Chapter 20: The Next Day

The next morning, the woods felt like a different world—honest, rugged, and free of the silk-wrapped lies of the castle. I sat across from Karlos, tearing off a piece of crust from a loaf of bread that tasted of home.

"I looked around the castle last night," I said, keeping my voice low.

Karlos paused, his hand hovering over his own meal. "You did? Diana, that’s incredibly dangerous. If you’re caught—"

I nodded, chewing thoughtfully as I weighed how much to tell him about the armory, and about the man who had escorted me back to my room. I waited until I met his steady, hazel gaze to continue. "I didn't find the primary maps yet, but I sent a letter back to the King. That’s why Bran is nowhere to be found. He’s the swiftest messenger we have."

He nodded slowly, the tension leaving his shoulders, though his eyes remained troubled. I watched him over the rim of my cup, struck—not for the first time—by how grounded he was. He was becoming the person I leaned on, the one who reminded me of the earth beneath my feet, which made the memory of that impulsive kiss on his cheek feel even more awkward and heavy.

"There’s something I’ve been needing to talk about," Karlos whispered. His voice had dropped, grounding us in the quiet of the hollow.

I felt a small prickle of dread. "What is it? Did something happen with the horses?"

"It’s been troubling me. Keeping it to myself," he admitted. He slid closer on the log, the wood creaking under his weight. "I’ve been thinking about that night. When you kissed me. Before you ran back to him."

"I'm truly sorry about that," I blurted out, the apology tumbling out before I could stop it. "I shouldn't have put that on you. It was the adrenaline, the fear—"

"I'm not."

The word hung between us, stark and honest. I blinked, my mind racing to catch up. He wasn't sorry?

"I like you, Diana. Very much. More than a scout should like his lead."

"What?" I gasped, the bread suddenly feeling like lead in my stomach.

"Diana, I know we met unexpectedly, but knowing you has been the best adventure of my life," Karlos whispered, looking deeply into my eyes. He reached out, his hand hovering near mine, and I felt a surge of nerves that was entirely different from the ones Zion inspired. With Zion, it was a storm; with Karlos, it was a steady, warm hearth.

I couldn't find my voice. I had spent so much time cataloging his virtues—his brilliance, his quick wit, the way he carried himself with such effortless strength—that I’d forgotten to guard my own heart against the boy who had always been there. He was my friend, but he was a friend I was destined to lose the moment I returned to Silvermere.

"Diana," he whispered, drawing my focus back. He looked at me with an intensity that made my breath hitch. "I know we didn't choose this mission, but I choose you. Every day."

"And you’ve been mine, Karlos," I replied, my smile feeling small, fragile, and desperately sad.

"I think of you," he murmured, leaning in until the space between us disappeared. "Only you. While you're in that castle, I'm out here counting the seconds until you're back in the trees where you belong."

I felt frozen, caught between the duty I owed my King, the magnetic pull of the "Prince of Shadows," and the honest heat of the man in front of me. As he leaned in, his hand found my cheek—it was calloused, warm, and steady. When his lips finally met mine, it wasn't a question or a challenge like the tension with Zion. It was an answer. For a moment, the rest of the world, the mission, and the looming spires of Fortundra simply faded to black.