KIERYGAN’S POV The girl was asleep in my arms by the time we crossed into Altierra. Her head rested lightly against my chest, her breath warm and steady, the faintest crease between her brows betraying the unease that never quite left her, even in her sleep. I leaned back slightly in the saddle, adjusting my posture, so her head wouldn’t slump forward. She was too fragile already. I wasn’t about to let her wake with a crick in her neck on top of everything else. We rode like that for at least another hour. The rhythm of Orryx’s horse ahead of us, the crunch of hooves over frost-hardened ground, the hush of winter air curling through the trees. Altierra had changed. The land bore more scars than I remembered. Burned groves, shattered stone markers, whole patches of forest thinned by ash and neglect. But even through the ruins, there were signs of life returning. New thatch roofs on homes long abandoned. Magic-weaved lanterns floating at rest above cleared paths. Smoke curling from chimneys again. And beyond it all, Solmere. The capital stood like a silver jewel on the valley’s edge, cradled by mist and mountains. And there, still rising, proud and defiant, was Drakemont Castle. My home. The witches had done well repairing the keep overnight. Vines that once strangled the towers have been hacked away. Shattered stained-glass had been replaced. Not with the original colors, but with new panes that shimmered in unexpected hues, beautiful in their own right. Even the spires that had collapsed under Malric’s rule had been rebuilt, their stones still pale and unweathered by time. As we passed through the gates, she stirred in my arms. Her eyes fluttered open, blinking against the light of the setting sun. Slowly, her gaze swept across the unfamiliar courtyard—the wide paths, the flicker of mage-fire in the sconces, the snow-dusted gardens just beginning to bloom again from ruin. She said nothing. “This is home,” I murmured. Her head turned, slowly, taking it all in. The tension in her shoulders returned as her gaze caught on something in the distance—an old, narrow tower that stood slightly apart from the rest of the castle. It was one of the few structures we hadn’t restored fully yet. Her eyes locked onto it. And though she said nothing, I could feel the thought forming in her mind. She must be thinking she’d been taken from one prison to be thrown into another. “No,” I said before the thought could leave her lips. “You’re not staying there.” Her head snapped toward me, startled. “You’re not going to be locked away,” I added, my voice softer now. “You’ll have your own room. A real one.” Still, she didn’t answer. But her fingers curled into the fabric of my sleeve, gripping it tight—like a lifeline in unfamiliar waters. “Follow me,” I said. “I’ll show you.” “My room?” she echoed, the words fragile. Like she couldn’t quite believe them. Like she didn’t know what a room of her own meant. I turned toward the entrance. “Yes,” I said. “Yours.” She followed. Hesitant. Slow. But she followed. The doors creaked open at our approach, and warmth spilled out to greet us. Golden light from hanging chandeliers, the faint scent of aged wood and lavender oil woven into the stone. Then, suddenly, people flooded the hall. They were all cheering, celebrating our victory. I glanced back at the girl still lingering at the threshold. She looked lost. Overwhelmed. Like she wished she could disappear. Before I could react, a pair of arms wrapped around me. I pulled back slightly to look, though I already knew who it was. Mirael. She was radiant in a red, glittering gown that clung to every curve. “We made it,” she murmured, then pressed a kiss to my lips. “We’re finally home.” Her gaze drifted over my shoulder. The change in her expression was instant. “And what, exactly, have you brought with you?” I shrugged and slipped out of her embrace. “I took her from the tower.” Mirael gasped, disbelief etched across her face. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the girl who had her head down, fingers twitching, eyes fixed on the floor. “That…” she paused, deliberately, raising a freshly painted nail to point, “is the witch?” “I know,” I said, flat. “I couldn’t believe it either.” I turned to the crowd, offered a brief speech, then reached for the girl’s hand before her shaky knees could give out. I was already guiding her toward the grand staircase when Mirael’s voice rang out behind me. “Where are you taking her?” she demanded. I glanced over my shoulder but didn’t fully turn. “Her chambers,” I said, my voice clipped. Eyes followed us, whispers trailing behind. I didn’t care. Let them look. I wanted them to see the weapon I held. We turned down the west wing on the third floor. It’s mine alone. No one enters without my leave. Farthest from the great hall. Quiet. Defensible. I stopped before the room directly opposite mine. This is where the girl will stay. Close to me. Easier to watch her. The fact that Malric sent a werewolf to retrieve her means she’s more valuable than she looks. And I intend to find out why. I opened the door to her room. She froze. The room was spacious, but not ostentatious. Soft stone walls met dark wood beams, warmed by the amber glow of hanging lanterns. Heavy velvet curtains framed tall windows that overlooked the snowy gardens below. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering orange light against the high ceiling. The bed stood at the center of the room. It was large and sturdy, draped in deep blue linen. It offered a quiet, unassuming kind of comfort. Bookshelves lined one wall, only half-filled, waiting to be claimed. A small table with two chairs rested beside the window. A wardrobe stood slightly ajar, revealing neatly folded clothes with soft fabrics, simple cuts, nothing extravagant. There was a bathroom tucked behind a carved door. Everything she would need. Nothing she would fear. She stepped in slowly, cautiously, like one wrong move might make it all vanish. She didn’t touch anything. She just looked at the fire, the bed, the shelves. Then back to me, confusion shadowing her face. Like she didn’t believe this was for her. I cleared my throat. “It’s not much. But if you need anything else, books, warmer clothes, anything… just ask. I’m right across the hall.” Her gaze dropped to her hands, which were still smeared with soot and blood. Slowly, she tucked them behind her back, ashamed. Silence stretched between us. Then I asked what I should have asked much earlier. “I never got your name,” I said. She blinked, like the question didn’t make sense. “My what?” I softened my voice. “Your name,” I repeated. “What is your name?” “I… I don’t know,” she hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to quell the rising frustration. “What do you mean, you don’t know?” I asked, my disbelief sharpening the words. “What do they call you?” She met my gaze, her eyes unsure, hesitant. “Girl,” she said meekly, her voice a whisper that felt like a confession. “They call me ‘Girl.'” I felt a tight knot in my chest. “That is not a name,” I said, my voice rising, the anger bubbling over. I cursed Malric and Morwenna again, inwardly. The vile cruelty of it. Their inability to even grant her the dignity of a name. I must have spoken more sharply than I intended, because her body flinched, and her arms instinctively wrapped around herself. An instinctive, defensive gesture, as if bracing for a whip’s lash. I exhaled a long, slow breath, forcing my anger back down. “Alright,” I said, my tone softer now but still firm. “I will give you a name. Later.” Of all the tasks waiting for me, naming the girl shouldn’t have mattered. I could’ve given her the first name that came to mind. But after all this time, after everything, it felt like it should be something fitting. Something beautiful. Something she might actually like. So… later it is. I summoned two of the castle maids, Emma and Grace. I asked them to help the girl bathe and change into fresh clothes. They curtsied, eyes bright with curiosity but kind, and readily agreed. I gave the girl one last glance before stepping out. “When you’re ready, come down to dinner,” I said. “Emma and Grace will show you the way.” She nodded, though her eyes lingered on me like she wasn’t ready to be left alone. I turned to go, but then her voice stopped me. “Do you… have a name?” I looked back. “Kierygan,” I said quietly. “Kierygan Drakemont.”