Night came slow.
Not because the day dragged — it had flown by in a quiet blur — but because nothing really slowed down after the duel. Not the city. Not the heat in the air. Not the way people looked at me now.
We'd spent most of the afternoon walking the merchant lanes. Replenishing. Browsing. Eating more than usual. Nobody talked about the fight too much — not directly, but it lingered in every word like a second shadow.
Even Salem, who'd once felt like an outsider stitched to the edge of the group, now walked beside us like she'd never been anything but here.
She laughed easier now. Nudged Tovin when he said something dumb. Told Ramon he needed a haircut. Called Kate "bossy" and didn't flinch when she was right.
It felt… okay.
Not like nothing had ever gone wrong between us.
Just like we'd decided it didn't matter anymore.
Still, even as the sun dipped and the streets turned gold, the whole city didn't stop buzzing.
Because the fight hadn't just been a duel.
It had been the event.
And now it was the celebration.
The upper courts were carved from stone and dressed in gold.
But tonight, it wasn't royalty or banners that lit the place — it was people.
Laughter spilled through the halls. Music threaded like smoke through the garden balconies, and the scent of roasted root, sweet herbs, and fruitfire wine drifted from silver-lidded trays. Light caught on every polished tile, every floating lantern.
It was the kind of party that made nobles feel eternal.
And the first celebration I'd ever attended without a corset, a chaperone, or a list of people I was supposed to thank for tolerating me.
I wore what I'd fought in — cleaned, repaired. Still rough. Still mine.
And yet everyone looked at me like I'd stepped out of legend.
I stayed close to my group.
Julius had already raided a dessert tray. Ramon was being followed by a red-cloaked noble trying to argue over a lost bet. Kate had vanished twice already, dragging Tovin between musicians and enchanted light shows meant to simulate famous battles.
Salem stayed with me. One hand always near, one eye always watching.
And then—
Footsteps.
Deliberate. Smooth. Still barefoot.
"Annabel."
I turned my head toward the sound just as the presence settled in beside me.
Rōko.
She didn't wait for me to speak.
"I came alone," she said bluntly. "I hate it."
I smiled — just slightly. "Not much for parties?"
"Five men asked me to dance," she said. "One offered me a necklace."
I raised an eyebrow. "That's ambitious."
She gave a small exhale that might've been a scoff. Or a sigh.
"I don't like being stared at," she added. "I keep touching my sword and forgetting I'm not allowed to draw it here."
"Same," I murmured. "Except it's harder for them to ask me anything when I've got a demon clinging to my hip."
Salem made a soft sound. "I don't cling."
I smirked. "You do."
She didn't argue.
We stood like that — me, Salem, Rōko — against the swell of nobles and students who'd spent the evening treating us like mythical creatures instead of people who'd bled in front of a million eyes.
Rōko didn't hover.
She just stood with us.
Close, but not too close.
And for the first time, I didn't mind sharing the attention.
Because she'd earned it, too.
The rest of the night blurred soft around the edges.
People still approached. Flatterers. Gamblers. Families trying to thank me for inspiring their children. Some with questions, others just wanting to touch a piece of the moment.
I let them, for a while.
Then I stopped.
And nobody argued when I pulled away.
The outer gardens were quieter. Lanterns swayed between columns. The breeze smelled like mana-cinnamon and riverlight.
I sat on a low wall beside a dry fountain.
Salem joined me.
Julius appeared a few minutes later, arms full of flaky dessert twists and riceberry puffs.
"I told the caterer you were a national hero," he said through a mouthful. "I got extra."
"You bribed someone, didn't you?"
"Semantics."
We all settled around the rim of the fountain — the noise behind us, the stars above, the warmth of being alive between us.
"I still can't believe we're out here," Kate murmured when she returned. "No schedule. No assignments. Just… life."
But no one rushed to define it.
Because for now, there was only this: the soft glow of firelight, the subtle hum of metal mana still hanging in the air like a second breath, and the knowledge that the world had seen us — and remembered.
The music blurred behind us — a distant thrum of string and drum and cheer, gilded laughter bouncing off stone arches and terrace railings.
But I wasn't headed toward it.
I walked with careful steps. Salem silent beside me. No more than shadows between torchlight. The celebration rang bright and full just down the promenade, but the quieter halls of the palace ran cooler. Still. Almost like they remembered older things.
It didn't take long to find him.
King Beren stood at the edge of a balcony overlooking the city. Alone, but never truly. I could feel the guards — further back, unseen. Watching.
But they didn't stop me.
He turned slightly when I approached. I didn't speak right away. Just waited until my boots stopped against stone and the breeze reached my face.
Then, calmly, "Do you have rooms?"
A pause.
He didn't laugh. Didn't ask why.
"For you and the demon?" he said. Not unkindly. Just matter-of-fact.
"Yes."
"She your bond?"
I tilted my head. "She is."
Another pause. Then he nodded. "There's a suite overlooking the eastern courts. Quiet. You'll have it."
I dipped my head, but didn't leave.
"And for Tovin," I said. "And Rōko. They don't have anyone here."
"I noticed." A breath. "The boy's easy. I'll see to it."
"And Rōko?"
Silence folded in.
Then he stepped closer to the edge, voice low.
"She's strong," he said. "Wilder than most. But contained."
"She's alone," I said. "Even when she's not."
Beren hummed. "Like someone else I know."
I didn't smile.
"I was going to ask her," he continued. "About the Tri-Continental Academy. You'll be there next year. I think she should be too."
"She'd be perfect," I said quietly. "Especially if the devils rise again."
