Eryshae

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The tea was hot, but not scalding. His fingers wrapped around the cup, grounding himself in its simple warmth. Across the room, Myrtle busied herself with silent grace, avoiding his gaze but lingering longer than necessary by the shelf of tinctures. Thornhollow's cane tapped once, then again. A soft warning.

Sam forced down a bite of porridge. Chewed. Swallowed. His mind was elsewhere; still tangled in the dream, in the press of Vael's hand against his chest, the shimmer of moonlight on her face. The way she hadn't looked away.

And now… the vote. "Cloak," Thornhollow grunted, jerking his chin toward a neatly folded bundle on the bench.

Sam stood, slower than he needed to, letting the stiffness in his limbs work itself out. His body remembered more than he did; muscles aching from the transformation he hadn't completed. That he couldn't complete. Not yet.

He tugged the cloak over his shoulders. The fabric was light, woven with threads the color of riverstone, cut in the understated style of a candidate's page or ward. Nothing to draw attention.

"Why me?" Sam asked quietly, adjusting the clasp. "There are a dozen better choices."

"You're not a choice," Thornhollow said, turning toward the door. "You're a contingency." Sam frowned. "Meaning?"

Thornhollow looked over his shoulder, eyes unreadable. "Meaning if things go as they should, you won't need to speak. If they don't; " He paused. "You'll be the only one who can." Sam didn't press him. There was no point.

He followed the old man into the hallway, boots scuffing soft against polished wood. Outside, the sound of the square beginning to stir; vendors unpacking wares, banners catching wind, voices rising like birdsong before a storm. Today, the city would wake with teeth.

But still, he thought of her, of Vael. They turned a corner, the scent of jasmine and coal smoke lingering in the air. Ahead, the marble arches of the Court shimmered in morning light. The game was already in motion.

They had just passed beneath the first colonnade when a figure stepped out from behind a fluted pillar; broad-shouldered. "Kinan," Thornhollow muttered. He gave a short nod, his expression unreadable at first; but his eyes lingered on Sam a moment longer than necessary. "Didn't expect to see you with the Elder," Kinan said, voice low but not unfriendly. "You've been summoned."

"Summoned?" Thornhollow echoed, his brow rising. Kinan's jaw tightened. "Vael has granted audience to the Eberflames. But she also requested you, Elder. Privately. Now."

"And me?" Sam asked, his voice quiet but tense. Kinan hesitated, gaze flicking between them. "She didn't name you. But if you're walking with Thornhollow, best you come. Things are…" He exhaled. "Tense."

He turned, leading them through the Court's inner corridors; stone halls humming faintly with the presence of power, conversations whispered behind carved doors.

As they moved, Sam edged closer to Kinan, his voice low. "Is Ruwan here?" Kinan didn't look back. Barely moved his lips. "Yes." Sam stopped. Just for a breath. Then his body surged forward on instinct. Kinan turned in alarm; "Wait; Sam!"

But it was too late. Green light flared behind Sam's eyes like twin lanterns snapped open. His left arm lit with luminous veins, pulsing from fingertips to collarbone, and further; green lines threading across his chest beneath the tunic like growing roots drawn to light.

His feet slammed the marble floor as he ran, cloak snapping behind him. Faces turned. A startled gasp from a clerk. Someone shouted, but he didn't hear the words.

He didn't feel his lungs burn. Didn't hear Thornhollow's curse or Kinan barking after him. All he felt was the pull. Vael was with Ruwan. And Durnan. He had to get to her. Before Ruwan hurt her and broke something that couldn't be mended.

The halls blurred. His vision tunneled as green light pulsed with every heartbeat; veins burning like vines drawn taut beneath skin. Sam didn't remember the turns. He followed scent and instinct and something deeper than either.

The guards at the chamber doors moved to bar his path, but hesitated. Whether it was the force in his eyes, the sheer strength of his presence, or the glow now lacing his jawline, he didn't know. He didn't care.

One stepped aside rather than get bowled over by him. The other was swept out of his way with one arm. The doors loomed; carved oak, inset with gold. He shoved them open with both hands. The chamber doors gave beneath his hands with a crack of splintered silence.

Light assaulted him; stained glass reds and golds cutting across the floor like blood and flame. Faces turned. Words died in mouths. None of it mattered.

She was there.

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Vael. Standing near the center of the room, delicate cup lifted halfway to her lips. Steam curled upward like a warning he was already too late to heed.

He didn't think.

He moved.

"Vael, don't!"

His voice cracked the air just as he crossed the threshold in a blur of motion; faster than he knew he could move, faster than he'd ever allowed himself.

His hand struck the base of her wrist.

Not hard. Just sharp enough. A precise snap of instinct and panic. The cup flew from her hand, arcing downward like a falling star before it shattered against the stone. A splash of dark amber. Shards skittering like thrown bones.

Silence followed. Too complete. Too long.

Sam stood between her and the table now, arm flung wide as if to shield her from what she couldn't yet see. His chest heaved. Breath came in bursts that tasted like copper and smoke. His other hand; it glowed. Green light pulsed at the fingertips, crawled through the veins of his left arm like lightning held captive beneath skin. It ran up into his shoulder, his neck, his jaw. Bright enough to see. Bright enough not to hide.

