned to fight. Every space served clear purpose, no room wasted on pure decoration.
"It's different from the capital," Alice observed as they completed the circuit.
"Completely different. Capital is about display—showing power, projecting authority, maintaining appearances. Northwatch is about function—surviving, defending, holding position no matter the cost. There's honor in both approaches, but they create very different environments."
"I prefer this," Alice said quietly. "The honesty of it. Purpose without pretense."
Adrian looked at her with expression that suggested he understood exactly what she meant.
They spent the afternoon settling in—unpacking travel gear, washing away road dust, resting from the journey's exertions. Alice stood at her window watching the fortress operate, observing patrol rotations on the walls, guards training in the yards, the constant purposeful activity of military installation at perpetual readiness.
This was home for Adrian. These walls, these people, this constant vigilance against darkness. Not the tournament arena where he'd excelled, not the capital where he'd been visitor—here, where every moment carried weight of knowing demons waited just beyond the borders, testing defenses, seeking weakness.
How had growing up in this environment shaped him? What did it do to a person, knowing from childhood that their life's purpose was holding back horror? That failure meant not personal shame but widespread death?
She understood him better now, seeing Northwatch. Understood his intensity, his difficulty with casual social interaction, his tendency toward directness over diplomacy. When you grew up where everything mattered, where relaxation could mean death, you didn't develop skills in comfortable small talk or navigating complex social games.
You learned to fight. To evaluate threats. To act decisively when action was required.
And somehow, despite that upbringing—or perhaps because of it—he'd become capable of genuine warmth, real connection, the vulnerability he showed her during quiet moments.
A knock at her door interrupted her contemplation.
"Come in."
Mira entered, already changed from travel clothes into clean practical dress. "How are you handling it? The reality of Northwatch?"
"Better than I expected. Worse than I hoped." Alice gestured at the window, the view beyond. "It's beautiful in a harsh way. Purpose made tangible. But also... heavy. All this weight pressing down—centuries of defending, generations of sacrifice, constant threat that never truly stops."
"Adrian carries that weight naturally," Mira observed. "It's part of who he is. Whether you could share that weight was question neither of us knew the answer to until now."
"And?"
"And I think you can," Mira said with slight smile. "You're not intimidated by it. You're energized. That's good sign."
"I want to understand it. Not just intellectually but in my bones—what it means to stand in places like this, to hold positions that matter, to defend things worth defending." Alice turned from the window. "The capital taught me politics. Northwatch will teach me purpose. Both matter for what I need to become."
"Just remember—you don't have to become Adrian. You can learn from him, train beside him, understand his world without losing yourself in it."
"I know. But I also know that I need to change, to grow beyond who I've been. Northwatch offers that opportunity."
Mira nodded understanding, then shifted to more practical matters. "Dinner is in an hour. Dorian sent word—casual formal, which I interpret as nice clothing but not full court regalia."
"Perfect. I brought appropriate dresses that won't make me look completely out of place in military fortress."
"Good. And Alice?" Mira's expression turned fond. "Try to enjoy tonight. Proper welcome dinner, good company, chance to see Adrian with his family in environment where he's genuinely comfortable. It'll be illuminating."
"That's what worries me," Alice admitted. "What if seeing him completely at home here makes me realize how out of place I am?"
"Then you adapt. That's what you do—find your place, make yourself fit, prove you belong through competence rather than birth." Mira smiled. "You're good at that. Trust yourself."
The seventh hour found them gathered in the Blackthorn manor's private dining hall—smaller than the keep's main mess but substantial enough for intimate family gatherings. The room struck balance between comfort and practicality—good furniture without excessive decoration, walls hung with family history rather than expensive art, table large enough for eight set with quality dishware that had clearly seen regular use.
Dorian and Elara were already present when Alice arrived with Mira and Garrick. Lucien had apparently ridden from Ironfang specifically for the welcome dinner, arriving just ahead of them. And Adrian stood near the fireplace looking slightly uncomfortable in nicer clothing than his usual practical wear.
"Your Highness," Dorian greeted with warm smile, "welcome to our home properly. Please, sit—we're informal here. No need for excessive protocol."
"Thank you, Baron." Alice took offered seat, noting with interest that Adrian was positioned beside her. Mira sat to her other side, Garrick across from them, with the Blackthorn family filling remaining positions.
"Wine?" Elara offered, already pouring. "We have excellent vintage from southern holdings—gift from grateful village we helped defend last year."
"Please."
Servants brought food—substantial fare that emphasized quality and quantity over elaborate presentation. Roasted meats, fresh bread, seasoned vegetables, rich stews. Food meant to satisfy hunger and warm bodies that regularly worked hard defending the borders.
"This is wonderful," Alice said after first bite. "Different from capital cuisine, but excellent."
