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Luz stood in the stables, saddling a horse she’d named Cactus because it bit. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but her hands moved with muscle memory. Tension lived in her jaw. She’d barely slept.
Today, she would escort Lady Amity Blight to her betrothal.
To someone else.
The clink of soft boots on stone echoed behind her. She didn’t turn.
“You’re up early,” Amity said, her voice quiet in the chill morning air.
“I’m always up early,” Luz replied, still not looking. “Knights don’t get beauty sleep. We just get sore backs.”
That made Amity huff a laugh. “You make it sound so glamorous.”
Luz smiled as she tightened the saddle straps. Her fingers shook, just a little.
“You don’t have to come,” Amity said. “There are plenty of guards—”
“I’m sworn to your house,” Luz interrupted. “It’s my duty.”
“I didn’t ask you to swear anything.”
Luz turned.
Amity stood in a cloak of dark green velvet, her brown hair braided over one shoulder. She looked composed and regal on the surface. But her eyes were miserable.
“I asked you to stay with me, for me,” Amity said. “Not just to follow orders.”
“That’s not how this works.” Luz’s voice was low. “You know it.”
They stared at each other. The words between them, unsaid for months, hung thick in the air.
Luz stepped closer, lowering her voice. “When we reach Iron Hollow, they’ll take you into the keep. You’ll be introduced to the duke. There’ll be a feast. Then the wedding contracts.”
Amity flinched like the word burned.
“I know,” she said. “I’ve read the letters. I know what’s expected.”
Luz hesitated. Then: “You don’t have to do this.”
Amity looked away. “Yes, I do.”
“I could—” Luz bit her tongue, shook her head. “Never mind.”
“What?”
“I could take you somewhere else. We could leave. Before sunrise. You’d be free.”
Amity met her eyes, fierce. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
“I do mean it.”
Silence.
Then Amity’s expression cracked. “And what happens next, Luz? We run, and what? You wander with your sword and I hide behind your cloak? We sleep in barns? Steal food? Get caught and then?”
Luz swallowed. “It’d be a life.”
“It wouldn’t be mine.”
She said it gently, not cruelly. That almost made it worse.
Luz stepped back, hands clenched. “Then I’ll do my duty. I’ll get you there safely. And I’ll go.”
“Just like that?”
“What else can I do?” Luz asked, voice hoarse. “You want me to stay and watch you marry someone else?”
Amity’s lip trembled. “I want you to stop loving me.”
Luz laughed, bitter and quiet. “If I could do that, we wouldn’t be here.”
Another silence. The air smelled like cold and hay.
Amity moved first.
She stepped forward and pressed her forehead to Luz’s.
Her breath was warm. Her hands gentle.
“I never wanted this,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“I wanted—” She broke off. “I wanted you.”
Luz closed her eyes.
“I still do.”
That undid her.
Luz kissed her.
It was soft and desperate and full of everything they’d never had time to say. Amity kissed her back like drowning, like she’d been waiting for permission for so long. Their hands tangled in cloaks and armor, fingers brushing skin where they could reach.
The stable creaked. Somewhere, a horse snorted. The world kept turning.
When they pulled apart, Luz rested her forehead against Amity’s.
“No one can know,” Amity whispered.
“I know.”
“One more night.”
Luz opened her eyes. “Then what?”
Amity smiled, the smallest, saddest thing Luz had ever seen.
“Then we pretend it never happened.”
—
They rode at dawn.
Luz kept her distance. Her armor gleamed. Her back was straight.
And Amity, riding ahead under her family’s banner, never once looked back.