Heir of Fire

chapter eight

Gemma stood silently in the corridor, staring at the heavy wooden door in front of her. The flickering torches cast long shadows on the stone walls, and she could hear the faint hum of voices from deeper in the castle. Sam's room was just behind this door. She hadn't intended to stop here, but her feet had carried her here anyway, as if drawn by something she couldn't quite explain.

She was supposed to be saying her goodbyes—to Kyra, to the queen. Not to him. And yet here she was, standing in front of his door, her hand half-raised as though to knock, but frozen in place.

Just turn around, she told herself. Leave now. There's no point in dragging this out.

But her body refused to move.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and there he was—Sam, standing in the doorway, his expression startled at first, but quickly softening into something warmer.

"Gemma?" he said, his voice low and rough from the late hour. "What are you doing here?"

Gemma's heart pounded in her chest, her throat tight with the words she had been holding back. She glanced down the hallway, feeling the weight of everything she had to say pressing down on her. She couldn't leave without telling him. Not after everything they had been through.

"I... I'm leaving," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "For Essos. Tonight."

Sam's brows furrowed, and he stepped out into the hallway, his tall frame filling the narrow space between them. "Leaving?" he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. "Why? What happened?"

Gemma looked away, her gaze falling to the floor. "There's nothing left for me here. I've been holding onto revenge for so long, but now... I don't know who I am anymore. I just... I need to get away."

Sam stared at her for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, he stepped closer, his voice quieter, more vulnerable. "You're not the only one who feels like that."

Gemma looked up at him, surprised by the raw emotion in his voice. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking more uncertain than she had ever seen him.

"My mother died when I was young," Sam began. "She was the only child of her family. My father was Lord Ronnel Cuy of Sunhouse. I was his heir, or at least, I thought I was." He laughed bitterly, the sound hollow in the dimly lit hallway. "But then my father remarried. Had another son. Branston. And suddenly, I didn't matter anymore. It was like my mother never existed."

Gemma felt her chest tighten as she listened, understanding more than she wanted to admit.

"I was no longer the rightful heir," Sam continued, his voice thick with frustration. "My younger brother... he had more of a claim to Sunhouse than I ever would. My father made that clear. It's as if my parents' marriage didn't matter. Like I'm the one who should be grateful for anything. Like I'm just... the unwanted one."

Gemma swallowed, unable to speak. She had never known this about Sam. She had always seen him as strong, confident, a knight who had the whole world ahead of him. But now, standing before her, he looked just as lost as she was.

"Joining the Kingsguard was my only way out," Sam said quietly. "The other option was the Wall. And what kind of life is that?"

He met her eyes, his voice cracking. "There's nothing left for me here either, Gemma. Nothing. I want to leave. I want to go with you."

Gemma felt her heart ache at his words, a part of her longing for him to come with her, to share the journey to a new life, away from all the pain and betrayal that had marked both their lives. But she knew better. She couldn't let him sacrifice what little he had left, even if it felt like nothing to him.