Love conquers all!

12-The Name

ROAN

The first rays of dawn painted the sky in strokes of soft rose and pale blue the kind of fragile light that makes you believe the world might start over. The forest around us was still, every leaf heavy with dew, every sound swallowed by the hush of morning.

Our horse slowed as we reached a small clearing just beyond the moss-covered border stones the edge of Nevermore’s domain.

We had done it.

Gods, we had actually done it.

Behind us lay a kingdom built on rules and chains; ahead, a road with no name and no promise of safety. Yet for the first time in years, my lungs didn’t ache from duty they burned with life.

Blair’s arms were still around me. They had been all night, her small hands clutching my cloak as if the dark might steal me from her. Every time the wind changed, I felt her breath against the back of my neck warm, steady, heartbreakingly human.

And in that simple touch, something inside me unraveled.

She wasn’t a princess here. I wasn’t a knight. We were just two souls foolish enough to believe we could rewrite our story.

I slid off the saddle and turned to her. “We’ll rest here for a bit,” I said, voice rough with exhaustion.

She blinked sleepily, her hair tangled and wild, her face pale from the night’s cold. “I… I’m hungry,” she whispered.

That voice soft, raw, honest hit me harder than any battle wound.

“Of course you are,” I said, biting back a grin. “The palace never plans breakfast for their runaways.”

I lifted her down from the horse, my hands at her waist. She was lighter than I remembered, almost weightless, and yet she anchored me more than any oath ever had. Her fingers brushed my shoulder as she steadied herself. For a moment neither of us moved. The forest felt like it was holding its breath around us.

Her ocean eyes caught mine. “Do you ever stop smiling when I’m miserable?”

“Not when you look that beautiful while complaining,” I said.

She rolled her eyes but the faintest curve ghosted her lips.

The stream wasn’t far. Water glimmered between the trees, silver and alive. I knelt beside it, filling my hands and splashing my face. The cold bit like truth.

Behind me, Blair crouched awkwardly on the grass, trying to fix the scarf that kept slipping from her hair.

“You look ridiculous,” I said.

“I look free,” she shot back. “Ridiculous is a small price to pay.”

That made me laugh loud, real, unguarded. The sound startled a few birds from the branches.

For the first time since we fled, I wasn’t a hunted man. I was just… me.

But the moment didn’t last.

I saw her knees wobble slightly as she stood, her body swaying with hunger and exhaustion.

“Sit,” I ordered, gentler than I meant to sound. “I’ll find us something to eat.”

Her mouth parted like she wanted to protest, then she sighed and sank down on a rock. “You’re bossy, you know that?”

“You like it,” I said.

There was a stream full of fish and a forest full of roots and berries not exactly royal cuisine, but better than starving. I made a small fire, my movements automatic, the way you do something a thousand times in battle.

When I returned, she was sitting with her knees to her chest, watching me with a curiosity that felt like sunlight.

“What?” I asked.

“You,” she said simply. “You look different here.”

“Less dangerous?”

“More real.”

That hit something deep. I didn’t answer, just skewered the fish and set them over the flames. The air filled with smoke and salt and warmth.

She sniffed the air. “Is that edible?”

“Barely,” I said.

Her laughter soft, surprised made my heart lurch.

When the fish was done, I handed her a piece wrapped in cloth. She took it gingerly, studying it like a foreign object.

“I should’ve known a princess would need to be fed,” I teased.

She gave me a narrow look but took a bite anyway. Then another.

Her eyes widened. “That’s… actually good.”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” I said. “I spent half my life cooking on battlefields.”

“I didn’t think knights cooked.”

“Knights who want to live do.”

When she finished eating, she leaned back on her hands and looked up at the dawn-washed sky. Her voice was barely a whisper.

“He’ll be furious by now.”

The words hung between us, a cold gust through the morning.

Her father. The king.

The man who would never forgive her for choosing me.

I stared into the fire until the embers blurred. I could see it already: soldiers combing the roads, wanted posters nailed to tavern doors, the king’s fury sweeping across villages like plague.