"Border cooking," Dorian explained. "Designed for warriors who burn through energy fast and need substantial nutrition. We don't do delicate portions or decorative arrangements—we do good food in quantities that actually fill you."
"I approve completely."
Conversation flowed easily once initial formality dissipated. Lucien recounted recent developments at Ironfang, Garrick shared House Grimward monster hunting stories that had everyone laughing, Elara told embarrassing childhood tales about both her sons that made Adrian groan with theatrical resignation.
"So you're telling me," Alice said, delighted, "that Adrian once got stuck in a tree while trying to ambush Lucien during training?"
"Completely stuck," Elara confirmed with dancing eyes. "Ten years old, convinced he could drop on his brother from above like elite assassin. Got tangled in branches instead and had to be rescued by his very amused father."
"I learned from that mistake," Adrian protested.
"You learned to choose sturdier trees," Lucien corrected. "Not to stop attempting ambushes entirely."
"Well yes, that would be giving up valuable tactical approach."
"You're still trying to ambush me," Lucien observed. "I'm still successfully avoiding your ambushes. When will you accept defeat?"
"Never. Eventually I'll surprise you and it will be glorious."
"Children," Dorian said with exasperated fondness. "You're both accomplished warriors now. Perhaps stop plotting each other's surprise attacks?"
"Where's the fun in that?" both brothers said simultaneously, then looked at each other with matching grins.
Alice watched them with delight. This was Adrian completely comfortable—no performance, no careful social navigation, just genuine interaction with family who knew him thoroughly and loved him without reservation. The warmth between all of them was obvious, the way Dorian's stern command presence softened into paternal affection, how Elara managed them all with knowing looks and tactical wine pours, how the brothers competed with each other while clearly being each other's closest allies.
"Your Highness," Dorian said eventually, "Adrian tells me you specifically requested demon combat training. May I ask what prompted such dangerous interest?"
"Honestly? Recognizing that everything I'd learned at the capital—politics, etiquette, some tournament combat—wasn't enough for what kingdom defense actually requires. Demons are the real threat. Learning to fight them rather than just humans seemed essential for actually being useful."
"Refreshingly practical perspective," Dorian observed. "Most nobles content themselves with tournament glory and never consider actual border threats."
"Most nobles don't have Adrian demonstrating crimson flame and describing demon tactics during training," Alice replied. "Hard to stay focused on tournaments when you've seen what real combat requires."
"And how do you find border life so far?"
"Honest. Purposeful. Intimidating in the best way." Alice met his eyes steadily. "I know I don't belong here naturally—I'm capital princess learning warrior skills late. But I want to earn belonging through competence rather than expecting it through birth."
"Good answer," Dorian said with approval. "Border respect is earned, never given. Anyone can be born to privilege. Not everyone chooses to do something worthwhile with it." He raised his glass. "To Princess Alice—may Northwatch teach you everything you need to learn."
"To Princess Alice," the table chorused, raising glasses in toast.
Alice felt warmth that had nothing to do with wine. These people—the Blackthorn family who commanded the kingdom's primary defense, who held borders against darkness, who sacrificed comfort and safety for duty—were welcoming her as one of their own based on her intentions rather than her title.
That felt like honor worth earning.
Dinner continued late into evening—more stories, more laughter, comfortable conversation that ranged from tactical discussions to absolute nonsense. Garrick and Dorian discovered they had mutual acquaintances beyond Roderick Grimward, trading tales of various warriors they'd encountered. Elara and Mira found common ground discussing guardian philosophy and family legacy. Lucien and Alice debated border defense versus internal security with spirited intensity.
And Adrian watched it all with quiet satisfaction, pleased that the people he cared about most were getting along naturally.
Eventually, as night deepened and wine bottles emptied, Dorian stood with satisfied expression.
"This has been excellent evening. Welcome again to all our guests—you honor Northwatch with your presence." He smiled at Alice specifically. "Tomorrow, training begins in earnest. Tonight, rest well and enjoy the last peaceful evening you'll have for some time. My son is excellent teacher, but he doesn't believe in gentle instruction."
"I wouldn't want gentle instruction," Alice replied. "I came to learn properly, not to be coddled."
"Perfect answer. Adrian, don't let her get killed."
"I'll do my best."
"Also try not to get killed yourself. Your mother worries."
"Everyone worries," Elara corrected. "Including your father, though he pretends otherwise."
"I don't pretend—I simply maintain professional composure," Dorian said with dignity.
"You check patrol schedules obsessively whenever Adrian's on duty."
"That's standard command protocol!"
The family's good-natured bickering continued as they prepared to depart. Mira caught Alice's eye with knowing look, then deliberately engaged Garrick in conversation about guardian traditions as they moved toward the door. Dorian and Elara were already heading upstairs, Lucien making excuses about checking something at the stables.
Very subtle, all of them.
