Amiya's POV
They didn't speak after the confrontation with Ronan—not until the trees swallowed the road and the morning light vanished behind heavy clouds. Amiya had meant to keep moving, to focus on the next mile, the next bend in the trail, anything that wasn't the fact that Sylas now knew who she really was.
Royalty.
The word sat heavy between them, unspoken but undeniable. She'd said it. She couldn't take it back.
The admission had left a crack in the silence so wide she didn't know how to fill it. She kept her eyes forward, her shoulders tense. Every time she glanced at him, Sylas's face was unreadable. Not angry. Not smug. Just... quiet. And that was somehow worse.
They crossed a narrow stream, the frigid water soaking through her boots, and still he didn't speak. She wanted to ask what he was thinking—whether he was rethinking everything, or if he was already calculating what she might be worth to someone else. But asking meant giving him more power, and she'd already handed him too much.
Finally, when the trail curved into a sheltered hollow, she stopped.
"Just say it," she muttered.
Sylas turned, one brow raised.
"You've been dying to ask something. Or gloat. Or mock me. So go ahead."
He studied her, jaw tight. "I'm not dying to do anything."
"You're telling me you don't have questions?"
"I've got plenty," he said. "I'm just not sure which ones are worth asking yet."
The cold wind stirred between them. Amiya crossed her arms, teeth gritted. "Then what do you want from me?"
Sylas tilted his head. "Right now? For you to keep walking and not fall apart from whatever emotional hell you're chewing on."
That stung more than it should have. She wasn't looking for pity. Gods, the last thing she wanted was for him to treat her differently now. But he wasn't, was he? He was doing what he always did—surviving. Calculating. Watching.
And maybe... protecting her?
She hated that it felt like that.
She turned away before she could read more into it. "Fine. Let's just go."
As they moved deeper into the woods, the trees thickened, muffling the wind and muting the world. The path narrowed to a deer trail, winding through underbrush and moss-covered stone. The silence between them became less like tension and more like fragile understanding.
Amiya didn't know where they were going. She didn't know what came next. But for the first time, she let herself believe she might not be walking into it alone.
They walked until dusk. Amiya's feet ached, her boots soaked from crossing a second stream, and every part of her felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry. When they came to a small overhang in a rock wall with just enough cover from the elements, she sank to the ground without a word. Sylas joined her a few moments later.
She didn't speak, and neither did he. But something about the way they shared that silence—it wasn't cold this time. Not sharp. It was survival. Quiet recognition. The space between them wasn't filled with questions anymore, just a mutual exhaustion and reluctant trust.
She watched the firelight flicker against the rock and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. She could still hear the echo of her confession in her head—still see the way Sylas had looked at her when she said it.
But he hadn't run.
And that was something.
Sylas's POV
She was royalty.
It should've changed everything.
But mostly, it made sense.
The way she held herself, even in the middle of a riot. The way she glared like she expected people to obey. The sharp tongue. The pride. The refusal to back down.
He should've figured it out sooner.
They walked in silence, the forest closing in around them, the air damp and heavy with coming rain. Sylas kept his pace steady, listening to every crunch of leaves, every distant bird call. But his thoughts were a storm.
Amiya—no, the princess—had just upended his world.
He didn't care about bloodlines. Titles. Royal drama. But knowing she was someone people would burn a city to retrieve? That changed the stakes. It made the target on her back glow like a fucking beacon.
And it put him right next to it.
He should've walked away. Should've let her go. But here he was, still walking beside her, still pretending this wasn't spiraling into something dangerous.
He watched her from the corner of his eye—shoulders stiff, jaw clenched. She was ready for a fight, emotional or otherwise. Probably expected him to throw it in her face, to mock her for hiding it.
But he didn't care about her name.
He cared about the fact that she hadn't collapsed. That she hadn't begged. That she was still here, walking through mud and thorns without a single complaint. She was scared, but she wasn't weak.
And that was why he couldn't leave her behind.
When she finally stopped and demanded he say something, part of him almost laughed. That fire—it hadn't dimmed at all. If anything, it burned brighter now that she thought she had something to prove.
He didn't tell her what he was really thinking.
That he didn't give a shit who her parents were.
That the idea of anyone dragging her back in chains made him want to gut the world.
Instead, he kept it simple.
"Right now? For you to keep walking and not fall apart from whatever emotional hell you're chewing on."
Not kind. But true.
And she took it. Didn't argue. Didn't crack. Just turned and kept moving.
That was enough.
They moved through the trees like shadows, and for the first time since they'd left Selune, Sylas let himself believe they might actually outrun the fire chasing them.
If only for a little while.
When the sun began to dip low and they found a ledge to rest under, Sylas set his pack down and watched Amiya sit, exhausted but silent.
He built a small fire. She didn't ask him to. He didn't ask if she wanted one. It just happened—like breathing, like survival. Like they'd been doing this longer than a few days.
He caught her watching him once or twice, like she was measuring something. Weighing the air between them. He met her gaze once and didn't look away.
She looked away first.
That night, neither of them said much. But when she shifted in her cloak, just barely an arm's length away, Sylas didn't move.
He didn't sleep much. The world was too sharp for that.
But he didn't watch the tree line either.
He watched her.
Because something had changed. And whatever came next, he needed to be ready.
Not just for her enemies.
But for her.