Eryshae

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Vael

The Hospital

Vael stood motionless for a long moment after the door clicked shut. The room, though quiet, still carried the fading echoes of Myrtle's barbed concern and Magnolia's cryptic calm. But without them, it was like standing in the eye of a storm; after the wind, but before the grief could catch up. Her posture was still regal. Her shoulders squared. Chin high. Every inch the Eryshae Princess. But her hands… They trembled. Just slightly. She turned toward him; toward Sam.

He lay in the bed, eyes half-lidded, a sheen of sweat across his brow, bark still splintered faintly along his ribs like half-healed armor. Bandages wrapped his chest, his side, his arms; each one a map of where death had tried to claim him and failed. He was alive. He's alive. Her knees nearly buckled at the sight.

She moved forward slowly, her boots silent against the stone floor, until she stood at the edge of the bed. Her hand hovered over his, uncertain for the first time in days. She had watched him tear through enemies like a storm. Had heard the bellow that split the Grove when he saw her in danger. Had watched him almost become something else when he stood over Ruwan with that spear. And yet, none of that haunted her now.

What haunted her… was the stillness. The fragility of his breathing. The line of his throat as it bobbed in sleep. The slowness of the rise and fall of his chest. The deep bruises hidden beneath his bark. He almost died again.

The thought hit her like a lash to the ribs. She pressed her lips together, hard, and tried to swallow the lump rising in her throat. But it didn't go. It stayed there; thick and raw and real. Her eyes blurred. Vael sat beside him, carefully, silently, trying not to jostle the bed. And then, her fingers found his. They were warm. Rough. The fingers of someone who had clawed back from the edge again and again. She curled her own hand over his, slowly, reverently, like a woman placing her hand over an altar flame.

Her head bowed. And for the first time in days, her voice cracked. "You idiot," she whispered, not unkindly. Her thumb brushed over the edge of his knuckles. "You stupid, beautiful, maddening fool." Tears slipped past her lashes. She didn't wipe them away. "I thought I lost you. Again. And I don't think I could have… I don't think I could have survived it." Her voice wavered, raw and quiet now. "The first time broke me. This one… this one would've burned what was left." She let the silence sit with them, breathing in the scent of herbs and smoke, blood and bark, knowing he might still be too far under to hear her; but needing to say it anyway.

"I saw you," she whispered. "I saw you choose mercy." Her hand curled tighter around his. "You… you chose justice. You held the storm back." She leaned down, pressing her forehead gently to his. "And I love you for it." His breath hitched beneath her. Whether it was a dream or the first sign of waking, she didn't know. But she stayed there, hand in his, heart in her throat, whispering softly to the man who had become her strength. "You came back to me." And for that, she would never let him go again.

Sam's hand twitched beneath hers. Not much. Barely more than a flutter of tension against her palm. But enough. Vael froze, breath caught between a sob and a prayer. Then his fingers curled; slowly, weakly; around hers. Her head lifted just as his eyes opened. Bleary. Bloodshot. But awake. And they were his eyes; sea-glass green with streaks of soft amber, cloudy with pain but clearing fast. The corners of his mouth pulled into the ghost of a smile, like he didn't have the strength for more but still wanted her to know.

"You came back to me," she whispered again, louder this time. Sam blinked. His voice, when it came, was ragged silk. "Was… always gonna." He coughed; dry, hoarse. "Would've crawled through fire."

"You nearly did." Her tone caught halfway between scolding and breaking. "You reckless, stubborn, tree-hearted fool." His lips twitched. "You love that about me." Vael exhaled a half-laugh, half-sob. "I hate that about you," she whispered, eyes burning. "It nearly killed you." His gaze softened. "But it saved you."

"And almost destroyed me in the process." Her fingers brushed back the damp strands of hair from his brow. He leaned weakly into her touch. "I saw you standing over him," she said, voice like rain barely held back. "I saw what you could've done. What the Amber wanted you to do." Sam's jaw tensed faintly. A flicker of something darker passed behind his gaze. "It wanted blood. I wanted blood."

