Chapter 57 The North
Liana and Kael left for the North the day after the wedding. There was no grand send-off. No banners. No ceremony. No lingering procession to mark the departure of a duke and duchess returning to their lands.
They packed quietly. Said their goodbyes in low voices while the palace still carried the echo of celebration before the corridors filled again with servants and court and expectation. The king clasped Kael’s shoulder once, firm and brief.
“Write,” he said.
“I will, Your Majesty,” Kael replied.
There was more that could have been said. There always was. But Aldric had never been a man to stretch a moment past what it could hold.
Thaeron wasn’t there to see them off. He was already at work somewhere in the palace, buried in records and quiet conversations, keeping pace with the saint and the endless tide of those who came seeking her.
That, more than anything departed, feels real.
The world hadn’t paused for their wedding.
It never would.
They rode out before the morning had time to grow loud.
The roads were dry beneath the horses’ hooves, the rhythm steady and familiar. On either side, the fields stretched wide and green, the kind of late-season green that lingered stubbornly, as if the land itself were reluctant to admit that colder days were coming.
The sky was open. Clear. Endless.
Liana breathed it in slowly.
The capital faded behind them with every mile, not just the walls but the weight of it. The watchful eyes. The expectations that clung to every step, every word, every silence.
Out here, the world felt… honest.
Kael rode beside her, quiet in the way he always was when he didn’t feel the need to fill space with words. There was something in his posture that had shifted not visibly, not dramatically, but enough that Liana noticed.
He looked more at ease the further they went. They didn’t rush.
There was no need.
The North would still be there when they arrived.
The castle appeared on the horizon just as the sun began to set.
Its stone walls caught the last of the light, turning gold at the edges, the towers casting long shadows across the land. It stood the way it always had. solid, quiet, unyielding.
Unimpressed by distance or time.
Liana saw it and felt something in her chest loosen.
Not relief in the way one feels when escaping something.
Something steadier.
The quiet recognition of a place that belonged to her, not because it demanded anything, not because it granted her a title, but because it simply was hers.
A place that asked nothing except that she come back to it.
Selene was waiting at the gate.
She wasn’t walking yet, but she was close.
Standing upright, stubbornly balanced, both hands wrapped tightly around one of Marta’s fingers. Her legs were planted wide, as if daring the ground to challenge her.
Her silver eyes caught the fading light and held it.
Her dark hair had grown longer, soft curls forming at the ends, small, unruly rings that no one had managed to tame.
Liana didn’t wait.
She was off her horse before it had fully stopped, boots hitting the ground with barely a pause before she crossed the distance between them.
She scooped Selene up in one smooth motion, lifting her high enough to look at her properly.
“You grew,” Liana said, faintly accusatory. “You weren’t supposed to do that while I was gone.”
Selene considered her.
Then, with great seriousness, he reached out and grabbed Liana’s nose with both hands.
Firmly.
As if testing whether it would come off.
Kael, still on horseback, laughed.
Not restrained. Not polite.
Full and easy, the kind of laugh that came from somewhere deep and didn’t bother asking permission to exist.
“She has your sense of humor.”
Liana shifted Selene slightly, still holding her at eye level.
“She has your grip,” she said.
Selene tightened her hold in agreement.
That night, the great hall was exactly what it should be.
The fires burned high, warmth pushing into every corner of the stone room. The long tables filled quickly, villagers arriving from the surrounding farms without hesitation, loud and unbothered by formality.
There were no stiff bows.
No careful silences.
Just voices layered over each other, laughter rising easily, the clatter of plates and cups, and the low hum of people who knew each other well enough not to perform for one another.
Marta had roasted a whole pig and was deeply proud of it.
She appeared from the kitchen at regular intervals, wiping her hands on her apron, scanning the room with sharp, assessing eyes.
“Eat,” she ordered anyone who paused too long between bites.
They did.
Happily.
It was the kind of night that didn’t need anything added to it.
And so, nothing was.
Thaeron wasn’t there.
His absence sat quietly on the edges of the castle, not heavy, not disruptive, but noticeable in the way a missing voice is noticeable in a familiar room.
His study remained untouched.
Books lined the shelves in precise order. Notes were stacked neatly in drawers. A half-finished letter rested on the desk, the ink long since dried.
The room felt paused.
Not abandoned.
As though he had stepped out for a moment and would return at any time to pick up exactly where he left off.
“He’ll come back,” Liana said.
Kael stood in the doorway beside her, looking into the room without entering.
“When?” he asked.
“When he’s finished.”
She crossed the space and set a fresh stack of parchment neatly beside the unfinished letter, not disturbing it.
“You know how he is.”
Kael did.
Thaeron didn’t leave things unfinished.
Not work.
No questions.
Not mysteries that still had answers waiting somewhere.
The binding in the North held.
The Watcher was quiet.
The hunger, whatever remnants of it still existed, remained still, contained in a way that felt complete rather than temporary.
The hills lay calm beneath the sky.
Just hills.
Stone. Grass. Occasional sheep grazing without concern.
Nothing beneath them pressing upward.
Nothing waiting.
The air was clean.
Liana walked the walls every morning with Selene in her arms.
It had started simply.
Selene woke early. Liana always had. The walls offered space, quiet, and something to look at while the rest of the castle still slept.
But over time, it became something more.
A rhythm.
A ritual.
The valley stretched below them, soft in the early light. Smoke curled upward from village chimneys. Fields caught the sun slowly, gold edging into green.
Liana adjusted Selene on her hip and gestured outward.
“This is yours,” she said, as she did every morning.
Her voice wasn’t grand. It didn’t need to be.
“The castle. The valley. All of it.”
Selene kicked her feet enthusiastically and reached for Liana’s hair, grabbing a handful with impressive determination.
Liana winced slightly, then continued.
“Those people down there? They’re yours too. Not to own. To take care of.”
Selene tugged harder.
“Someday you’ll understand what that means,” Liana said. “And when you do, I’ll remind you that your first instinct was to pull my hair.”
Selene made a satisfied sound.
Kael spent the summer fixing the east tower.
Winter had not been kind to it.
Stones had shifted. Mortar had cracked. One section near the top had developed a lean that made even the most optimistic mason step back and reconsider.
Kael had looked at it.
Then look at the list of available workers.
And decided.
He worked alongside the masons every day.
Hauling stone. Mixing mortar. Listening carefully when one of them spoke with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
His hands roughened. His shoulders ached by the end of each day.
He slept well.
Liana brought him water at midday.
Every day.
Kael suspected it was less about the water and more about confirming he hadn’t done something inconvenient, like fall from the scaffolding or attempt to fix a structural problem with sheer determination alone.
“You could hire someone to handle all of this,” she said one afternoon, settling onto a fallen stone, face tilted toward the sun.
“I could,” he agreed, taking the cup.
He drank, then handed it back.
“I won’t.”
She didn’t argue.
She understood.
Some things needed to be done with your own hands.
Needed to be fitted into place.
“A letter came from the capital this morning,” Liana said, almost casually.
Kael paused.
“And?”
“Queen Anne is pregnant.”
There was a brief stillness.
Then—
“Already?”
Liana’s mouth curved slightly. “His Majesty doesn’t waste time.”
Kael huffed a quiet laugh.
“Neither do we.”
They both turned.
Across the courtyard, Selene sat in a patch of sunlight beside Marta, holding a piece of bread that was nearly as large as her head.
She examined it with deep concentration.
Then attempted to eat it anyway.
Kael watched her for a moment.
Then glanced at Liana.
Selene was proof enough.
Of time moving forward.
Of things being built, not just endured.
Of something steady, rooted, and real.
And for now—
That was enough.