Ambrose runs his fingers down the slender length of Amara’s neck. They are alone on the observation deck, and he watches as gooseflesh prickles over the princess’s soft skin.
“Do you really want to spend the rest of your life on that small little planet, ruling from a throne, watching the stars from a distance?” Ambrose asks softly. “Aren’t you going to miss this?”
This being the view from the observation deck. This being the countless stars spread across the sky. This being nights like tonight, when the skies are wide and the universe impossible.
This being alone together.
This being something that will never happen again.
Amara shrugs out of Ambrose’s grip. “The view is better on the south side of Metron,” she replies almost apologetically, but it’s all Ambrose needs to hear.
He looks away, trying to keep himself composed, pursing his lips tightly. He’s the Starbright General, after all, the slaughterer of legions, the hero of the Avaril Nebula, and the Noxian King’s greatest spy. For a moment he had forgotten that. “Very well, my princess.”
Then the princess curtsies, and leaves him on the observation deck with all of the stars in the sky—alone.
He’s meant to be alone, anyway.