"The night grew colder, as the fires in our hearts burned away the scars of the past."

  “…Was it worth it?”

  “Running away?”

  Those words echoed in my mind.

  And maybe — maybe I was wrong.

  If I truly cared for her, I should be at her side, not running away. If I truly cared for her, then holding onto pride and hurt would only push her farther.

  Without realizing it, I was already sprinting back to my room.

  I took the fastest bath of my life and threw on the gray suit. Something still felt missing — until I remembered. I ran toward the Eastern Watchtower.

  “The truth is… my Huntsman, he—”

  “LATE!” I shouted.

  Gasps swept across the hall as hundreds of eyes turned toward me.

  “He is… late,” I added, doing my best to sound casual.

  The nerves hit me then. My heart pounded, each step toward the platform feeling heavier than the last. But I didn’t stop.

  Ivory stood at the top of the stairs, dressed in a crimson corset gown that shimmered like burning silk. Her skin seemed to glow in the torchlight. She looked stunned — at me, at the moment.

  I turned to the crowd, took a breath, and declared:

  “My name is Vincent, and I am… my Princess’s Huntsman.”

  Silence.

  A beat.

  Then a hearty laugh cracked the tension.

  “What a great entrance, don’t you think?” boomed Beltrom from his seat behind the long metal table.

  The air shifted. Murmurs turned into polite laughter.

  He stood tall, voice ringing across the chamber.

  “People of Ironhill, Mistfold, Crowspeak, and Oakress — welcome to Ironhill’s pride, The Anvil’s Throne!”

  A cheer followed.

  “Once again, we gather for the Evespire Festival and the opening of the Hunt. By the traditions of the Four Houses of the East, each kingdom presents a Candidate and their chosen Huntsman. But before we begin... a toast! To the Four Houses of the East!”

  He raised his glass high, and everyone followed.

  As the attention shifted back to festivities, I turned to Ivory. She was still watching me — shocked, uncertain.

  “Vincent, you’re…” she began, voice caught between relief and regret.

  “Surprisingly here?” I said gently.

  She looked down. “Why? How can you be here after everything I did?”

  I smiled. “I think you know why.”

  Before she could speak again, Beltrom’s voice boomed once more.

  “To officially open the Festival and the Hunt — let us welcome our Candidates and their chosen partners… to the dance!”

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  My heart skipped. But then Ivy reached for my hand.

  “Ivy? Wha—”

  She pulled me down the steps to the open floor. Before I could even gather my thoughts, she raised my hand with hers and placed the other on my shoulder.

  “Take my waist,” she said quietly.

  I obeyed, nervous, my hand settling at her side.

  The music shifted — a slower, sweeping rhythm that rolled like a tide through the hall. Chandeliers spilled gold across polished marble, and the crowd seemed to draw back, giving the center floor to us.

  Ivy’s touch was light but deliberate, and I felt the eyes of the court turn toward us. Some watched with polite smiles, others with envy, and a few with that same sharp skepticism from earlier.

  At first, I stumbled. Then, strangely, I didn’t. The rhythm settled into my bones as if I’d known it long before tonight. Each turn felt half-familiar — a memory tugging at the edges of thought, just out of reach.

  Ivy’s steps were precise, fluid — but her eyes avoided mine. The weight of guilt still clung to her, tucked behind the poise.

  Her hair caught the light as we turned, drifting like smoke. Her green eyes gleamed like polished jade when she glanced toward the watching nobles. Her lips, soft and hesitant, never quite formed a smile.

  I knew what this meant for the court — the princess and her Huntsman, united, the unspoken promise of loyalty and protection. But under the glow of the chandeliers, it felt far more complicated.

  The sting of her earlier betrayal lingered, threading between the steps.

  We turned again, her gown fanning out in a whisper of silk. Around us, more guests rose to join the floor. The air filled with the scent of wine, the laughter of nobles, the soft swish of countless gowns swirling through the light.

  And still… her fingers pressed ever so slightly into mine, as if she didn’t want to let go.

  Ivory slowed. She stepped back and bowed her head.

  “May I be excused?” she whispered.

  I nodded, and she left the floor without another word.

  I followed her with my eyes, but before I could take a step after her, someone stepped into my path.

  She was pale like Ivy, but shorter. Her white curls were pinned with small jewels. A violet corset clung to her figure, and a sapphire necklace shimmered at her throat — glistening like a captured star.

  “Looking at something?” she asked with a sly edge.

  I quickly looked away. “No! I—I wasn’t—it’s not what you think—”

  “Oh? I know exactly what I think.”

  She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper.

  “Perhaps you’d like to touch it?”

  I froze. Blushing. Sweating. Melting inside my suit.

  “I—I should go,” I said, voice cracking with awkwardness. I bowed quickly and retreated from the floor.

  Trying to catch up to Ivory, I had a feeling she’d gone to the Eastern Watchtower.

  I hurried up the winding stairs, but halfway up, a tightness gripped my chest.

  The air thickened, each breath growing harder to draw. I stopped, leaning against the cold stone wall, gasping.

  Then came the pain — like something deep inside me was being crushed.

  My vision blurred. My knees buckled beneath me.

  Just before darkness claimed me, I caught sight of a figure running toward me.

  “Forgetting something, Valtheos?”

  A voice like splintered stone whispered in the shadows.

  I woke in bed, sweat clinging to my skin. Slow and aching, I pushed myself upright.

  A knock came at the door. It creaked open, and Ivy stepped inside, carrying a small plate with a teacup.

  She blinked in surprise. “Vincent? You’re awake?”

  “Yes... somehow,” I said, forcing a smile — pushing myself to sit back.

  She set the cup on the table beside me, but her gaze immediately shifted to the desk by the bed.

  There sat the Silverose I had worn earlier, perhaps removed by the people who took me to my room when I fainted.

  “Why the Silverose, Vincent?” she asked, almost whispering, her gaze lingering on it for just a moment before meeting mine again.

  I glanced at the flower. “It reminded me of purpose,” I said quietly. “It reminded me of you, and how you choose to grow even beyond what others think you symbolize.”

  I hesitated, trying to grasp something I couldn’t quite reach.

  “It also gave me hope… that I was — whoever I was back then — had a purpose. Someone who lived for something greater than himself.”

  Ivy didn’t respond immediately. Her eyes flickered down to the Silverose, and for a second, I saw a flash of something deeper in her gaze — something that caught at the edges of her carefully guarded expression.

  Slowly, she approached my bed and sat beside me.

  “You know…” she whispered, her voice quieter now. “In the end, Uncle fought for me.”

  I looked at her.

  “The Royals gave him a hard time,” she continued, her voice soft but steady. “Tried to convince him he was foolish. But he came through. He stood up for me, even going as far as to remind the other Houses that they themselves spat on the rules when it favored them.”

  I watched her for a long moment.

  She smiled faintly in the darkness, her eyes softening as she turned towards the door.

  “So, I guess… I’m not alone in this.”

  I stayed quiet, admiring her silhouette cast by the moonlight through my window, feeling the weight of her words linger in the room.

  Slowly, gracefully, she stood, moving past my doorway.

  As she held the door with her hand, she turned and glanced back with a gentler expression, saying:

  “Vincent… thank you. For everything.”