Randel led Amanda through the corridors of the Keeper’s Palace.
He had found these chambers by accident an hour earlier while wandering the halls, waiting for the generals and mages to finish studying the library. Amanda had been speaking with them at the time. The room was enormous — with high vaulted ceilings, columns of black stone, and windows overlooking an underground garden where glowing mushrooms and strange silver flowers grew.
“We can rest here,” he said, opening the door. “It’s a bit dusty, of course, but…”
He didn’t finish. Inside, his knights were already bustling about.
Erhard was giving orders:
“Quickly! Get rid of the dust! Did you bring the blanket? What about the coverlet? The lord will be displeased!”
“Already done, Captain!” Falk was wiping the table with some rag. “We’ve cleaned everything!”
“And the candles! Where are the candles?”
“Coming, coming…”
Randel smirked. His knights — the pride of Aichenwald, the elite of the duchy — were dashing around the room with rags and buckets like tavern maids.
“Done!” Erhard straightened up, surveying their work. “Clean. Almost. You can lie down now.”
He waved his hand, and the knights lined up by the door. Each of them was holding something — blankets, pillows, coverlets, candles.
“Leave it,” Randel said.
They placed the items on a chest and filed out, trying not to make any noise.
Randel closed the door.
They were alone at last.
Amanda slowly looked around the room.
High vaulted ceilings. Columns of black stone covered in writings she could somehow read. Walls that still remembered the voices of Keepers who had lived here thousands of years ago. Windows overlooking an underground garden, where glowing mushrooms cast strange, flickering shadows across the floor.
“It’s dusty,” she said.
“The palace is old,” Randel replied, stepping over to the bed and straightening the coverlet. “Thousands of years old. No one has cleaned it in ages.”
“But your knights did.”
“They learn quickly,” he smirked. “Especially when they know it’s for you.”
She watched him. Watched his hands adjusting the coverlet. Watched his back, slightly hunched from exhaustion. Watched his hair — the same hair she used to love running her fingers through.
“You always take care of me,” she said softly.
“It’s my job,” he answered without turning around.
“No,” she shook her head. “It’s your life.”
He froze. Then turned to face her.
She stood only two steps away. Wearing nothing but a simple shirt — she had removed her golden armor by the door, leaving it leaning against the wall. Her golden hair spilled over her shoulders. Barefoot. Tired. Beautiful.
“You took off your armor,” he said.
“I’m tired of hiding,” she looked into his eyes. “At least here. At least with you.”
Randel stepped closer. He reached out and touched her face. His fingers slid gently across her cheek, along her cheekbone, over her lips.
“You’ve lost weight,” he said.
“I haven’t eaten much.”
“You’re pale.”
“I haven’t seen the sun.”
“You…”
She covered his hand with her own, pressing her cheek against his palm and closing her eyes.
“Randel,” she whispered. “Enough. I’m alive. I’m here. That’s enough.”
He looked at her. At the golden hair cascading over her shoulders. At her red eyes, closed in trust. At the lips he had kissed hundreds of times.
“I searched for you for a year,” he said, his voice trembling. “I crossed half the world. I asked every person I met about you. I thought I had found you in the steppe, wearing black armor and red lenses. I was ready to swear it was you.”
“I know,” she opened her eyes. “I saw it. Through the beasts. Through the forest. I saw you standing at the gates. I saw you looking at the Reaper. I saw your doubt. I saw your hope.”
“And you stayed silent.”
“I couldn’t speak. The Darkness… it listens. It feels everything. Every word I spoke could have become a beacon.”
“And now?” He traced his fingers across her lips. “Can you speak now?”
“Now — yes,” she smiled faintly. “Now I can speak. I can scream. I can…” She fell silent.
“What?”
“I can tell you that I love you,” she whispered. “Truly. I should have said it a year ago. That night. When you were sleeping and I stood by the window. I should have woken you. Told you. Kissed you. Stayed.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I was afraid,” she looked into his eyes. “I’ve always been afraid. Afraid you wouldn’t understand. Afraid you would follow me and die. Afraid that…”
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She didn’t finish.
