“I’m tired of holding myself back. Of ignoring my own wants for the sake of everyone else around me.

Yes, my kingdom needs the favor of the Draoi, and a marriage might bring us that, but it’s not the only way.

We both just fought for Inismian, and somehow a god deemed me worthy enough to carry their gift.

That has to mean something.” The words she had been wanting to say seemed lighter now.

Less of a fool’s dream. “I can’t stay. But what if you came with me?

I know it’s asking a lot of you.” She spoke quickly, rushing through her words before he could interject.

“With the war, you won’t want to leave Domhnall. Or Scáilca—”

“Wait.” His hand cupped her cheek, and she leaned into the warmth. “Don’t I get a say before you dismiss the idea?”

Reluctantly, she nodded.

“I would go anywhere with you, Clía.” He smiled, and it was like the sun breaking free from the clouds. “You would think that would have sunk in after two separate declarations of love.”

Her laugh rang out between them. “After two declarations of love, you should know that my self-doubt can be incredibly persistent.”

His lips fell on her brow, smiling against her. “It’s because I know that that I’m going to say this very clearly. I love you, Princess Clíodhna Fionnáin, my firecress. I want to go with you.”

“I love you too.” The words escaped her without thought or reason. She treasured the taste of them on her lips.

He held her for a few more moments of bliss before drawing away.

His hands remained wrapped around her arms, running up and down her skin, leaving chills in their wake.

“I’ll need to figure a few things out. And pack.

” His eyes scanned his disastrous room before gliding back to her, a hidden doubt slowly surfacing.

“There are a few more things we need to plan. Where I’ll be living. Work. My father.”

Luckily, she had run through hundreds of scenarios and plans last night.

She had thought they were a far-off dream, a near impossibility then.

“The palace has spare rooms. You—and your father, if you would like—are more than welcome. Especially if you were willing to take up another vacancy that we would be lucky to have someone as talented as you fill.”

“What vacancy is that?” he asked.

“Our chief of war was killed before your visit to álainndore. I think it’s safe to assume my parents never bothered to replace him,” she mused. “You have more than enough training to qualify, if you’re interested.”

álainndore was weak and flawed. Having competent leaders was the first step toward repairing the damage her parents’ rule had caused. Ronan would offer great insights for her kingdom—and it would keep him close. For once, her desires seemed to be aligned. If he agreed.

“I would be honored,” Ronan replied. His smile was blinding, taking the air from her lungs.

“I want a future with you, Clía. You see me in ways I never thought I could be seen. And I see you. I want to be there, by your side, through every moment—I’ve wanted this for longer than I’ll admit.

And I know there’s so much we need to focus on, but somehow, with you, it all seems more bearable. ”

He smiled, caressing her cheek. Clía’s heart seemed to be dancing in her chest.

“I feel the same way,” she replied, reaching up for one more kiss, which then turned into two, then three, then more.

And now it never had to end.

***

THE WINTER brEEZE TRIED TO TANGLE THE LOOSE WAVES OF her hair, but thankfully she’d thought to pull it back. A long journey was never kind to hair.

Murphy lay on the floor of the carriage, taking up most of the room and oblivious to it. Clía’s multiple trunks were tucked in beside him, along with Ronan’s one trunk and small traveling bag. No matter how much training she would receive, she would never be able to pack like a warrior.

Ronan’s hand rested against the small of her back as they waited for Sárait and Kían. None of them had appreciated the last-minute notice of her departure. No one was ready to say goodbye.

“Are you okay?” Ronan asked, his voice low enough for Domhnall and Niamh not to hear. They were too busy arguing over something under their breaths to notice.

She leaned into him, coveting his warmth as snow fell around them. “I’m fine.”

Sárait and Kían’s running figures appeared at the main entrance.

“You’re late,” Niamh said.

“Our deepest apologies. Brecc needed me to secure the perimeter before I could leave,” Kían explained.

Clía waved the lateness off. “I’m glad you were able to get away at all. I couldn’t leave without seeing you all one last time.”

“You’re not dying, Clía. You’ll see us again soon,” Sárait said, her voice joking, but Clía could hear the bittersweet edge creeping in.

The corners of her lips turned up, but she couldn’t force a laugh. “Well, I’m sorry if I’m sad to be leaving you all. I take it back, then.”