He didn't feel the stares. Didn't care about the gasps or shifting bodies around the crescent table. His focus was her.

Vael.

He turned to face her; and saw her eyes wide with disbelief. Then anger. Then something else. Her breath caught halfway through whatever she was about to say.

She had seen his face.

Not fear.

Fury.

Raw. Real. Unfiltered.

Not at her; but for whatever danger had slithered too close. He hadn't meant to break through the chamber like a storm. Hadn't meant to reveal himself like this. But the second he saw her lifting the cup; that cup; with Ruwan seated so close and Durnan watching so calmly, he knew.

Whatever game they were playing, it ended here. And if they wanted Vael; they'd have to go through him.

"But yeah, that is what happened this morning," Sam said with a shrug, stepping closer. "I was kissed by a beautiful woman, nearly tackled by a guard, and now I've ruined a perfectly good teacup. All before noon."

Vael tilted her head, lips quirking. "A productive day, then." He grinned. "You have no idea."

A beat of silence passed, comfortable this time. The kind that didn't ask for anything except presence. Sam studied her, the way light touched her hair, how her expression softened when she wasn't trying so hard to be sharp.

"You really okay?" he asked, voice quieter now. Vael's smile faltered, just a little. "I think so. Thanks to you."

"I meant it," he said, stepping close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him again, but this time it felt like safety. "I'd never let anything happen to you." She looked up at him, her lashes low. "You're going to make things difficult."

"Good," he murmured. "Easy's never been my thing." Her lips parted; maybe to answer, maybe to stop him. But he didn't move in, didn't steal another kiss. He just looked at her like she was something rare and luminous.

Vael reached out, brushing her fingers against the edge of his cloak, almost like she didn't realize she was doing it.

"Volume two might need a whole chapter on you," she said softly. Sam's smile deepened. "Make it a warning label." This time, they both laughed. Not loud. Not careless. But warm, and real, and shared.

Their laughter faded, but the warmth lingered between them like the last embers of a shared fire. Sam didn't break her gaze. "You don't have to keep your guard up with me," he said, his voice lower now, almost a whisper. "Not here. Not right now."

Vael didn't answer. Her hand was still on the edge of his cloak, fingers curling just slightly in the fabric as if unsure whether to hold on or let go. Sam lifted his hand, slow and sure, and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered at her jawline, not possessive; just present. Steady. "Vael," he said softly, like her name was something he didn't want the world to steal.

She blinked, her breath hitching in the stillness. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, but it wasn't defiant. It was a confession in disguise. He didn't answer with words. He stepped closer instead, closing the distance until she had no choice but to look up at him, no escape but forward. His hand found the curve of her waist, light but deliberate. The other caressed just beside her heart, over fabric, over bone.

"To remind you," Sam said gently, "that you're not alone in any of this." Vael's eyes shimmered with something soft and breaking. "You don't even know what you're stepping into."

"Then show me," he said. "Whatever it is; whatever you're afraid of; let me stand with you in it." Her breath trembled. But she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned in. Just enough that her forehead brushed his chest.

Sam let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and wrapped his arms around her; not tightly, just enough to let her know he wasn't going anywhere. The green light had faded from his skin, but something warmer bloomed in its place.

A hush settled between them. No more battles. No more masks. Just two people standing still in a world that never stopped moving. For now, that was enough.

Vael stayed close, her head resting lightly against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. For a long moment, neither of them. Then, as if the quiet gave her permission, she sighed and tilted her face toward him, her voice low. "They'll hold the vote in a few hours. At noon."

Sam didn't move, his arms still loosely around her. "And the factions have already made their nominations?" Vael gave a small nod. "Yes. Each one submitted their candidate two days ago. Now the Cardinals will vote."

He exhaled slowly. "And from my understanding; Thornhollow put my name in." She met his gaze. "He did." Sam raised a brow. "Why?"

"You're not from here," she said simply. "You haven't spent your life tangled in old grudges and tribal lines. That matters more than you think right now." Sam raised a brow, his tone wry. "And what exactly is the Wood faction? Sounds like a bunch of very opinionated trees."

Vael's lips twitched with a hint of a smile, but her tone turned reverent. "They're the heart of the tribe. The oldest bloodlines. Those most closely bonded to the sacred Eryshae; the saber-tooth raccoons." Her fingers brushed his sleeve lightly, grounding herself in the telling. "My family has led the Wood faction since the first of us formed a pact with the Eryshae. We've ruled the tribe ever since."

He studied her face. "So… you're basically royalty." She made a face. "Not the gilded kind. More bark and thorns than crowns and silk." He smiled at that. "Still. It sounds like a legacy."

Vael's eyes grew distant for a beat. "It is. And it's heavy." Then, glancing back at him, her voice softened. "That's why Thornhollow chose you. You're not tied down by our bloodlines, our grudges. You're… something new." Her eyes warm as she looked at him. Sam's expression sobered. "You think they'll vote for an Outsider?"

"I think," she said quietly, "they're looking for someone brave enough to challenge the rot." He exhaled, not entirely ready for the weight of it; but not running from it either. "And if I win?" he asked. "What happens next?"

Vael's gaze didn't waver. "Then you'll have a voice in the council. And a hand in what comes after." A long pause stretched between them. Sam nodded slowly. "Okay. Let's see what the trees have to say."