(Rosaline's POV)
The road was cruel.
Not in the way of sudden danger or ambush, but in its quiet insistence—stretching endlessly beneath a pale sky, cutting through lands that once belonged to another life.
We traveled on horseback.
No carriage.
No attendants.
Just the two of us.
The excuse was practicality. The terrain near the old borders of Heathfield was too uneven for wheels, too exposed for a long retinue.
The truth was simpler.
I wanted these last days to belong to us alone.
I sat before Vlad on the saddle, his arms steady around me, reins held firm in his hands. The warmth of his body seeped through the layers of fabric between us, familiar enough to make my chest ache.
It was strange.
Even now, even after everything, his presence still felt like home.
