Chapter 20: Stubborn and Infuriating

“Gods help me. I have been wanting you here since the moment I saw your face in the crowd.” Luz’s crimson eyes burned with desperate intensity, searching hers for any sign of doubt or fear. “Every time I ride into battle, every time I order executions I do not believe in– part of me hopes you will be there when it is over. That somehow you will have followed me despite everything.” The gauntlet on his right hand unconsciously moved to cover the white ribbon hidden beneath the black steel armour– his only remaining connection to the man he used to be. “Well, I am here,” Amelia said stubbornly. “I will not leave. So, stop arguing with me.” The finality in her tone– that absolute refusal to be argued with– was more compelling than any logical reasoning he could have presented. A shaky laugh escaped him, the sound foreign and brittle after so many years of forced command.

“Fine,” Luz conceded, the word barely audible. “You win. You stubborn, infuriating woman.” His crimson eyes cleared further, the amber now dominating as he finally let go of the last shreds of his military persona. The black corruption on his neck settled into a stead pulsed rather than violent throbbing. “Just promise me one thing,” he murmured, his voice regaining some of its old warmth. “If it comes to choosing between saving yourself and staying with me– run. Do you hear me? Your life is more important than whatever remains of mine.” His gauntleted hands moved from her face to the back of her head gently, thumbs stroking through her red hair. “Fine,” Amelia conceded gruffly. “But if you ever dare die, I will be miserable for the rest of my life.”

The concession– spoken with that familiar stubbornness he remembered so well– hit Luz harder than any battle ever had. A genuine, unrestrained laugh escaped him, the sound rich and warm in the small confined of the tent. The crimson in his eyes softened, leaving only the familiar amber he had once called home. “Miserable for the rest of your life?” he repeated, a real smile touching his lips for the first time in years. “That sounds like a terrible deal for you. What if I decide to live forever just to spite you?” his arms wrapped around Amelia more securely, pulling her against his armoured chest as if he could physically shield her from the horrors outside their private sanctuary. “Thank you,” he murmured into her red hair, his voice losing its military edge entirely. “For not giving up on me when everyone else did. For remembering the person, I was before…”

Luz’s armoured arms tightened around Amelia possessively, as if afraid she might vanish if he loosened his grip. The tent felt smaller now, filled with the warmth of their shared embrace rather than the tension of impending battle. “We should probably get back to pretending I am Mestre Escuro’s loyal commander,” he said reluctantly, though his crimson eyes showed no sign of wanting to let her go. He stepped back just enough to create space between them, running a gauntleted hand through his silver-streaked hair in an attempt to compose himself. The amber in his left eye lingered for a moment before fading back into controlled crimson. “I have to change first…” Amelia looked down at the clothes lady Escuridade left behind.

Luz’s crimson gaze followed hers down to the simple midnight-blue tunic and robe– clothes provided by lady Escuridade. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before he caught himself. “Of course,” he said, his voice regaining its formal command tone with practiced ease. “Change quickly. We will need to move out soon.” He turned towards the tent flap, creating space for her privacy while still maintaining the illusion of a commander conducting business. His gauntleted hands clenched slightly at his sides.

Amelia begins taking off her clothes, starting with the grey button-up shirt, her fingers moving to the small fastenings at the front. One by one, she loosens them, her movement unhurried and deliberate. The fabric shifts slightly as the front opens, revealing her bare breasts. She rolls her shoulders subtly, easing the tension from the day, before slipping the shirt off her arms. The material folds softly as she lowers it, setting it aside. Next, she turns her attention to her brown trousers, worn but sturdy. She loosens the fastening at the waist, fingers working at the ties. The fabric relaxes around her hips as she shifts her weight, stepping out of them carefully. Luz’s back remained rigidly professional as she undressed behind him, but the subtle shift in his posture betrayed the internal struggle raging beneath his armoured exterior.

The crimson in his left eye flickered repeatedly, unable to maintaining its cold façade while knowing she was vulnerable and unclothed mere feet away. “Hurry,” he ordered, though his voice lacked its usual commanding edge. “We don’t have much time before Salvaxe decides to check on us.” Amelia lifts the tunic up and looks over it before stepping into it and drawing the fabric up over her hips, threading her arms through the sleeves. She gathers the cords at the front of the dress and begin tightening them in a steady rhythm– pull, cross, pull– working from the middle upward and then downward, adjusting the tension so it shapes her waist without restricting movement. Each small tug draws the fabric closer, and she pause now and then to inhale, checking the fit before tying it off securely.

Luz’s armoured fingers flexed against his thighs. The air in the tent grew heavy with tension– not from fear of discovery– but from the proximity of intimacy. “Is everything alright?” he asked gruffly, not turning around. “You are quite back there.” Amelia struggled with the waist cincher, unable to fasten it probably at her back. “Uh, yeah. Just struggling with the leather waist cincher,” she said slightly frustrated. “Help me?” when Luz turned around, he saw how attractive she looked in the midnight tunic, the material tight around her body and showing off her cleavage. “I can’t reach the buckle at the back…” she said as she looked down at the leather waist cincher wrapped around her midsection, the stiff material curving as it met her body.