“Okay, that’s enough,” Imogen said gently, but firmly, stepping in between them.

  Both heads turned toward her, startled.

  She wasn’t angry. But her brows were drawn with quiet intensity as she glanced between the two.

  “You’re both hurting. You’re both saying things you mean and don’t mean at the same time. And if we weren’t in the middle of prepping for war, I’d let you scream it out. But we don’t have the luxury of unraveling right now.”

  Axel’s jaw worked silently and Malachite’s hands clenched at her sides.

  Imogen stepped closer to Malachite, her voice softening even more. “You don’t have to figure it out right now. But don’t let things fester just because they’re messy.”

  Then she turned to Axel, giving him a look that wasn't cruel or cold.

  “She doesn’t need someone chasing her. She needs someone waiting. You said you’ve been doing that. So wait. Not in silence. Not in anger. Just… be there.”

  The weight of it landed like a balm and a burden at the same time.

  The air around them finally began to breathe again.

  Axel’s jaw tightened as Imogen’s words settled in.

  His gaze shifted to her, not hurt, not angry exactly, but… cold. The kind of look that said he’d heard enough, that maybe, just maybe, he was tired of everyone acting like this was his fault.

  Like he was the only one who’d messed up.

  Imogen faltered slightly under the weight of it. She hadn’t meant to blame him but he clearly felt like she had.

  Before anyone could say more, Elise stepped smoothly to Axel’s side, her hand pressing gently to the small of his back.

  A practiced touch. Comforting. Familiar.

  “We should go,” she said softly, though the flicker of satisfaction in her eyes didn’t quite match the concern in her voice.

  Axel hesitated. Just for a breath.

  Then he turned, casting one final look back at Malachite.

  Something cracked in his expression. Just for a second.And then he walked away with Elise at his side.

  Malachite didn’t move, didn’t speak.

  But her hand curled around the crystal at her throat like it was the only thing keeping her standing.

  The clatter of boots and voices faded behind them as Imogen and Malachite stepped off the training grounds, the heavy silence hanging between them like storm clouds.

  Malachite’s jaw was set, eyes forward, shoulders square like she was trying to convince herself none of it mattered.

  Imogen didn’t push. She just walked beside her present, silent… until they rounded the corner of the garden path leading back toward the Healers’ Guild.

  Then, gently, she spoke.

  “I saw the way you looked at him.”

  Malachite didn’t respond.

  Imogen glanced at her, voice softer now, warm like sunlight through leaves.

  “And I saw the way he looked at you.”

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  Still no answer. But Malachite’s pace slowed slightly.

  “You don’t have to explain,” Imogen added. “But you also don’t have to carry it all alone.”

  Malachite’s fingers twitched, still curled around the crystal at her chest. Her eyes burned, but she didn’t let the tears fall.

  Imogen didn’t reach for her.

  She didn’t hug her.

  She just stayed close, letting her presence do what words couldn’t.

  And after a long, quiet moment, Malachite finally whispered, “It’s not supposed to hurt this much.”

  Imogen exhaled slowly, voice a breath of truth. “No. But the ones that matter usually do.”

  They walked the rest of the way in silence, not empty, but full. Full of questions, and ache, and quiet understanding.

  And as the doors of the Healers’ Guild opened to greet them, the weight on Malachite’s shoulders felt just a little lighter.

  Because she wasn’t walking back alone.

  Inside the Healers’ Guild, the world slowed.

  The scents of crushed herbs, warm water, and parchment ink filled the air. Apprentices moved through the softly lit space with quiet purpose, some grinding salves, others taking notes, and a few tending to those recovering from light injuries.

  Imogen slipped back into her rhythm easily, sleeves rolled, hands steady as she stirred a pot of simmering comfrey and goldleaf.

  Malachite joined her after a few minutes of just standing in the doorway, watching. She didn’t speak, but when she finally picked up a mortar and began crushing dried frostroot, her movements were precise. Focused. A little too intense, but familiar.

  They worked in sync. Side by side.

  Occasionally, an apprentice would ask for clarification. Malachite would grunt a reply. Imogen would smile and guide with patience. And when Malachite dropped a tin lid and nearly kicked it across the room, Imogen didn’t laugh; she just handed her another one and said, “That’s the spirit.”

  The mood was gentle, healing.

  The sun dipped lower outside the stained-glass windows, casting warm, amber tones across the tiled floors.

  And then just as dusk kissed the horizon there was a familiar shift in the air.

  A flicker of power.

  Of presence.

  And then his voice.

  “Found you.”

  Imogen turned.

  Darius stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed in gold and fading lavender from the sun behind him. His armor was loosened at the collar, dark hair tousled from wind or worry, but his eyes were soft, lit with something only she ever seemed to call forward in him.

  He crossed the room without hesitation.

  Malachite cleared her throat and muttered something about checking supplies in the back.

  Imogen didn’t stop her.

  Because the moment Darius reached her, his hands found her waist and his forehead gently pressed to hers.

  “I missed you,” he murmured. “And I know it’s only been hours, but I did.”

  Imogen smiled, tilting her head to look at him. “Did the council finally run out of things to argue about?”

  “They never really run out,” he said dryly, “but I told them their Queen needed dinner. They stopped short of trying to argue with me.”

  She laughed, but it melted into a softer sound when his thumb brushed across her cheek.

  “You’ve been working all day,” Darius said, eyes searching hers with quiet devotion. “Time to rest. I’ve already cleared a table in the courtyard. Just you and me. No politics. No war plans.”

  “Just us?”

  He nodded. “Always.”

  Imogen leaned into him, closing her eyes. “Then lead the way, my king.”

  He kissed her forehead, hand settling gently at her back.

  And together, they left the soft light of the Guild behind, dusk following them like a blessing.

  Imogen paused at the doorway, Darius at her side already offering his arm like a well-trained prince.

  She turned, eyes scanning the warm glow of the Guild one last time. “Malachite?”

  From behind the rows of shelves, Malachite’s voice floated out, steady but slightly muffled. “Yeah?”

  “I’m heading out with Darius for the night. Don’t wait up, okay?”

  There was a clatter of something being set down. Then Malachite emerged, wiping her hands on a towel, eyes catching the soft smile on Imogen’s lips and the way Darius stood so effortlessly close to her, like they were two parts of the same flame.

  Malachite nodded. “Got it. Enjoy the night, my Queen.”

  Imogen rolled her eyes fondly. “Don’t you start.”

  Malachite smirked, but it faded slightly as she glanced at Darius and then, unconsciously, behind him. Her heart dipped just a little when she realized Axel wasn’t with him. Again.

  Maybe it was for the best.

  Maybe space really was what they needed right now.

  Even if it left her feeling oddly hollow.

  She raised a hand in casual farewell. “See you in the morning.”

  Imogen gave her a knowing look, one that said we’ll talk more later then took Darius’s arm as they stepped into the lavender dusk.