Randel kissed her.
Not gently. Not slowly. Hungrily. The way a man kisses water after crossing a desert. The way one kisses hope when they thought they had lost it forever.
He pulled her close, crushing her against him, burying his fingers in her golden hair. She answered just as fiercely — her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers digging into his shoulders. They kissed as if they could fit an entire year of separation into one single kiss. All the pain. All the longing. All the love they had hidden behind masks, behind armor, behind hundreds of miles.
He was the first to pull away, breathing hard. He stared at her — her lips swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
“Don’t you dare disappear again,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Don’t you dare.”
“I won’t,” she ran her fingers over his lips. “I promise.”
She smiled — mischievous, just like the first time they had been alone together in her tower.
“You know,” she said, “I’m over a thousand years old. I am the ancient Keeper. I’ve seen the birth and death of empires. And you… you’re just a boy who has lived so few years.”
“And?”
“And yet,” she slid her hand across his chest, “you kiss me like I belong to you. But maybe I belong to this world. To the forests. The rivers. The beasts.”
“You belong to me,” he caught her hand and squeezed it.
“Cheeky boy,” she smirked. “A bold boy who dares to command the Keeper.”
“I’m not a boy,” he stepped forward, pressing her gently against the column. “I’m the one who searched for you for a year. The one who was ready to die just to find you. The one who…”
“Who?”
“Who loves you,” he leaned down to her ear. “And if you are the Keeper — ancient and wise — then I am your Keeper. Your Warden. Your lord.”
She froze.
“My lord?” she repeated.
“Yes,” he looked into her eyes. “I am your lord. And you are mine. My Keeper. My woman. Mine.”
She stared at him. Sparks danced in her eyes — laughter, challenge, desire.
“You dare call yourself my lord?” she whispered. “Me — the one before whom kings bow?”
“Kings bow,” he pressed his lips to her neck. “But I take.”
“Insolent.”
“I learned from the best,” he lifted his head. “You’re my teacher. In everything. Even in insolence.”
She laughed — a quiet, happy laugh he hadn’t heard from her in a year.
“Fool,” she said. “Foolish, stubborn, impossible…”
“Yours,” he finished. “I’m yours. Just as you are mine.”
She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her whole body against his and burying her nose in his neck.
“My lord,” she whispered. “My sovereign. My prince.”
“My Keeper,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “My woman. My Amanda.”
They stood like that for a long time. Listening to each other’s breathing. Feeling each other’s warmth. Simply living.
“You should rest,” she said.
“I can’t,” he shook his head. “Not when you’re this close.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she lifted her head and looked at him. “Not until morning. I promise.”
“And in the morning?”
She didn’t answer. She only squeezed his hand tighter.
Randel sighed. He walked over to the bed, picked up the blanket — a rough, military one, the kind issued to soldiers on long campaigns. His knights had brought the best they could find, but it was still just a simple soldier’s blanket.
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s all we have.”
“It’s good,” she took it in her hands. “Warm. Reliable. Just like you.”
She lay down on the bed and pulled the blanket over herself. Her golden armor stood against the wall, gleaming dully in the candlelight. Wearing only a simple shirt with her golden hair loose, she looked… ordinary. Just a woman. Just Amanda.
Randel sat down beside her.
“Aren’t you going to lie down?” she asked.
“I’ll sit for a while,” he shook his head. “I want to look at you.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know,” he smiled. “But I want to make sure.”
She took his hand, brought it to her lips, and kissed it.
“Good night, my lord,” she whispered.
“Good night, my Keeper,” he stroked her hair gently.
She closed her eyes and fell asleep quickly—the deep, sudden sleep of someone who had gone far too long without rest.
Randel remained seated beside her, holding her hand.
The candles burned low. Somewhere in the corridors, footsteps echoed—his knights patrolling the palace, guarding the Keeper’s rest. In the library, mages argued over ancient scrolls. In the throne room, Leo stood pretending to be a thousand-year-old guardian, while inside he trembled with fear of the emperor.