Alice and Adrian found themselves alone in the manor's entrance hall, the sudden quiet almost startling after hours of warm conversation and laughter.
"Walk with me?" Adrian asked quietly. "Before we return to the keep?"
"I'd like that."
They stepped out into the night. Northwatch's courtyard was quieter now—guards on the walls maintaining vigilant watch, but most of the fortress settled into evening routines. The moon hung full and bright above them, casting silver light across the grey stone walls, making the fortress look almost ethereal despite its brutal functionality.
Adrian led her away from the manor's entrance, along a stone path that wound toward the fortress's inner wall. Not toward the gates or guard posts, but to a small grassy alcove where the wall curved—partially sheltered spot that offered privacy while maintaining clear view of the night sky.
"I used to come here as a child," Adrian said softly. "When fortress life felt overwhelming, when training was hard, when I needed to think. Something about the sky—vast and constant—made everything feel more manageable."
He settled onto the grass, leaning back on his elbows to look up at the stars. After a moment's hesitation, Alice joined him—not just sitting, but lying back fully, letting the cool grass cushion her as she gazed upward.
Above them, stars spread in magnificent display. No city lights to obscure them here—just pure darkness punctuated by countless points of brilliance. The kind of night sky Alice had rarely seen at the capital, where illumination from the castle and surrounding city washed out all but the brightest stars.
"Gods," she breathed. "I've never seen so many."
"Best view in the fortress," Adrian replied, settling beside her close enough that their shoulders touched. "On clear nights, you can see everything—constellations, the wandering stars, sometimes even the lights that dance across the northern sky when winter comes."
"The dancing lights?"
"Colors that shimmer across the horizon—green and blue and sometimes purple. Old stories say they're the spirits of warriors who fell defending the border, standing eternal watch. Probably just atmospheric phenomenon, but..." He smiled slightly. "I like the stories better."
Alice turned her head to look at him. "You're a romantic. Who knew?"
"Don't tell anyone. Would ruin my reputation as serious border warrior."
"Your secret is safe with me." She looked back at the sky, finding comfort in the vast expanse above. "Show me the constellations? I learned them as a child but haven't practiced in years."
Adrian shifted slightly closer, raising his arm to point. "There—the Warrior's Sword. Three stars in a line, with the fainter stars forming the hilt and guard."
Alice followed his gesture, finding the pattern. "I see it. And there—isn't that the Crown?"
"Perfect. And if you follow the Crown's arc—" his hand traced an invisible line across the sky, "—you reach the Dragon. See how the stars curve like a serpent?"
"I do." Alice found herself relaxing completely, tension draining away as they lay together naming constellations like children. "What's that cluster? The very bright one?"
"The Sisters. Seven stars close together. Legend says they were princesses who refused arranged marriages and fled to the sky rather than submit to duty they didn't choose."
"Rebellious princesses," Alice mused. "I like them already."
"I thought you might." Adrian's voice carried warmth. "They chose their own path. Decided duty meant more than obedience. Sounds familiar."
"Are you comparing me to mythical rebellious princesses?"
"If the constellation fits."
Alice laughed softly, the sound intimate in the quiet night. "Fair enough. Though I'd like to think I'm managing rebellion with slightly more royal approval than running away to the sky."
"Debatable. Pretty sure most kings don't enthusiastically approve their daughters training at the kingdom's most dangerous fortress."
"Most kings don't have daughters who refuse to take no for an answer."
"Lucky me," Adrian said quietly.
The words hung between them, weighted with meaning beyond their surface simplicity. Alice felt her breath catch slightly, awareness of his closeness suddenly acute. They were lying side by side under stars, alone in the quiet darkness, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
"Adrian?" she said softly.
"Mm?"
"I'm glad I'm here. Not just for the training, though that matters. But..." she struggled to articulate what she felt, "for all of it. For knowing you, for understanding what you carry, for being trusted with the things that matter most to you."
He turned his head to look at her, their faces close in the moonlight. "I'm glad you're here too. More than I probably should admit."
"Why shouldn't you admit it?"
"Because I'm supposed to be teaching you demon combat, not—" he gestured vaguely between them, "—whatever this is."
"Can't it be both?"
"I don't know. Never tried to balance teaching with..." he trailed off.
"With caring about someone?" Alice finished gently.
"Yes."
"Well," Alice said with slight smile, "I suppose we'll figure it out together. Add it to the list of things I'm learning at Northwatch—demon combat, border defense, and how to manage complicated feelings while doing both."
Adrian laughed quietly, tension breaking. "That's very practical approach to emotional complexity."
"I contain multitudes. Warrior princess with organizational skills."
"Terrifying combination."
