Chapter 10 - Roots and Stars
The frost arrived on the final night of October, painting the pine needles with delicate, shimmering lacework of white crystal.
Inside their small, warm cottage near the edge of the keep, the hearth fire crackled and spat cheerful orange sparks into the stone hearth. The smell of roasting chestnuts and pine resin filled the air.
Vana sat on the woven rug by the fire, mending a tear in her hunting tunic with steady, practiced stitches. Across from her, sitting at the old oak workbench, Fenris was carefully sorting dried silver-leaf roots into small, neatly labeled linen pouches destined for the southern medical tent.
The silence between them wasn't the heavy, suffocating silence of tension or fear. It was a deep, comfortable quiet—the kind of silence that only exists when two souls have nothing left to prove to the world or to each other.
“The council sent another courier today,” Vana said without looking up from her sewing. “They want to know if you’ll attend the winter solstice summit in the capital.”
Fenris smiled faintly, tying off a linen pouch with a piece of twine. “And what did you tell them?”
“I told them my husband is too busy weeding his garden to care about fancy thrones and royal processions.”
Fenris chuckled, standing up from the workbench and walking over to the hearth. He sat down beside her on the rug, pulling her back against his chest so she could lean comfortably into his warmth. He wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin softly on her shoulder.
“Good answer,” he whispered against her ear.
Vana turned her head, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. She looked down at his hands—the same hands that had held off an army, shattered stone with a breath, and gently harvested delicate medicine in the muddy courtyard.
“Do you ever miss it?” she asked softly. “The throne? The absolute power?”
Fenris looked past her into the flickering flames of the hearth, his golden-flecked eyes reflecting the dancing light.
“Power is a lonely thing, Vana,” he murmured, his voice rich with quiet contentment. “A king can command an entire continent, but he sleeps alone on a cold stone throne. I spent a thousand years learning that true strength isn't about making the world fear you.”
He pressed his forehead gently against hers, his breath warm against her skin.
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“It’s about finding someone worth staying in the dirt for.”
Vana smiled, closing her eyes and letting out a long, peaceful breath. Outside, the winter wind howled through the mountain pines, rattling the windowpanes with icy fingers. But inside, the fire burned bright, the roots were safely stored, and the King had finally come home.