He watched her. The golden hair spread across the pillow. The long lashes casting soft shadows on her pale cheeks. The lips he had kissed just moments ago. The delicate pulse beating in her neck. The hands that held him as if he were the most precious thing in the world.
And her legs.
The blanket had slipped down, revealing her feet—small, elegant, with slender toes. She had been barefoot after removing her armor, and now they were fully visible.
Randel stared. He couldn’t look away.
She was beautiful. Every inch of her. Every line, every curve, every detail.
He leaned down and brushed his lips against her ankle.
Amanda sighed in her sleep but didn’t wake.
He kissed higher. And higher. And higher still.
“Randel…” She opened her eyes—sleepy and warm. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer. He kissed her knee.
“You… you shouldn’t…” She tried to sit up.
“I should,” he lifted his head. Something burned in his eyes that stole her breath. “I want to. I want to kiss every part of you. Every day. Every night. Always.”
“I…” She swallowed. “I haven’t washed. I’m covered in dust. I…”
“I don’t care,” he kissed her thigh. “I never have.”
“Randel…”
“You are my Keeper,” he kissed her stomach through the thin shirt. “My woman. Mine.”
She laughed—a soft, happy sound that made his heart ache.
“You’re impossible,” she whispered.
“I know,” he looked up and smiled. “You made me this way.”
“Me?”
“You,” he covered her body with his own. “You taught me how to love. And I do. You. Only you.”
She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close.
“My love,” she whispered. “My lord. My prince.”
“My Keeper,” he kissed her lips. “Mine. Only mine.”
The candles finally burned out. The room fell into darkness, lit only by the faint, ethereal glow of luminous mushrooms from the underground garden casting strange shadows on the ceiling.
They lay together in the dark, entwined. Amanda’s shirt had long since fallen to the floor. The blanket lay crumpled at their feet.
“I missed you,” she whispered against his chest. “I missed you so much.”
“I know,” he stroked her hair. “So did I.”
“Don’t let me go again.”
“Never.”
She lifted her head and kissed him—slowly, deeply, the way someone kisses when an entire night stretches ahead.
“I want you,” she whispered. “Right now. Here. Always.”
“I’m yours,” he turned her onto her back and hovered above her. “Always yours.”
She smiled. Her fingers trailed down his chest, across his stomach, and lower.
“Prove it,” she said.
He didn’t need to be asked twice.
In another wing of the Keeper’s Palace, Roxana couldn’t sleep.
She sat on the windowsill in her chambers, gazing out at the underground garden. The glowing mushrooms cast silvery reflections across her face. In her hand she held a goblet of wine — the prince had ordered the best they had in the supply train brought to her.
“My lady,” Erhard stood by the door. “You need to rest.”
“I can’t,” she shook her head. “My thoughts won’t quiet.”
“What are you thinking about?”
Roxana smirked.
“About them,” she nodded toward the Keeper’s chambers. “My brother and… her.”
“Lord Randel has earned his rest,” Erhard coughed lightly. “As has the Keeper.”
“He has,” Roxana took a sip of wine. “He waited for her for a year. Searched for her. Suffered. He deserves this night.”
“And you?” Erhard looked at her. “What have you earned?”
She didn’t answer. She simply stared out the window, seeing her own reflection in the glass — tired, beautiful, and lonely.
“I’m glad for them,” she said. “Truly.”
“I know, my lady.”
“But…”
“What?”
“But I want someone to wait for me too,” she said quietly. “To search for me. To…”
She fell silent. Erhard remained quiet.
Somewhere deep in the palace, a woman’s laughter rang out. Happy. Light.
Roxana smiled.
“Do you hear that?” she asked. “She’s laughing. After everything she’s been through — she’s laughing.”
“That’s a good sign,” Erhard said.
“It’s wonderful,” Roxana raised her goblet. “To them. To love. To this night that belongs to them.”
She drank.
Erhard bowed and quietly left the room.
Roxana remained alone. She sat on the windowsill, watching the glowing mushrooms and listening to the silence, which was occasionally broken by distant laughter.
She was happy for her brother.
And she felt a little envious.
But it was a good kind of envy. The kind that gives hope.