They fell into comfortable silence again, simply lying together under the vast sky. Alice found herself studying the stars with new appreciation—not just distant lights, but witnesses to countless moments like this across history. How many warriors had lain under these same stars, finding comfort before battle? How many had shared quiet conversations with people they cared about, stealing peace before duty demanded everything?
"Tell me something," she said eventually. "Something you've never told anyone else. Something just for this moment."
Adrian was quiet for long time, considering. Then: "Sometimes I get tired of being strong. Of being the baron's son who has to embody Northwatch's ideals perfectly. Of knowing that any weakness I show reflects on my family, my position, the legacy I'm supposed to uphold." He paused. "Nights like this—quiet, away from expectations—those are when I can just be Adrian. Not Lord Adrian, not the tournament champion, not the heir to border command. Just... me."
Alice felt something tender bloom in her chest. "Thank you for trusting me with that."
"Your turn. Something just for this moment."
She thought carefully, then admitted quietly: "I'm terrified I'll fail here. Not just at training—I expect to fail at training regularly—but at proving I'm more than decorative princess playing at warrior. That everyone will humor my efforts without taking me seriously, and I'll never know if I'm actually good or just good enough that they don't want to offend the king's daughter."
"You're already good," Adrian said firmly. "And you'll become better. Not because of who your father is, but because you're willing to do the work."
"Promise you'll tell me the truth? Even when it's hard to hear?"
"Always."
Alice reached over, finding his hand in the darkness. Their fingers intertwined naturally, fit together like it was inevitable. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For seeing me. Not the princess, not the king's daughter, not the political alliance or the useful connection. Just... me."
Adrian squeezed her hand gently. "Just you is pretty remarkable all on its own."
They lay there under the stars, hands joined, comfortable in silence that needed no filling. The night deepened around them, guards changing shifts on the walls, the fortress continuing its eternal vigilance. But in their small alcove, time felt suspended—moment of perfect peace before tomorrow's intensity began.
Eventually, reluctantly, Adrian stirred. "We should get back. Early start tomorrow, and you'll want rest."
"I know." Alice didn't move immediately. "Just a few more minutes?"
"A few more minutes," he agreed, settling back.
Those few minutes stretched longer than either intended, neither quite willing to break the spell of starlight and connection. But finally, as the moon tracked toward midnight, they rose—grass-stained and content—and made their way back toward the keep.
They walked slowly, still holding hands, neither commenting on the contact but neither letting go either. The fortress was quieter now, most lights extinguished except for essential illumination along walls and corridors.
At Alice's door, they finally separated. Adrian looked at her with expression that mixed warmth with something deeper, something neither was quite ready to name aloud.
"Goodnight, Alice," he said softly.
Alice felt the impulse surge through her—sudden and overwhelming. Just lean forward, close the small distance, find out what kissing him would feel like. They'd shared so much tonight, been so close under the stars, and the connection between them felt tangible as the moonlight streaming through the corridor.
She started to lean in, heart racing—
Adrian moved faster, stepping close and pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead instead. Soft, lingering contact that felt both intimate and respectful. Not rejection, but deliberate choice—acknowledging what was between them while maintaining boundary neither had quite defined yet.
"Sleep well," he murmured against her forehead. "Tomorrow changes everything."
Alice felt disappointment and understanding war in her chest. Part of her wanted to protest, to ask why not her lips, to push past his careful restraint. But the larger part recognized the gift he was giving—respect for what they were still figuring out, acknowledgment that they needed clarity before rushing into complications.
"Goodnight, Adrian." Her voice came out slightly breathless. "Thank you for tonight. For the stars, the conversation, the—" she gestured vaguely, "—all of it."
"Anytime."
He stepped back, and Alice caught the conflict in his expression—wanting to stay, choosing to go, struggling with the same tension she felt. But he smiled slightly, warm and genuine, then turned toward his own quarters down the corridor.
Alice slipped inside her room, pressing her back against the closed door. Her forehead still tingled where his lips had touched, and her heart was doing complicated things in her chest.
Mira was already asleep in the adjoining chamber. Alice changed quietly, then lay in bed watching moonlight stream through her window, fingers touching her forehead absently.
Not a kiss. Not the kiss she'd been leaning toward, anyway. But somehow more meaningful for the restraint it showed—Adrian recognizing they needed to understand what this was between them before acting on impulses that could complicate everything.
He respected her. Cared enough to move slowly. Wanted clarity rather than rushing into something neither could name yet.
That mattered. That meant everything.
Tomorrow would bring challenge and difficulty, the hard education she'd requested. And through it all, they'd figure out what they were becoming to each other—not just teacher and student, not just baron's heir and princess, but something more complex and precious that deserved time to develop properly.
She fell asleep with smile on her face and warmth lingering on her forehead, dreams full of starlight and patient possibilities.
Tomorrow, she would begin earning her place at the border.
Tonight, she'd discovered that some things were worth waiting for.