Page 80 of Crowned

His shoulders sag as he takes another step toward me, his gaze softening further. “I understand. Believe me, I do. But you have to think beyond the moment, Malia. Every risk you take out there puts all of us – putsthem– in danger.”

My breath catches, and I press a hand to my mouth as tears well up, spilling over despite my best efforts to hold them back. “I hate this,” I choke out. “I feel so…so helpless. Just waiting, not knowing what’s happening. It’s unbearable.”

Vance sighs, stepping closer until his hands rest gently on my shoulders. His touch is firm, grounding, but there’s a warmth in it that makes the tight knot in my chest loosen just slightly. “You’re not helpless,” he says softly, tilting his head to catch my gaze. “I know it feels like that right now, but you’re not. And you’re not waiting, either.”

I sniff, shaking my head as more tears slip free. “It doesn’t feel that way. You’re all out there, fighting, risking everything, and I’m just standing here – useless.”

“You’re not useless, Malia,” he says firmly, his fingers squeezing my shoulders. “Do you know what’s happening right now? The wounded soldiers are being brought into the palace. The citizens are being sheltered inside the walls of the great hall. They’re scared, they’re injured, and they need someone to take charge. Someone to organise them. Someone they can look to when everything feels like it’s falling apart.”

I blink, his words slowly sinking in. “You’re saying I…I could help with that?”

“You could lead it,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The healers are already spread too thin, and the guards can’t handle everything. They need someone who can coordinate. Someone who knows what it means to care about them. That’s you, Malia.”

A flicker of purpose ignites in my chest, dim but steady. “I can do that,” I whisper, more to myself than him. “I can do that.”

Vance nods, his hands slipping from my shoulders to take mine in his. “I know you can. And if anyone can show them strength, it’s you.”

I take a shaky breath, the guilt and helplessness easing just enough to make room for determination. I squeeze his hands, meeting his gaze with more certainty than I’ve felt all day. “I won’t let you down. I promise.”

“You won’t,” he says softly, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile.

Before I can think twice, I lean forward and press a quick kiss to his lips, the brief contact enough to steady me even more. “Thank you,” I murmur.

“Always,” he replies, his voice low but certain.

I pull away, squaring my shoulders as I wipe the tears from my cheeks. There’s no time to wallow anymore. I dart toward the door, my mind already racing with plans.

The lower halls of the palace are a frenzy of activity. Wounded soldiers are being carried in on stretchers, their blood staining the stone floors as healers work frantically to stabilise them. Frightened civilians huddle together in the corners, their wide eyes darting around as if the walls themselves might collapse at any moment.

I step into the chaos, raising my voice over the din. “Listen up!”

Heads turn, the noise dulling as people look toward me. My heart pounds, but I keep my voice steady. “We’re going to get organised. Healers, I need you to tell me what supplies you’re short on. Able-bodied citizens, if you can move, I need you to fetch whatever they need – bandages, water, anything they ask for. We’re not leaving anyone behind, but we need to work together.”

The healers exchange glances before one of them steps forward, her face streaked with sweat and exhaustion. “We need more clean linens and water. And we’re low on salves.”

I nod sharply, turning to the civilians. “You heard her. Split into groups. Some of you go to the storage rooms – look for anything that can be used as bandages. Others head for the kitchens for water. Move quickly!”

There’s a moment of hesitation before they start to scatter, their fear replaced with purpose as they rush to follow my orders.

I step closer to the healers, crouching beside a young man whose leg is wrapped in a bloodied makeshift tourniquet. His face is pale, his breathing shallow. “What do you need?” I ask the healer working on him.

“Pressure,” she says without looking up, her hands slick with blood.

I press down where she directs, ignoring the warmth of the blood seeping through the cloth. The soldier groans, his body twitching, and I murmur soft reassurances, my voice steady even as my hands shake.

“You’re doing good,” I tell him, my gaze flicking to his face. “We’ve got you.”

As the hours stretch on, the chaos begins to settle. Supplies are gathered, wounds are treated, and the civilians start to move with purpose instead of fear. I move through the halls, directing people where they’re needed, checking on the injured, and offering words of encouragement where I can.

By the time the fighting outside finally quiets, I’m exhausted, every muscle in my body aching. But the sight of the once-panicked crowd, now working together, fills me with something I haven’t felt in a long time: hope.

Vance steps into the room, his presence filling the space, even as the clatter of distant voices and the murmur of movement outside continue. The air feels heavy, thick with the remnants of chaos, but there’s something grounding about him being here, something that steadies the tremors in my chest.

He moves closer, his boots echoing softly on the stone floor. I don’t need to say anything. The weight of the day hangs between us, unspoken, yet understood. His eyes linger on me for a beat longer than necessary, searching for something in my expression.

“You’ve held this place together,” he says, his voice low, but firm. “Not just physically, but emotionally. You’ve given them hope. You’ve given me hope.”

I give a small shake of my head, trying to brush off the praise. “I just did what needed to be done.”

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