The sound of hooves echoed through the courtyard, and my heart stuttered in my chest.
I didn't stop to think; my body reacted on its own, legs carrying me down the stone steps of the packhouse, skirts bunched in my fists, the wind biting against my skin. I didn't care who was watching. I didn't care how I looked.
I knew that silhouette. That posture. Broad shoulders, silver-streaked hair. My father.
"Papa," I breathed, the word breaking on my lips.
And then I was running, past guards, past Draven, straight into my father's arms. His embrace swallowed me whole, firm, familiar, steady. I hadn't felt that kind of security since I left Emerald Vale.
"Elara," he murmured, wrapping me tightly against his chest. His voice was rougher with age but still carried the warmth I had grown up with. "Let me look at you."
I pulled back, blinking rapidly as he cupped my face with his cal-loused hands. "You're glowing, sweetheart."
