Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“The consequences,” Oaken said, “would be devastating. For Caerith. For Driochmor. For all of Scotara.” He turned fully to Dar then, his expression grave. “You must go to the king. You must tell him what has been set in motion. And you must tell him this as well—Driochmor has never stood with evil and never will.”
Dar met his gaze, understanding better the truth of his words since seeing Driochmor for himself.
“We will fight for Scotara,” Lord Oaken said. “Not for crowns or favor—but to stop what would destroy us all.”
Relief stirred in Dar, gaining unexpected allies, but how would the king see it? Would he trust the word given to him or think it nothing more than a ruse? With that thought came the weight of what lay ahead: facing the king, speaking truths that would not be welcomed, and standing between suspicion and war.
Elara slipped her hand into his, warm and firm, letting him know that whatever comes, they would face it together.
Dar, feeling her there, alive, warm, resolute, knew one thing with absolute certainty.
He would not fail her.
Nor would he fail the land that had finally revealed its truth.
The chamber was quiet when they entered, the hearth still warm from earlier, embers glowing low and steady. Their plans were set, word sent, horses made ready, departure at first light. For now, the night belonged to them.
Elara moved to the window, watching the last of the dusk fade over Driochmor’s forested hills. “I will miss him,” she said softly. “I never imagined finding family here… and leaving so soon.”
“You will see him again,” Dar assured her, feeling the truth of his words. He loosened his shirt and drew it over his head, the simple act unhurried, thoughtful, before he settled on the bench beside the hearth. “This place is part of you now. It will wait.”
She turned at that, crossed the room, and came to stand behind him. Her arms slipped around his shoulders, her cheek brushing his back as she pressed a kiss to his skin.
“You have not touched me since I—”
He did not let her finish.
Dar reached back, guiding her gently, turning her until she rested against him, then eased her fully into his lap. His arms closed around her, firm and sure, as if he would keep hold of her forever, never letting her go.
“I needed to know,” he said, his voice rough with honesty, “that you were whole again. That I would not hurt you by holding you too tightly. That you were truly healed.”
She searched his face, then laid her palm over his heart. “I am,” she assured him. “Helma said so herself.” Her brow furrowed slightly. “But what of you?”
His gaze darkened, thoughtful rather than troubled. “This place has changed me,” he admitted. “Or perhaps it has reminded me of what was always there.” He drew a breath. “I feel the land now, Elara. Not as something to conquer or guard, but as something that breathes alongside me. It is in my blood. Inherent.” He paused. “When this is done, I will take the Hunters back to what they were meant to be. Keepers. Not weapons of the king.”
Her smile was soft, proud. “Venngraith could use healers again,” she said lightly. “And a place where herb-scribes can learn without fear.” She tilted her head. “We may have to divide our time between here and Venngraith.”
His answer was a kiss—slow, lingering, full of promise.
“We will build something good,” he murmured against her lips. “Together.”
Dar rose then, lifting her effortlessly, carrying her the short distance to the bed. He lay down with her still in his arms, drawing her close, his forehead resting against hers.
“Tonight is ours,” he said, and kissed her again—deeply, lovingly—as the fire burned low and the world beyond the chamber ceased to matter.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Caerith
The King’s War Room
* * *
The war room had not changed.
The same heavy stone walls rose around them, cold and unforgiving, etched with scars left by centuries of conquest. The same long table stretched through the center of the chamber, maps pinned beneath iron weights, markers pressed into parchment that charted borders won and lost by blood. The scent of oil, metal, and old smoke lingered, as if the room itself remembered every order given within it—and the cost of those orders.
Dar stood at the table’s edge, tense and alert, making sure to keep his wife close by his side. If the king meant to punish, he would be the one to suffer not his wife.
Elara’s fingers brushed his sleeve, feeling how taut with tension he was. “Do not even think to play the hero.”
“You will obey me in the king’s presence,” he ordered and cringed hearing his commanding tone.
She gave his arm a squeeze. “Let go of the Hunter you were and give rein to the Hunter reborn in the forest of Driochmor.”