"But you didn't take it." He stared at her, and his voice dropped to a hush. "I didn't… because you were watching." She blinked. "I knew… if I crossed that line," he rasped, "you'd never look at me the same. And I couldn't… I couldn't live with that." Vael leaned in close, resting her brow gently against his again. "I never asked you to be perfect," she whispered. "Just to come home."

"I am home," he murmured. They stayed like that for a long breath. Just the two of them. No rebellion. No garrisons. No vines or roots or poison. Just bark and bone and two hearts that had learned how to beat again. Then Sam whispered, lips barely moving, "You cried for me."

"I wept like a child."

"Good," he rasped with a faint smile. "Means I still matter."

"You always will." Another silence passed; thick, golden, sacred. Then Vael leaned down and kissed his forehead. Soft. Steady. A promise pressed into skin. "Rest," she said quietly. "I've got you now." His eyes slipped closed again, but this time in peace; not pain. And Vael stayed by his side, fingers laced with his, guarding him not as a princess… But as a woman who would never let him be taken again.

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A soft knock broke the stillness. Vael straightened, brushing a thumb beneath one eye and reclaiming what remained of her composure. Sam stirred faintly, but didn't wake. She leaned forward, pressing one last kiss to his temple, and stood just as the door creaked open. Vice-Chief Farouq stepped inside with the slow, deliberate grace of a man who had seen a battlefield and chosen dignity in its aftermath. His robes were tailored, dark with gold trim; less ceremonial than usual, but unmistakably Eryshae nobility. He held a tray in his hands, the scent of warm bread and ginger tea wafting toward her like a balm.

"I figured you hadn't eaten," he said, tone low and calm. "You rarely do when your heart is on the floor." Vael nodded, accepting the tray with quiet gratitude. "Thank you." Farouq glanced at Sam, his expression unreadable for a beat; then he turned back to her. "Forty-six percent," he said softly. Vael looked up. "The auxiliary guard," he clarified. "Confirmed loyal to Ruwan's private chain of command. We've executed those who resisted or confessed. The others… are being handled with the Backwards Law."

Her jaw tightened. "Forty-six percent." Farouq nodded grimly. "Almost half the protection detail of our city, rotted from the inside. But the good news is the garrison here proved loyal. Thanks to them; and you two; we held the line." Vael's eyes flicked back to Sam, her hand finding his again. "He gave everything."

Farouq's gaze softened slightly. "He always does." Then he stepped back toward the door and gave a subtle wave with two fingers. A shadow stepped into the room. At first, he was all cloak and silence; poised like a shadow peeling off a midnight wall. But when the lamplight struck his face, Vael caught the familiar glint of smug charm and dangerous intelligence.

Thorian. Vice-Chief Farouq's son was impeccable as ever; dressed not for battle, but for high intrigue. His coat was charcoal silk with bronze detailing, tailored to perfection. Every movement was measured, polished. Predictable in its unpredictability. And on his arm; "Caldris," Vael said in faint surprise. The tall, sharp-eyed woman gave a wicked grin, her asymmetrical braid bouncing over one shoulder. She was wearing a crimson half-jacket over tight black leathers, and her lips were painted just dark enough to hint at trouble.

Caldris leaned in and kissed Thorian's cheek. "Partner in crime," she purred. "In every sense." Vael arched a brow. "The two of you…?" Thorian gave a low chuckle. "Don't sound so shocked, Your Highness. The world burns, alliances shift, and even I have moments of domestic sentiment." Caldris gave a little mock curtsy and twirled a dagger between two fingers. "Besides. Who wouldn't want a Vice-Chief's son who schemes like a playwright?" Vael snorted, but her posture relaxed, just a fraction.

Thorian stepped forward, producing a small folio from inside his coat and flipping it open. "I've secured tickets for a temporary recovery sabbatical; on a discreet, well-guarded spa estate in Ocean City. Steam pools. Sea views. Full privacy. Only indulgence."

