CHAPTER 471: WALK WITH ME

Alaric’s words lingered between them, sharp and heavy, like the glint of a freshly unsheathed blade catching the last of the sun’s rays. For a heartbeat, the garden itself seemed to still. The blossoms no longer swayed, the breeze quieted, and even the hush of evening felt as though it were holding its breath.

Lara’s gaze drifted westward, to where the sun had long since drowned in the darkness. In its place, Venus, the evening star, bright and solitary, rose against the indigo veil, presiding over the silence like a sentinel. She barely registered Alaric at her side; her thoughts had slipped elsewhere, spiraling back to memories of Azurverda. One nation, twelve federal states, a single governing capital... Was this the seed of that world? Could it have been him—Alaric Kromwel—who first dreamed it into being?

And yet, in all her studies, his name had never appeared, not even a footnote nor a passing shadow in history.

Why?

"Ahem."

His throat cleared softly, bringing her back. She startled slightly, realizing she had been staring at nothing. Alaric’s gaze was fixed on her, intent and unflinching, the faintest crease in his brow betraying concern.

"You seem so far away," he murmured, and the way his voice lowered—smooth, unhurried, almost intimate—sent a shiver spiraling down her spine.

Lara forced herself to hum lightly, shifting her posture to study him in return. She had seen countless men speak of conquest: with swagger, with greed, with hunger thinly veiled as honor. But Alaric spoke differently—measured, deliberate, like a craftsman describing a tool that could shape the world if wielded carefully. And beneath that calm precision, she sensed it: fire, tightly leashed but burning all the same.

And yet, even in that calm certainty, she sensed the fire beneath. The fire that made him dangerous.

Her chest ached, torn between admiration and something she didn’t understand. "You speak of peace as if it is your end game," she murmured, her voice now quieter, almost fragile. "And yet you admit you will spill blood to reach it. Do you not fear becoming the very tyrant you despise?"

Alaric turned fully toward her, his shadow falling across hers. His eyes locked into hers, unwavering. "I fear it every day."

The confession caught her off guard. She expected denial, some prince’s assurance of righteousness. But instead, there was honesty—raw and unguarded.

"That is why I need..." He faltered, and the pause was unlike him. His words were usually so deliberate, so calculated. Now they broke off, uncertain.

His hand rose, fingers brushing her chin with unexpected gentleness, coaxing her gaze back to his. Torchlight flickered nearby, catching her eyes and turning them to molten amber, reflections dancing in their depths.

Lara’s heart stumbled. Her lips parted before she could stop herself. "You need what?" she asked, her voice tight, almost breathless.

His other hand tightened around hers, warm and steady, the pressure sending a ripple through her chest that left her pulse racing. "Why, I need someone who will not let me forget what I fight for. Someone who sees beyond ambition and reminds me of the cost. Someone who can keep me grounded in reality, when power threatens to make me forget it." His voice dropped lower still, barely more than a whisper. "Someone like you."

The words slid past her armor with effortless precision, striking places no blade ever could. Lara’s throat closed; she turned quickly, unwilling to let him read what blazed in her eyes.

Overhead, the stars had multiplied, glittering like fragments of broken glass scattered across a darkened sea—but her vision blurred, as though even they were trembling.

Suddenly, warmth surged through her chest, each beat of her heart reverberating like the pounding of war drums—ancient, primal, undeniable.

"You give me too much credit," she said, forcing her voice into steadiness though it quavered at the edges. "I am no keeper of kings, Alaric. I have shadows enough of my own."

His lips curved into a faint, sad smile. "Perhaps that is why you are the only one I would trust to do it. You know the weight of shadows. And so, you would never let me mistake mine for light."

The words wrapped around her like a net, pulling tighter with every syllable. The carefully constructed wall she had built brick by brick between them quivered under the pressure of his sincerity, as though one more word might send it crashing down. And she knew—if that wall fell, if he proposed marriage again—her heart might betray her before her duty could intervene.

She still has things to do and cannot afford to be distracted.

