Chapter 402: The Calm Before The Storm
Hevenfort has grown quiet.
The clang of steel, the sharp commands of commanders, and the shuffle of armored boots had faded into the night—replaced by the soft rustle of wind-blown leaves and the flicker of torchlight that danced across the stone corridors like restless spirits. Outside, soldiers prepared their minds for the journey to the north, and couriers ran their final messages.
But in the western wing of the palace, behind heavy oak doors and velvet silence, time slowed.
Lara stood alone at the edge of a quiet balcony Alaric had built for her—her chamber crafted with the same precision and reverence as his own quarters at Helias Manor. It was her space whenever she visited Hevenfort, a quiet haven of light and wind.
She leaned against the cold marble balustrade, her fingers curled loosely over the edge, watching the trees sway in the moonlight below. The night was clear, and the full moon hung like a silver ball, solemn and unblinking. Its pale light washed over her face, rendering her almost ethereal—a silhouette of dusk draped in blue-gray, her hair unbound and falling like copper across her shoulders. No crown adorned her head. Only a soft nightdress clung to her frame, simple and unadorned, as if she were clothed in twilight itself.
Behind her, the door opened.
She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Alaric’s presence filled the room like a familiar melody. He stepped through the threshold slowly, not wanting to disturb the serenity that held the space between them. His training armor was gone, his sword long discarded, and his cloak forgotten. Just the man remained—no prince, no commander. Just Alaric.
"It’s getting late," he said softly. "Do you want to spend the night here?"
Lara’s voice floated back like mist. "You want my parents to worry? We’ll leave soon. Mona is finishing a design sketch for the white room and the gallery. I don’t want to disrupt her thought process."
Alaric joined her at the balcony, the quiet crunch of his boots on the stone floor the only sound. He stood beside her, but it was several moments before he spoke again.
"Are you really coming with us?" He asked, turning to face her profile. "Why not stay here and watch over Calma together with Samuel and Jethru?" He paused and tilted his body so he was facing her, while Lara continued to look at the moon. "It is safer here."
Lara turned toward him, her gaze steady. "Are you doubting my ability?"
Her voice carried a playful sharpness, with just a trace of arrogance. "I can fight better than most of your guards."
Alaric smiled, warm and crooked. He reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, still styled in the fashion of Kane Mendel—a top knot —a style that stirred memories from two years ago, of battles fought side by side, of the time she had saved him.
"Of course not. I know exactly how formidable you are." His voice softened. "My future empress... I had to work hard just to stand beside you."
Lara laughed—low, musical, and full of mischief. "We are partners, Alaric. You and I. When you go to war, I go with you. When you conquer kingdoms, I will be right there beside you."
Silence again. But not the empty kind—this one throbbed with emotion unspoken, with years of shared fire and loyalty between them.
Alaric took a step closer, his voice quieter now. "This may be the last two peaceful nights we have."
"Don’t say that," she whispered, turning fully toward him.
She finally turned to face him, her eyes darkened with something fiercer—conviction. "Peace is not the quiet of the night or the stillness in the air." She whispered. "It is this. It’s moments like this."
She leaned into his chest, her head fitting beneath his chin, and he wrapped his arms around her instinctively. Their bodies fit as if carved for one another, molded not just by affection, but by survival, loyalty, and the battles they’d fought together.
Alaric reached up and traced the outline of her face with his fingers, reverently.
"I’m grateful," he said. "That it was you my mother chose. I feel like I’m the luckiest man in the world."
Lara’s voice was a breath. "I feel the same."
For a long moment, they simply breathed together. No declarations, no desperate promises. Just the rhythm of two hearts, beating in sync with each other.
Then, with a playful glint in his eye, Alaric leaned back just enough to look down at her.
"When the war is over and we are victorious," he said, "we should get married. Don’t you feel like you’re already an old maid?"
Lara scoffed, stepping out of his arms with mock indignation.
"I’m only eighteen, at the prime of my life," she said, crossing her arms. "How can I be an old maid?"
Alaric shrugged, teasing. "Didn’t you know? Amielle married Reuben at fourteen."
"That’s her. I am me." She said with a fire in her eyes.
Alaric exhaled, surrendering. He wouldn’t press her, not tonight. He’d wait—he always waited. Perhaps she didn’t yet realize how much he longed for her, how his heart ached every time she turned her back and walked away to return to her manor.
He reached for her hand, finding her fingers and folding them into his own.
"When this is over," he said quietly, "we build something else. Not for Calma. Not for Northem. For us."
Lara tilted her head, curiosity sparking. "An empire?"
"Hmm" Alaric hummed. "Azurverda. Blue skies, blue seas and verdant mountains and valleys." He smiled dreamily.
Lara stiffened, her breath catching.
Azurverda. The name from the future. The country that would one day rise from the ashes of four broken kingdoms. So... it was Alaric who gave that name?
Lara pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "Azurverda, it is a nice name and what it implies."
She leaned on his chest again, listening to the rhythmic beats of his heart. His hands found her waist, her back, her hair and slowly he lowered his head and kissed her lips.
The world outside could burn. But here, in this room, they still had each other. Still had this night.
"Promise me something," she said, tracing an old scar along his shoulder.
"Anything."
"Don’t die trying to be more than you already are."
He took her hand and kissed her fingertips, one by one.
"I’m not trying to be more," he said. "Just trying to be enough for you."