Seren had dread of this mont for weeks. The mont when the walls of Silvermoor would rise before her, when she would ride through the gates and see her mates waiting. Now that it was here, her throat was too tight for words.
Kael rode beside her, his wounded ribs hidden beneath a fresh tunic, his face tired but peaceful. The column stretched behind them; fifty soldiers, five wagons of supplies, and a dozen northern villagers who had volunteered to travel south and share their stories with the council.
The gates opened.
And there they were.
Aeron stood in the centre of the courtyard, his grey cloak dusted with snow, his posture rigid as always. But his hands; his hands were trembling. Just slightly. Just enough for Seren to see.
Theron stood beside him, and for once, there was no mask. No charming smile. No calculated ease. Just a man watching his mate ride ho.
Seren dismounted before her horse had fully stopped.
Theron reached her first.
He lifted her off her feet, his arms wrapping around her so tight she couldn’t breathe. His face buried in her hair. His whole body shaking.
"You’re never leaving again," he said. His voice was muffled, cracked. "Never. I don’t care what crisis happens. I don’t care who needs saving. You stay where I can see you."
Seren wrapped her arms around his neck and held on. "I’m here. I’m ho."
"Three weeks." He pulled back just enough to look at her. "Three weeks of feeling you through the bond, knowing you were in danger, knowing I couldn’t protect you. I’ve aged a decade."
"You look as handso as ever."
He laughed, a wet, broken sound. "Liar."
Then Aeron was there.
Theron released her reluctantly, stepping back to give his brother space. Aeron didn’t lift her. Didn’t embrace her. He simply took her hand and looked at her.
His eyes travelled over her face, her shoulders, her hands. Checking for injuries. Counting breaths. Reassuring himself that she was real.
"Your hands are cold," he said.
"I’ve been in the snow for three weeks."
"Your lips are chapped."
"The wind."
"Your hair is a disaster."
Seren smiled. "I missed you too."
Aeron’s composure cracked. Just for a mont. His jaw tightened. His eyes glistened. He pulled her into his arms, not the careful, controlled embrace he usually allowed himself, but sothing desperate. Sothing real.
"Don’t," he whispered. "Don’t ever do that again."
"I’m not promising that.."
"I know." He held her tighter. "It was terrifying.."
.
.
The bond humd with warmth and completion.
Kael had dismounted and now stood with his brothers, his hand finding Seren’s back. Theron’s arm draped across her shoulders. Aeron still held her hand, unwilling to let go.
Around them, the courtyard bustled with activity. Soldiers dispersed. Wagons were unloaded. Captain Voss gave orders to his guards. Lysa appeared with blankets and hot tea.
But for one mont, the four of them stood in a bubble of silence.
"The north?" Aeron asked.
"Settled." Seren leaned into Kael’s side. "Thorne is dead. His followers have scattered. The villages are receiving aid. We offered amnesty to anyone who surrenders, and most have taken it."
"And the traitor? The one who warned him?"
Theron’s face darkened. "I have leads. Nothing solid yet. But I’m close."
Seren looked at him. "How close?"
"Close enough to be dangerous." He t her eyes. "The traitor is soone we trust. Soone in the inner circle. I need more ti to prove it before I na nas."
Aeron nodded slowly. "Then we give you ti. But not too much. Every day the traitor remains free, our plans are at risk."
.
.
.
That night, the four of them dined alone in the royal wing.
No council. No nobles. No servants except Lysa, who brought the food and then retreated with a knowing smile.
The fire crackled in the hearth. Snow tapped against the windows. Seren sat between Kael and Theron, with Aeron across from her, and for the first ti in weeks, she felt safe.
"Tell us everything," Aeron said. "Not the official report. The truth."
So she did.
She told them about Greywater, where they threw rocks. About Fernwood, where Gracy knelt and pledged loyalty. About Blackstone, where the old woman asked why she should trust a human queen.
"What did you tell her?" Theron asked.
"That I know what it’s like to have no power. That I will not forget it." Seren touched the locket at her throat. "She believed ."
Kael’s hand found hers. "They all believed you. Because you told the truth."
"The villagers are still frightened. The north is still fragile. But they’re not fighting anymore. That’s sothing."
Aeron reached across the table and took her other hand. "That’s everything."
.
.
Later, when the fire had burned low and the wine was gone, they sat together on the couch. Kael’s head rested on Seren’s shoulder. Theron’s feet were in her lap. Aeron sat beside her, close enough that their arms touched.
"What’s next?" Seren asked.
"The coronation," Aeron said. "We’ve delayed too long. The kingdom needs to see us crowned. Needs to see you crowned."
"And the traitor?"
Theron stretched. "I’ll find them before the ceremony. Or during. Or after. But I’ll find them."
Kael snorted. "Confident."
"Accurate."
Seren looked at the fire. The flas danced, casting shadows on the walls.
"One war down," she said. "How many left?"
Aeron squeezed her hand. "Enough. But we’ll face them together."
The bond humd. Warm. Complete.
She was ho.
.
.
The next morning, Seren woke to sunlight streaming through the windows.
Kael was already gone; training, probably. Theron had left a note on the pillow: *Gone hunting. Save breakfast.*
Aeron sat in the chair by the window, reading reports.
"You’re staring," Seren said.
"I’m watching." He didn’t look up. "There’s a difference."
She smiled and stretched.
"What’s on the schedule today?"
"The council wants a full debrief on the north. Lysa has already prepared your notes. Captain Voss will present the military report. And Theron wants to update you on the traitor investigation."
"The traitor." Seren sat up. "Any new leads?"
Aeron set down the reports. "One. A na. He won’t tell who yet. He wants to be certain before he accuses anyone."
"You trust his judgnt?"
"I trust that he’s paranoid enough to be thorough." Aeron stood and walked to the bed. He sat beside her and took her hand. "We’re close, Seren. To the coronation. To the truth about the traitor. To sothing like peace."
"Sothing like peace," she repeated. "Not actual peace."
"Actual peace is for farrs. We’re royalty." He kissed her forehead. "We get sothing like peace. And we hold on to it with both hands."
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