Chapter 29: The Last Night Talk
522words
Wrapped in an old cloak, I sat on the rooftop, watching the distant campfires flicker.
The wind whispered past, carrying with it the occasional bark of a dog.
Footsteps approached.
“You’re up here again?”
Killian handed me a flask of hot liquor and sat down beside me like he’d lived here for a decade.
I took a sip, then coughed.
“…This isn’t wine. It’s fire.”
He grinned. “Builds character.”
I gave him a side-eye. “You drop by every night. Don’t you get bored?”
“If you don’t, why should I?”
“You’re getting more and more like a scoundrel.”
“I’m learning.”
I turned. “From who?”
He looked at me. “You.”
We sat in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder, the quiet stretching comfortably between us.
Then he suddenly asked,
“Daphne… if you hadn’t died that day, where do you think you’d be now?”
I thought for a moment.
“Probably still scrubbing pots in the kitchen.”
“You used to smile so dumbly, then grit your teeth and haul water like the world owed you a crown.”
“It did owe me a crown,” I said flatly.
He chuckled under his breath, bracing his palm on the rooftop tiles.
“The first time I saw you, you used a rope to haul another slave out of a pit—then fell in yourself.”
“You cursed for five straight minutes. Invented half the words.”
“I remember thinking—this girl’s too damn stubborn for the dungeon.”
I didn’t answer.
He continued, a little more carefully:
“Do you still think… you don’t belong here?”
I looked out at the campfires below.
Rows of shabby rooftops.
People gathered around flames, singing and swapping stories.
Children chasing each other in the mud, laughing, shouting over who caught the “wolf.”
“It’s not that I don’t belong.”
“It’s that I don’t know… if I can stay.”
Killian watched me quietly, then said:
“You’ve already stayed.”
“You’re part of them now. They trust you. Follow you.”
“You’re not a vengeance-bent ghost anymore, Daphne.”
“You’re their hope.”
I laughed softly, turning to him. “You always talk this much?”
“I was raised noble.”
“You work for me now.”
“I’m applying for a promotion.”
I held the flask up between us. “You’ll need an interview first.”
He leaned in a little, eyes settling on my face with a seriousness that stole my breath.
“What are you doing?” I asked, almost nervous.
He spoke low:
“This life you’re living—it’s yours now.”
“But if you’d let me… I’d like to be part of what you choose next.”
I froze.
Then smiled.
“You’d really live in a shack with ex-slaves, drink mud tea, dig wells with me?”
“As long as you keep sneaking into my arms on cold nights.”
“I don’t sneak into your arms—”
He leaned even closer. “Then maybe we should start practicing now.”
“Killian—” I gritted my teeth.
“I’m here,” he said.
And then he kissed me.
Not with fire.
Not with triumph.
Not with the weight of a hundred battles.
Just a quiet, steady kiss—like an answer.
I didn’t pull away.
Because I was here too.
And finally…
I wasn’t running anymore.