He offered the folio with a flourish. "I trust you and your fiancé would benefit from… less blood for a while." Vael hesitated. Her eyes drifted to Sam again; his bandaged frame, his sleeping form, the tension that still lined his brow even in unconsciousness. Then, softly: "He'd never agree." Thorian tilted his head. "He doesn't have to. He only has to wake up, get dressed, and let someone else drive the carriage and meet us there."

Vael's fingers tightened on the folio. Ocean City. Peace. Healing. A place where she didn't have to wear her title like armor. She exhaled slowly. "Alright. We'll go." Thorian grinned. Caldris raised a brow. "Well, look at that. A miracle before noon." Vael sat back down beside Sam, brushing her fingers through his hair. "Just for a few days," she said, mostly to herself. Farouq gave a nod of quiet approval. "Good. You've earned it. Both of you." Vael let the moment settle in her chest; heavier than she'd expected. But warm. Grounded. Real. Outside, the wind stirred the trees beyond the windows. For once, it didn't whisper of war.

Vael sipped the ginger tea, letting the heat soothe the rawness in her throat. The silence between her and Farouq held weight; the kind born of shared burdens and things left unsaid. Then, quietly, he added, "There's one more thing you should know." She glanced up, the cup halfway to her lips. "Mira," Farouq said, voice low. "Her body was never recovered." Vael froze. The warmth of the tea turned cold against her tongue. "She was last seen fighting near the north tree line," he continued. "We've found traces; blood, broken arrows, scorched earth. But no remains. No witness. No confirmation."

Vael slowly set her cup down. The ache that lived behind her ribs tightened, pulled taut with memory. "She wouldn't fall quietly," she whispered. "No," Farouq agreed. "She wouldn't." Vael looked toward the far window, eyes unfocused. "If there's even a chance she's alive; "

"We'll keep searching," he said firmly. "I've already dispatched two trusted scouts to track the outer paths. If she lives, we will find her." Vael nodded slowly, but the hollow behind her heart didn't fade. She turned back toward Sam, her fingers drifting along the edge of the blanket near his hand. "She saved Sam," she murmured. "And I couldn't return the favor." Farouq placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "She knew the risks."

"I know." Vael swallowed. "But that doesn't make it feel any less like a debt unpaid." Vice-Chief Farouq adjusted the cuffs of his finely stitched tunic, the subtle embroidery catching the firelight in quiet flashes of gold. He stepped forward and placed a steady hand on Sam's arm, careful to avoid the worst of the bandages. "Rest well, Vice-Chief Sam," he said, voice deep with earned gravitas. "The Grove stood because of you. The people will remember that. Heal, and when you rise; rise stronger."

Farouq inclined his head, then turned to Vael. "And you, Princess," he said, gentling the title with warmth. "Ocean City will give you peace, even if only for a little while. Take it. You've earned more than blood and ash." Vael nodded, though her jaw tensed. "We'll return soon." Thorian stepped forward then, his cloak whispering behind him. His presence was smoother than silk and wine. "You two take care of each other," Thorian said, flashing that polished, diplomatic smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "No court, no duties, just seafoam and hot stones."

"Sounds dangerously like a vacation," Vael muttered with a small grin. Thorian chuckled. "It is. Just this once." At his side, Caldris leaned in and brushed a kiss to Thorian's cheek before offering Vael a subtle, almost respectful smile. "We'll leave the tickets with Myrtle. Come when you're ready. Ocean City isn't going anywhere." She glanced at Sam, then nodded. "We'll come." Thorian gave a half-bow, just enough to acknowledge royalty without groveling. "Until then; get well. All of us need to be whole for what's coming." Farouq opened the door with a quiet creak. "Rest, both of you. We'll keep things steady here." And with a final nod, the trio disappeared into the hallway, shadows folding behind them like a curtain drawing to a close.