The Fallen Heir,

They traveled at a measured pace, forging onward through golden meadows and shadow-dappled woods. Edric soon discovered that Adelina's every sense—except sight—was attuned to the world around her. She could tell when the birds' song shifted at twilight or when a soft breeze carried the crisp scent of pine. In turn, he found himself describing the land with a renewed sense of wonder—because for her, each description was a gift.

Morning often brought a gentle warmth, and Edric would tell her how dawn's first light caught the dew on tall grasses, making them shimmer like a thousand tiny diamonds. Adelina would tilt her head, listening intently, the corners of her lips curving into a slow, thoughtful smile. She'd reach for his sleeve, the brush of her fingers so light he barely felt it, as though she needed that small contact to ground herself in his words.

When they spoke, their conversations flowed softly, as if any louder tone might shatter the fragile trust forming between them.

"What was your home like?" she asked one afternoon, her fingers skimming along the rough leather of his saddle.

Edric hesitated, his grip tightening on the reins. "Cold," he admitted at last. "Not the stones or the air, but the people in it. My mother tried to make it feel like home, but she was alone in that effort."

Adelina absorbed his words, nodding slowly. "I know something of cold homes."

She didn't elaborate, and he didn't press. But something in her voice—the way it hollowed slightly, as if swallowing down years of unspoken memories—made him wonder.

Instead, he told her of the castle—the towering spires, the flickering torches in the great hall, the way sunlight danced against polished marble floors at midday. She listened, absorbing each detail with a quiet hunger, as though piecing together a world she could only touch in her dreams.

Her curiosity was endless. "What does the sky look like now?"

Edric glanced up, watching clouds drift lazily across an endless expanse of blue. "Like a great ocean turned upside down," he murmured. "Blue and vast, with clouds like foam on the waves."

A small, wistful sigh escaped her. "It sounds beautiful."

He studied her face, noting how her lips parted slightly, a quiet longing flickering across her features. I want to give her everything she can't see, he thought, feeling a twist of something deeper than pity. A tender ache he hadn't expected.

It wasn't only the way she listened so intently or how her expression softened with every story he told. It was the small things—how she smiled in response to the world he painted for her, how she trusted him just enough to hold onto his sleeve when they walked through rough terrain.

That trust unsettled him. He didn't want to break it, didn't want to be another person in her life who left wounds behind.

By the fifth evening of their journey, they made camp near a slow-moving stream. Edric built a modest fire as dusk settled into a velvety darkness, the embers casting dancing shadows on Adelina's features. The night air was crisp, pressing them closer than they might have dared in daylight.

A distant rustle made Edric's muscles tighten. His gaze flicked toward the treeline, but whatever had moved was gone. A trick of the wind, perhaps. Or something more.

Adelina reached out, feeling the heat of the flames, and he offered her a blanket. She hesitated for a moment, a slight flush coloring her cheeks, before draping it over her shoulders. Then, in a silent invitation, she held one corner open.

The brush of his arm against hers felt electric, and for a heartbeat, his breathing stopped.

"Thank you," he murmured, pulling the shared blanket around them both.

She smiled, a gentle curve of her lips. "Sometimes I think I can see the fire, just from the way it warms my face."

"In a way, you do," Edric said, unable to hide his admiration. "You sense more than anyone I've known."

A comfortable silence settled between them, one that felt natural, as though words weren't always necessary. Then, after a moment, she spoke again.

"What does the sky look like tonight?"

He had heard this particular question over and over again, and he never tired of it. In truth, he looked forward to it. He tilted his head back, gaze sweeping across the vast expanse. "It's clear, so the stars are brighter than I've seen in a long time. Tiny lights scattered across a deep, endless black. The moon is full—silver and radiant. She's reflecting in the water, making the stream shimmer as if it holds its own stars."

She exhaled softly, lips parting in a hint of awe. "It sounds beautiful."

He hesitated, then tentatively lifted her hand, guiding her palm upward. "Close your eyes," he whispered, catching himself with a wry smile. They're already closed, he thought, but she nodded, understanding his intent.

Lightly, he traced a pattern of imaginary stars against her palm, each point a gentle press of his finger. "That's how they're spread across the sky," he said, voice hushed. "In clusters and constellations—tiny sparks of hope in the darkness."

Her breathing stilled, and he felt an echo of that stillness settle in his own chest. The warmth of her skin beneath his touch sent a slow, deep pull of longing through him. He became painfully aware of how close she was—her shoulder brushing his, the subtle scent of lavender mingling with the night air.

When the fire died down to glowing embers, Adelina yawned, exhaustion tugging at her features. She curled beneath the blanket, and Edric instinctively shifted to shield her from the creeping chill.

As her breathing steadied, he found himself lingering awake, his heart drumming in his ears.

For the first time since Eleanor's betrayal, he felt something beyond mere survival—an undercurrent of longing, like a slow-burning ember refusing to fade. His gaze traced the delicate lines of Adelina's sleeping face. What would it feel like to brush a kiss against her temple?

He held back, swallowing the mix of grief and desire that rose within him, terrified of hoping for more yet unable to banish the possibility altogether.

Instead, he chose to savor each shared moment—each hitch of her breath, each accidental brush of fingers—as if it were a small miracle.

Then, just as he was drifting into sleep, Adelina murmured something barely above a whisper.

"Don't let them take me back."

His entire body went rigid.

Who was she running from?

The fire crackled softly beside them, but in Edric's chest, something cold settled in its place.

He wasn't the only one haunted by ghosts.