CH477 · Rewrite
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Chapter 477: Love and Affection

Just as they had the year before, the witches held their feast in the castle.

Leaf had transformed the backyard—already expanded several times—into an open-air campsite ringed by olive trees. Around a raging bonfire, anyone who wanted to watch the stars could step back from the warmth and look up without the walls in the way.

Last year, there had been five witches around the fire. Now there were twenty-five. All the Witch Cooperation Association had come; the seven from Sleeping Island, and also Maggie, Lucia, Agatha, Spear, Paper, and Summer. Plates of finely cut food and various sauces covered the table by the fire, free for anyone to take. Since the rebel nobles’ territories had been cleared, meat and cloth both flowed more freely into Border Town. Evelyn had brewed low-alcohol fruit wine. Agatha had contributed ice cream.

Lightning was demonstrating to anyone willing to watch how to grill a chicken foot. Maggie, having spent a year in the mountains and jungles with Lightning, had already moved on to a hot-roasted steak without ceremony, her waist pocket heavy with spices.

Agatha was smearing honey on roasted meatballs and not enjoying herself, philosophically speaking.

“This is a waste of time,” she said between bites. “The demons will attack again. We’re not using this time to prepare—instead we’re celebrating the latest victory. When they break through the walls, it’ll all be over.”

“A proper balance of work and rest improves efficiency.” Roland handed her a bunch of stuffed beefballs—she had made no secret of her fondness for the juicy ones. “One day off won’t prevent us from defeating the demons. And even if we lose, at least we will have tasted something worth protecting.”

“Nonsense.” Agatha rolled her eyes, took the beefballs, and dipped them in oil before holding them above the bonfire. With her freezing ability, she could keep the meatballs at precisely the right temperature regardless of the fire’s heat—her work with the liquid nitrogen cooling process had refined her control considerably.

Nearby, the newcomer Summer kept still, though her gaze followed every plate that came near her. She had clearly not seen so much food in a long time. Wendy noticed before long and drew the girl to her side, sharing what she roasted between Summer, Paper, and herself.

The three Sleeping Island witches—Ashes, Andrea, and Shavi—had started a poker game while they waited for their skewers. Over the past few months they had learned every variation Roland knew. As long as there was no demonic beast attack, they gathered in the hall and played.

The others from Sleeping Island—Candle, Evelyn, Sylvie—had grown comfortable enough with the town’s witches that the two groups mingled without effort: Leaf, Echo, Soraya, and others talking and laughing like people who had known each other for years.

Roland watched from his place at the fire, and felt something settle in him. A year of effort, and here was what it looked like: the people’s cheers in the square that afternoon, and the genuine smiles on the witches’ faces tonight. These were not courtesy smiles, not performances for a lord. They were the kind that came from somewhere real.

He let himself be glad.


As the bonfire burned low toward midnight, Roland asked Nightingale and Ashes to see Nana and Summer safely home. Then he stepped up to the second floor of the castle to wait.

He had decided: no more waiting, no more postponing.

Silver moonlight fell through the corridor window in long, slanted bars. When Anna appeared, Roland saw her face in that light—her blue eyes catching a faint luster, like stars in a sky where all other stars have faded, the whole night condensed into her alone.

He did not speak. He walked forward, took her hand, and led her to the third floor.

This was not the first time they had been this close. It did not matter. His heart struck hard against his chest regardless, and through the hand he was holding he could feel that hers was doing the same. She followed him without hesitation, but her hand was not quite steady.

They entered his bedroom. Roland closed the door, turned around, drew a breath to find the right words—

Anna kissed him first.

Her lips parted his. The breath of her reached him before thought could.

Sealed with a Kiss. The title came to him from nowhere, from some other life: when there are no words, kiss; when feeling exceeds language, kiss. The mouth that asks and the mouth that answers need nothing else between them.

When they finally drew apart, her cheeks had gone red.

“I have something for you.”

He reached into his pocket and brought out two red Magic Stones—polished smooth, rimmed in gold, strung together by a thin thread of red silk.

“Is this—a Sigil?”

“A Tracking Sigil. A Stone of Pathfinding and a Stone of Positioning, connected by magic power.” He looped it around her neck. “Wherever I go, you’ll be able to find me.”

Anna went very still, reading his face.

Roland held her face in both hands and said it clearly, each word its own thing.

“Will you marry me, Anna?”

The surface of a clear blue lake, broken by rain. The rings spreading outward and outward.

After a long silence, she nodded.

“Yes.”

What followed was the most natural thing—long-held feeling that had reached the edge of a vessel and finally, quietly, spilled over.

He lifted her by the waist and laid her on the bed. His mouth found her forehead, her neck, her collarbone; his fingers worked her buttons with more care than skill. Anna kept her eyes open, watching every motion as though she meant to remember this exactly and always.

When the last of her clothes fell away, Roland drew her close and pulled the quilt up over them both.

Without fabric between them, he could feel her heartbeat clearly—fast, insistent, almost alarmed, as though her heart were straining toward something just out of reach.

“This time—” Anna’s voice came soft at his ear.

“What about it?”

“I won’t fall asleep.”

He laughed—sudden and helpless, and it broke something brittle between them and left warmth in its place. He pressed a finger gently to the tip of her nose. “Even if you do,” he said, “I won’t leave.”

Their mouths found each other again. Their bodies found each other. Their edges, long held at careful distance, dissolved.

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