I turned toward her and cupped the back of her head. “He can rage all he wants. He won’t find you.”

She closed her eyes and leaned into my touch. “You can’t promise that.”

“I just did.”

The corners of her lips trembled. “Then I’ll believe you.”

We rode for a few more hours after that, following the forest trail until the trees began to thin and rooftops appeared in the distance. A village small, crooked, sleepy.

By the time we reached it, the sun had burned away the mist. Smoke rose from chimneys, and the smell of bread drifted down the lane.

Blair’s stomach growled audibly.

I smirked. “Not palace feasts, but close enough.”

The tavern we found was small, wedged between two leaning cottages with flaking blue shutters. I tied the horse and helped her inside, keeping my hood low.

The warmth hit instantly woodsmoke, roasted meat, and honeyed ale. The chatter of farmers and merchants hummed softly around us.

To them, we were no one. Just travelers.

I guided her to a booth at the back. The light was dim there, shadows curling like safety around her.

She sank onto the bench, closing her eyes for a heartbeat. “This feels like the first real breath I’ve taken in years.”

I went to the counter, paid the innkeeper with what few coins I had left, and returned with a tray bread, meat stew, watered ale.

“Eat,” I said, sliding the bowl toward her.

She didn’t move.

“What’s wrong?”

Her eyes lifted, serious and soft. “You didn’t eat.”

“I will.”

“No, you only got one.” Her voice was firmer now. "I won't, until you eat with me.”

I exhaled, half a groan, half a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

She grinned faintly. “You said that like it’s new.”

So I sat beside her. The bench creaked under our weight.

She dipped the spoon, blew on it gently, and lifted it to my lips.

I stared. “You’re serious.”

“Completely.”

I leaned forward and took the bite. The stew was warm, too salty, perfect.

When I swallowed, she smiled like it was a victory.

“Your turn,” I said, taking the spoon from her and offering it back.

She hesitated, then leaned in. The space between us shrank breath, warmth, heartbeat.

For a moment, it wasn’t food we shared but something deeper. A silence that spoke in the language of what-ifs.

By the third spoonful, I caught her wrist and turned her hand over. Her pulse fluttered under my thumb. Without thinking, I bent and pressed a kiss to her palm.

She froze.

Her breath hitched, her lashes lowering.

I didn’t say anything. Neither did she. But the air between us changed thick, charged, dangerous.

I looked up. She wasn’t just looking at me. She was seeing me every scar, every failure, every unspoken vow.

And she didn’t flinch.

“We can’t stay like this,” she said finally, voice trembling. “Not without being married. It's... it's a sin.”

I stared at her. “We’re fugitives, Blair. The world has bigger issues.”

“You don’t understand,” she said. “I was raised on rules. On what’s proper. I don’t want to hide like some shameful secret.”

That word shameful cut deep.

I leaned forward, my hand closing over hers again.

“Then don’t hide,” I said. “Marry me.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Roan—”

“No.” I squeezed her hand, gentle but firm. “Listen to me. You deserve a name that no one can strip from you. You deserve protection, even if it’s only my name to give. And I—”

I stopped, throat tightening.

“I can’t keep calling you mine if the world doesn’t see it too.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Outside, the wind rattled the tavern shutters. The sound filled the silence we couldn’t.

“Marry me,” I said again, quieter now. “Not for the law. Not for safety. For us.”

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t argue.

She just watched me with those clear, breaking eyes the kind that made a man believe in mercy again.

After a long heartbeat, she whispered, “And if we’re caught?”

“Then I’ll die your husband,” I said simply.

She inhaled sharply, eyes shining. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s not meant to be.”

A silence. Then another.

Finally, she smiled small, tearful, defiant. “You never do anything halfway, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you.”

I brought her hand to my lips once more, slower this time. The kiss lingered. A vow without a priest.

“First thing tomorrow,” I murmured against her skin. “We find a priest and go somewhere no one knows our names.”

Her fingers trembled under mine. “Tomorrow, then.”

Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it was madness. But as she leaned her head against my shoulder and the world softened around us, I thought:

If love was a crime, then I’d already confessed.