“Gods help Ronan,” Sarait said with a smirk. “How long will he have to put up with your moods as you travel to álainndore?”

“It’ll be an entertaining journey.” Ronan laughed.

Clía shoved his good arm. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”

“Not among friends,” he said, and she let her head fall against his shoulder to hide the way her heart warmed at the words.

“We need to be off,” the carriage driver said.

They couldn’t delay their exit any longer. They needed to begin the journey before the snow on the ground became a barrier.

She approached Kían first. “I hope to see you someday in álainndore.”

Kían matched her smile with a grin of their own. “I’m sure Sárait and I can find an excuse to visit. Maybe a royal summons?”

She laughed. “I think I can make that happen.” Their friendship had been formed in the twilight of her time at Caisleán, but she would miss their wit and resilience.

Kían nodded. “Until the next adventure, then.”

“Until the next adventure.”

Clía turned to Niamh. With the light behind her, Niamh looked as godly as she had when they first met in the arena. Fierce and unbreakable.

“I’ll miss you.” Clía leaned forward and wrapped Niamh in a tight hug before she could argue. Instead of pushing her away, the warrior arms that Clía had once admired from afar wrapped around her.

“Don’t tell a soul, but I’ll miss you too,” Niamh whispered, and there was an unusual weight to her voice. “If you don’t write to me, I’ll travel all the way to álainndore to kill you.”

A smile grew on Clía’s face, easing the pain that was growing beneath her ribs. Niamh was a wolf in the form of a woman, and she had never been gladder to know her. “I wouldn’t expect any less.”

Sárait approached next. Her friend from álainndore. Clía held her close.

“I hope you keep me updated on the latest fashions of court,” Sárait said as they pulled apart.

“Of course. You can’t be uninformed of the trends.”

“And keep me updated on you. I want to hear all the gossip.” Her gaze drifted to Ronan, who was currently saying goodbye to Kían. When it returned, Sárait’s face was shrouded in worry. “Be safe. On your journey and in your kingdom.”

“I will,” she whispered back, holding back the tears that threatened to fall as she embraced her friend one more time.

Domhnall was last. He stood there dressed like the prince she once knew, but there were changes. He wore no crown, his clothes were wrinkled, and that patch remained over his eye.

It was because of him that she began this journey, and now they were finally going their separate ways. It was not what she had originally planned, but she was glad this was their ending.

“Treat Niamh well,” she said, hands fidgeting with her sleeve.

He grinned. “With her, I don’t think I have a say in anything.”

“I’m serious.”

“She can handle herself,” he said. “But if it makes you feel better, I have no intention of ever doing her any wrong.”

“Good. Because if I hear any complaints from her, you’ll find me on your palace steps with a sword in my hands.”

His grin grew even wider. “I don’t doubt that.”

“Be good to yourself too.” The flakes were falling in a proper flurry now, and time was running out. “You deserve happiness.”

His nod was solemn. “Thank you, Clía.”

Ronan joined them. The two men stared at each other, and Clía wondered if they’d ever had to say goodbye before.

Domhnall nodded at the Caisleán insignia pin on Ronan’s cloak. “You wear it well.”

Ronan pulled him into a hug. “I’ll see you again soon.”

“The gods can’t keep us separated for long,” Domhnall said, clapping him on the shoulder.

When they separated, Ronan reached out to take Clía’s hand. The gold flecks in his eyes were radiant. She found herself falling for him all over again.

“We should be on our way,” he said. She nodded, looking back at her friends.

They had struggled, lost, fought, and killed. And they had lived.

What final words were worth leaving them with? Her mother would have said something grand that would resonate with them in her and Ronan’s absence. But she wasn’t her mother, and these weren’t subjects waiting to hear from their princess.

These were her friends, and she had to be nothing but herself.

No combination of words and phrases would change what they thought of her or ease the pain of this moment. So she simply looked at the six of them, drinking in the sight.

Then she turned back to Ronan and took his hand. Snowflakes swirled in the breeze as they climbed into the carriage.

“Are you ready to go home?” he asked.

Clía let her gaze travel from the snow beginning to blanket the dirt to the haunting gray sky. Soon there would be nothing but white on this scarred battlefield.

“I am,” she whispered.

This was not the end. The snow would melt, and flowers would bloom where there was once blood and death.

More battles lay ahead. And she was ready.