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I woke to warmth and shadow. Eirseth’s body was curled around mine, one arm slung heavy across my waist, the other bent beneath his head. His skin radiated heat like a banked fire, and I could feel every slow inhale against my back, every subtle shift in the press of his fingers over my ribs. His breathing was slow, even. The tension he carried like armor was gone in sleep, softened into something almost human.I didn’t move at first. I didn’t want to disturb it—this rare stillness, this moment suspended between night and waking. I just let myself feel it. The weight of his hand. The warmth of his breath feathering against the curve of my neck. The faintest brush of his lips near the crown of my head, like a kiss placed there quietly, reverently, before sleep took him.The room was dim, lit only by the soft flicker of a wall sconce that threw long, golden shadows across the stone walls. The air was warm, laced with the faint, earthen scent of him—like sun-baked cedar and something old
Miren didn’t ask where I’d been. He didn’t ask why I looked like I hadn’t slept, or why my hands trembled when I reached for the edge of the table where he sat.He just shifted, barely, enough to make space beside him.I sank down without a word, my body still tense from holding too much inside.The silence between us wasn’t heavy. It was soft. The kind that wrapped around the sharp edges without dulling them, simply letting them exist. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the cold stone wall, letting it press into my spine like an anchor.The air was cool. Still. The only sound was our breathing—mine, shaky and shallow, and his, slow and steady, like the pulse of something ancient that refused to judge.He didn’t ask if I was okay. He didn’t offer comfort or platitudes. He just was. Near enough that I could feel the shape of his presence in the air between us. Solid. Unmoving.For a long time, I said nothing. I didn’t need to. That was the gift of Miren—he never made me fill the s
I woke to silence.Not the kind that hummed with presence—the kind that wrapped itself too tightly around the ribs. That draped over the bed like a second sheet, heavy and still. I hadn’t moved in hours. The blankets were twisted around my legs, half-kicked off during dreams I couldn’t remember, but had clearly left their weight behind.I stared at the ceiling for a long time, letting the quiet press in, trying not to think of the hallway. Of Calyx’s voice.You don’t trust me.I hadn’t denied it.And he hadn’t stayed.I closed my eyes. Not to sleep. But to remember.Not just my own memories. Nyelith’s.They were woven through me now—fused like scar and skin. I could summon them if I wanted to. I could feel her impressions layered over my thoughts like a veil: the echo of her voice, the tilt of her head, the way she’d touched each of them like they were hers.But it was Calyx I searched for.I needed to know if I had been wrong.I reached for the memory—one of hers, vivid and too warm.
Later, I went to find Miren.Not to hold him. Not to apologize. Just to pull him into something smaller than the silence he wore like armor.He was sitting alone in the far room, cross-legged on the cold stone, the hem of his sleeves tugged down over his wrists. He was tracing patterns in the dust with one fingertip, slow and methodical, like the act itself was enough to keep the rest of the world out.He didn’t look up when I stepped in, but I felt his awareness shift. Like a change in pressure."I need your help," I said.His eyes flicked to mine—dark, guarded, unreadable. They always seemed to carry more stillness than the room itself."For what?""Dinner."He blinked, slowly. Not in confusion, but in calculation. As if weighing whether it was safe. Whether I meant it.I stepped further in, arms crossed, the corner of my mouth lifting into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Don’t worry, you can leave the second it’s over."Something in him flinched—not visibly, not fully. Just a
He didn’t hear me at first.The chamber echoed with the rhythm of his strikes—sharp, punishing, relentless. Fists slammed into the gnarled trunk of the petrified tree, the sound vibrating through the stone like war drums. Magic hissed across his knuckles, flaring each time they met bark that refused to break. Sweat traced the lines of his spine, glistening across his shoulders, darkening the waistband of his pants. His chest heaved with every breath—too fast, too ragged, like he didn’t trust himself to stop.He wasn’t training. He was purging. Trying to excise whatever still lived under his skin—shame, pride, hunger. Maybe something softer he didn’t have a name for. I could see it in every line of his body, in the way his jaw locked and his movements sharpened with something more desperate than anger.When the branch finally cracked beneath his fist, he didn’t wince. He just sagged forward, bracing his forehead against the bark like he needed it to hold him up. His breaths came in une
The silence after Ruarc lingered long after he left. It clung to me like the warmth of his hand still pressed in mine, like the ghost of his mouth on my lips. I didn’t want to speak. Not yet. The quiet felt too sacred to break.So, I wandered.The halls were cool, lit only by the soft flicker of wall sconces and the ever-present pulse of magic deep in the stone. I walked barefoot. Let the stone press against the soles of my feet. I didn’t know where I was going until I reached it.Miren sat in the old reading alcove, his long body folded beneath the high-arched window, bathed in moonlight and shadow. He didn’t look up when I entered. He didn’t need to. His eyes were already open. Watching the sky. Or maybe just listening to the silence.I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to. I simply moved to the bench beside him and sat, knees drawing up to my chest, my shoulder barely brushing his.The moonlight spilled over his hair, catching on the fine silver at his temples. He looked carved from marb
He didn’t pull out.Not when my body shook beneath him. Not when I gasped against his palm, pulse stuttering. Not when my legs trembled violently against the hold of the vines.He held me there—inside me—as if withdrawing would undo what he’d just carved into the marrow of me.He wasn’t done.And n
I woke with my cheek against Eirseth’s chest.The rise and fall of his breath was slow, steady—like the sea beneath a lull. His arms were still around me, not tight, not possessive, just there. Warm and firm and quiet. For a moment, I didn’t move.The last time I left his bed, I hadn’t known what i
I woke late. Not to noise. Not to touch. Just to light.Soft and pale, the morning glow filtered through the cracks in the stone ceiling, warming the walls with quiet gold. I was alone in my chamber. The silence was complete, but not hollow. Not oppressive. Just still.My body ached. A dull, healin
The silence between us stretched—wide and strangely weightless. Not the silence of fear or tension. Not the aftermath of something unsaid. Just space. Just breath.Ruarc didn’t speak, and I didn’t ask him to. We sat in the hush of flickering firelight and soft stone, two people caught in the same s







