“S’not the beneather way.” Malachite shrugs. “In the time it takes to heal a wound, you’re supposed to train to defeat whoever gave it to you.”

“Which means?” I ask.

He squeezes my fingers. “You and I will have to duel. A lot. Whenever’s best for your busy schedule, of course.” His words are an easy joke, but his ruby eyes are the most serious I’ve ever seen them, almost clear violet in the blue moonlight. “It’s not just me anymore, you know.”

“What?” I blink.

“Caring about Lucien. We’re in this together now. Right?”

He’s asking if I’m staying. If I plan to stay, after every time I’ve run, shrugged Lucien off. He’s asking if my feelings are true. If I’m not just a Heartless of Lucien’s, obligated to protect him. He’s asking if I’ll leave again or if I’m here to stay. Forever.

The prince stares above our heads, leaving me to make my own decision. I swallow hard with my best determined face and nod.

“Yeah. Together.”

Malachite studies me, my expression, and then lets go of my hand, a massive grin on his pale face.

“You’re terrible at being serious,” he says.

“You’re nothing to quill home about yourself,” I scoff.

He reaches out and ruffles my hair with a chuckle. “Good to have you on board, Six-Eyes.”

And with that he turns, closing the inn door behind him. It’s not just a turn. It’s not just him leaving us alone. It’s him trusting me with Lucien. Handing over the reins he’s held tight for so long. A passing of a torch.

A warm tug at my hand. Lucien.

“It’s a beautiful night,” he says.

I make a wry smile as we start walking. “Underselling it a bit, aren’t you? It’s practically dreamy.”

“Indeed,” Lucien agrees, turning his long collar up against the wind. “Walking with you—it feels like a dream I’ve had countless times. I’m almost afraid I’ll wake at any moment, and you’ll…”

He trails off. The parchment curl of my unheart tightens, my fingers becoming hyperaware of his. The crunch of snow under our boots, the smell of coalsmoke from every tower chimney. The bridges we cross creak faintly in the frigid breeze but never shudder or sway. Sturdy, enduring. Predictable like I’ve never been. Reliable like I’ve never been. To him least of all.

I shiver, and the warmth is instant and all around me—Lucien draping his covering over my shoulders.

“Don’t.” I jump, shoving it off. “You’re going to freeze—”

“Am I?” he lilts. “Or am I a witch, with enough magic to warm myself?”

“How—how much magic do you have left?” I blurt. “That witchfire barrier you made, slowing our fall—those aren’t easy things.”

“No,” he agrees. “They aren’t.”