"And what if I refuse?" she asked suddenly, lifting her chin in defiance, though her voice trembled despite her will. "What if I choose not to walk this path with you?"

For the first time, Alaric’s hand loosened around hers. He did not pull away, but the shift was enough. His gaze searched hers, and she saw not anger, but something far more disarming—vulnerability.

"Then I will still take the path and walk through it," he said softly, his words carrying no bitterness, only truth. "But it will be lonelier. Colder. And perhaps..." His voice broke to a quieter register, eyes lingering on her face. "Perhaps I will lose myself along the way."

The honesty of it struck her harder than any declaration of love could have. He did not bind her with demand or command. He bound her with truth—the simple, devastating truth of his need.

Lara’s resolve wavered, her pulse quickening as silence pressed in around them again. The night air was cool now, carrying the scent of gardenias, but her skin burned where his hand still touched hers.

She wanted to look away, to retreat behind her armor. But she couldn’t.

Not when his eyes held hers as if she were both anchor and compass. Not when every part of her whispered that if she let go, she would regret it forever.

Still, she forced a small, fragile smile, deflecting before the moment could break her. "You are dangerous, My Prince," she said, her voice trembling despite her attempt at lightness. She stood and moved away from him. If she did not, she might lose control and kiss him.

He followed her. His smile deepened, this time softer. "Only because you see through me, My Princess. And that is the most dangerous thing of all."

"I am no princess. I am not even a noble lady anymore."

"You are my princess, and soon you will be my empress." He reached out to hold her hand.

Their hands remained clasped as the stars continued to thicken overhead, and though no vows were spoken, something fragile and powerful had taken root between them—a promise neither dared name, but both silently acknowledged.

The garden had been veiled by the night sky, the marble of the gazebo glowing faintly in the moon’s silver light. The blossoms that had perfumed the air all day now released their fragrance more heavily, wrapping them in a veil of sweetness that felt almost unreal.

Lara shifted slightly, meaning to put distance between them, but Alaric’s hand tightened—not possessive, only firm, as though he feared the fragile thread between them might snap if he let her slip away.

"Stay," he murmured. Just one word, low and steady, but it rooted her in place.

Her throat tightened. She should have pulled free. She should have reminded herself of her duty, her independence, the peril of letting her heart stray too near his. But the steadiness of his voice, the warmth of his hand—these held her more securely than any chain.

Alaric turned toward her, closer than before. Moonlight caught in his eyes, silver over shadow, and for an instant she felt as though she were staring into something vast and unyielding. His gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then lifted again to her eyes.

Lara’s breath caught in her throat, an almost electric tension coursing through her. The vastness of the world around them faded away, shrinking to a slender thread that pulsed with intensity, a fragile line trembling on the verge of breaking.

"Lara," he said softly, her name spoken like a vow.

She froze, every defense crumbling under the weight of that single word. He leaned closer, slowly, giving her every chance to turn away. His breath brushed against her cheek, carrying the warmth of him, the promise of something more.

Her heart thundered. For a moment, she let herself lean too—just enough that their foreheads almost touched. The nearness was unbearable, intoxicating.

And then—

The faint sound of footsteps echoed down the garden path.

Lara startled, instinct pulling her back. Alaric stilled instantly, his jaw tightening as though restraining the frustration of interruption. His hand lingered a heartbeat longer in hers before he let it fall away.

A servant’s voice drifted through the foliage. "Your Highness? Forgive me—the king requests your presence."

Alaric closed his eyes briefly, as if the world itself conspired to deny them this moment. When he opened them again, his gaze was steady, but softer—an unspoken promise held within.

He rose first, offering his hand once more. "Another time," he said quietly.

Lara hesitated, her pulse still wild, before placing her hand in his. As he helped her to her feet, their eyes met again, and though no kiss had bridged the space between them, something deeper had been sealed in its place.

An unfinished moment. A question left lingering in the night air.

And perhaps... the beginning of something neither of them could turn away from now.