Chapter 37: Kiss

Chapter 37 — The Morning After the Kiss

Naya barely slept, and the reason had nothing to do with the vault or the strange stone or the letter still folded on her nightstand. It was the kiss. She kept replaying it, the certainty in it, the way Ronan had said I know who you are like it settled some argument he’d been having with himself for weeks. Even now, remembering the warmth of his hand against hers made something unfamiliar flutter beneath her ribs.

She’d expected the kiss to feel like every other moment that had passed between them, tangled up in duty or jealousy or circumstance forcing their hands. It hadn’t felt like that at all. For the first time since the wedding, she found herself wondering whether she actually wanted him, and not simply his trust or his protection. The realization was frightening precisely because she couldn’t blame it on circumstance anymore.

She braced herself for awkwardness at breakfast, some careful distance he’d retreat behind now that morning had arrived. Instead, Ronan greeted her much the same as always, though something in the air between them had shifted, softer at the edges than it used to be.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"Did you?" she said.

He paused before answering. "Not particularly."

Neither of them mentioned the kiss directly, though it sat between them regardless, present in every glance that lingered a beat too long. There was no need to name it. They both remembered.

A council aide interrupted before either of them could say more, delivering news of a dispute between two territories over access to a valuable winter hunting ground, tensions escalating quickly enough that it required royal attention before the day’s end.

Naya assumed Ronan would handle it himself.

"It’s yours," he said instead.

"Mine?"

"You’ll lead the meeting."

She studied him, searching for some hidden motive behind the offer, some test disguised as trust. She found none. He wasn’t handing her the problem to keep her occupied or out of his way. He genuinely wanted her to lead it. More importantly, he seemed willing to let her succeed or fail on her own terms.

The meeting that followed didn’t go smoothly. Naya proposed a compromise allowing both territories shared, rotating access to the hunting grounds through the winter months, a solution designed to prevent either side from feeling shortchanged. Ronan disagreed, arguing that one territory had already leaned too heavily on the crown’s generosity in years past and didn’t deserve further accommodation.

They argued about it privately once the council had dispersed, Naya refusing to soften her position simply because he wore a crown.

"You’re not considering the long-term consequences," Ronan said, frustration edging into his voice.

"Then explain to me what I’m missing," Naya said, "instead of assuming I haven’t thought it through."

He stopped, something shifting in his expression, and actually asked her to walk him through her reasoning instead of overriding her outright. She explained that if the crown kept solving the weaker territory’s problems for them indefinitely, they’d never develop the resources to solve their own, and the dependency would only deepen year after year.

Ronan was quiet for a moment. "You really are becoming a Queen."

"I thought that’s what you wanted," Naya said.

"I didn’t know what I wanted," he admitted. "Not until recently."

The words landed differently now than they would have a week ago, weighted by everything that had passed between them the night before. Naya searched his face, wondering how much of that confession he intended to explain and how much he expected her to understand on her own.

They stood close together in the aftermath of the argument, neither one moving away. Ronan reached for her hand instead of pulling her closer, his fingers settling over hers with a kind of restraint that felt more intimate than urgency would have.

"Was last night a mistake?" Naya asked.

He didn’t answer immediately, and for a moment she braced herself for the old Ronan, the one who retreated behind cold detachment the second things became too honest.

"No," he said finally.

"Then what was it?"

"Something I don’t want to regret."

She let that settle over her, simple as it was, and found it affected her far more than any grand declaration could have. She had spent so long believing that whatever existed between them had to be explained by duty, circumstance, or the strange pull of their positions. Hearing him refuse to call the kiss a mistake made those excuses harder to hold onto.

Later that afternoon, Naya’s thoughts returned to the letter waiting on her nightstand. Ask your mother why she buried your name. She’d turned the sentence over countless times since finding it, and she finally decided she couldn’t keep circling the question from a distance any longer.

She found Ronan in his study and told him plainly. "I want to visit my family."

His expression sharpened immediately, though not with the suspicion he once would have shown. "Your father is dangerous, Naya. Whatever he’s involved in, he’s proven he’ll use you however it serves him."

"I know."

"I’ll send protection."

"I’m not asking you to come as my King," she said.

Ronan looked at her, something searching in his gaze. "Then what are you asking me to come as?"

She didn’t have an answer ready, and the silence stretched between them, neither one filling it. The question unsettled her because she understood exactly what he was really asking. If he wasn’t going as her King, what place did he have beside her?

By the following morning, she’d arranged the journey herself, insisting on a small escort rather than the full royal guard Ronan wanted to send. She was gathering the last of her things when his voice stopped her at the door.

"Naya."

She turned.

He hesitated, something uncertain crossing his face in a way she rarely saw from him anymore.

"Come back to me," he said.

Not come back to the palace. Not come back to your duties, your title, the crown waiting for her return.

Come back to me.

Naya stood there for a moment, understanding settling over her slowly. He wasn’t speaking to her as her King in that moment. He was speaking to her as the man who’d kissed her the night before and meant every second of it.

"I will," she said, and meant it just as fully.