"They will," he said simply. "Even with Lincoln here. Especially with him."
The words didn't weigh heavy. They didn't need to.
They were true.
After a moment, I nodded.
"Thank you," I said.
He dipped his head once in return. "Get some rest, Valor."
⸻
We left before the final toast.
The room the king gave us was large, quiet. High-arched ceiling. Warm floors. A low-burning hearth somewhere to the left. The smell of cedar and old stone. I walked slow across the polished floor, staff tapping once against the threshold before I set it aside.
I could feel it — every line of the room through the way mana clung to it. Outlines like a living map, all drawn in soft glow and weight. The bed loomed ahead — a blur of dark shape and soft edges, four posts and too many pillows. One wall opened to a balcony, and beyond it, the sound of the city pulsed like a distant heartbeat.
Behind me, Salem stepped in.
She didn't say anything.
I felt her mana shift — slow, uncertain, like wind trying to find direction. Her boots came off one by one. Then silence. Her shape hovered in the doorway.
I turned slightly. "You can come in."
A beat.
Then her weight moved across the room — hesitant, but sure. She stopped when she was close. Her aura flickered.
"Annie," she said.
Just my name.
Not as a bond.
Just as a person.
I turned to face her fully. I could see the way her outline glowed — tight and trembling. Her fingers flexed at her sides like they didn't know what to hold. Her whole presence was frayed. Fractured. Trying to be still.
She knelt in front of me.
Not like a servant.
Like she was trying to make herself smaller. Trying not to break.
Then she whispered, "I don't know what this feeling is."
I didn't speak.
"I'm your bond," she said. "I'm supposed to obey. That's the rule. That's all there's ever been. I fight. I kill. I listen. I don't think."
She swallowed.
"But then you… you look at me like I'm not broken. You treat me like I'm not a monster. And when you sleep near me—when you let me… stay—"
Her breath hitched.
"I want to kiss you," she said, voice shaking. "Not because you told me to. Not because it's a command. I just… want to."
Then silence.
The kind that filled more than space.
I didn't move at first.
Because I didn't know what I felt either.
I wasn't in love. Not like that. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I knew what I was looking at.
A girl raised in violence, twisted into obedience, handed over to a demon king and turned into something less than whole — now sitting on the floor in front of me, trembling, trying to name a feeling that no one ever taught her.
I leaned down slowly.
Found her hand.
Threaded my fingers through hers.
"Salem," I said gently, "it's okay."
She looked up — her blur turned toward mine, her aura flaring confused.
"I mean it," I said. "You don't have to understand everything right now. You don't have to get it right."
Her fingers gripped mine harder — not desperate. Just afraid of letting go.
I leaned forward.
Let our foreheads touch.
Then I gave her one soft, careful kiss on her forehead— small, short, not about passion.
Just reassurance.
When I pulled back, her breath caught in her chest. Like the world shifted under her.
I pulled her into my arms.
Held her tight.
Let her shake.
"It's okay," I whispered. "You can talk to me. Always. Whatever you're feeling — even if it's messy. Even if it hurts."
Her hands clutched my sides.
Like she didn't know how to hold gently.
But she was trying.
And I stayed like that — curled around her on the edge of a soft bed, the fire behind us low and warm, the city still blazing just beyond the stone.
Safe.
Not alone.
Not anymore.
Salem's tension eased by slow degrees — fingers loosening, breathing evening out, her mana settling around us like a blanket of dusk‑warm shadow.
Another minute and her weight grew heavier in my lap, head tucked beneath my chin, lashes fluttering once… twice…
Asleep.
It felt strange, holding something that deadly and realizing it trusted me enough to dream.
A soft knock brushed the doorframe — barely a sound, but the mana behind it was familiar: steady and bright for Kate, warm‑crackling for Julius. I turned my head, blindfold dangling from my wrist, and traced their outlines in the threshold.
"Come in," I whispered.
They slipped inside just far enough for their silhouettes to register. Julius kept his voice low. "We're headed back to the citadel. Beren's already drafting tomorrow's security rotation, royal mages don't get victory days, apparently."
"Someone has to chase loose fireworks," Kate added wryly.
I smiled. "Thank you… for today."
Julius's aura bent, like a shrug. "You did the hard part."
Kate leaned against the jamb. "Is that really Salem? The same demon who nearly carved us up three years ago?"
I tightened my arms around the sleeping weight. "The very same."
Kate let out a quiet, amazed huff. "And now she's… napping like a toddler."
"She'd still tangle with any Rank One," Julius murmured, half in awe. "Difference is, she'd only do it if you asked."
I felt Salem shift in her sleep — small, unconscious. My thumb brushed the edge of her braid until she settled again.
"Get some rest, little terror," Julius said. "Tomorrow everyone with a quill will want an interview."
"Lucky me," I deadpanned.
He chuckled, then the warmth of his mana drew back. Kate's followed. At the door she paused, voice soft:
"You saved a lot more than a city out there. Don't forget to save yourself, too."
The hall swallowed their footsteps; the latch clicked shut. Silence returned — deeper than before, but kind.
I eased us down onto the mattress, guiding Salem's head to the pillow. She stirred, muttered something wordless, then curled closer, one hand fisting the fabric of my sleeve as if afraid of drifting away.
Outside, the festival's drums dimmed into night‑wind. Inside, the only rhythm was her breathing — and the metallic hum in the air that promised battles yet to come.
For now, that could wait.
I let the dark blur of the ceiling fade, closed my eyes, and listened to the small, impossible heartbeat asleep in my arms until sleep finally found me, too.