6.2

Two trunks, this time. And while he eyed her dubiously when she insisted she could carry hers on her own, she managed well enough. Well. She walked some of the way because her flight was stunted and too low and he hovered and told her to drop it and he would make two drips back for it, but she didn’t mind the walk. Didn’t mind that people would see her trunk making its way back and forth, nearly as homeless as she felt.

Then finery had to be exchanged, not for a nightdress and a quiet night in a slim cot, her mate stationed in her sister’s old bed.

Instead, it was a grubby tunic and leggings and her oldest boots, while Mama put on the kettle and did her best not to ask too many questions. Then Da came, rubbing at the back of his neck as he took in the sight of his daughter and her new mate in the kitchen, long after they should have been situated back in the tower.

“Supper went that well, then?” Da asked, coming over to kiss the top of Firen’s head.

“It sure did,” Firen answered brightly. “Mind if we stay in my playroom?”

He rolled his shoulders and gave Mama a look. “It’s yours, you know that. Need any help cleaning it up?”

Lucian stood, grim-faced and too stiff for a simple kitchen and family that was his, even if he did not recognise them yet. “Thank you, but we will manage.”

Firen turned her head, genuinely curious. “You mean to help?”

Lucian glowered. “I told you that no one came to my room for an age. Did you see it overwhelmed by dust?”

Firen’s cheeks flushed, and she smiled at him, trying to soothe the insult she hadn’t meant to give. “I thought you meant friends. Your parents even.”

He picked off a bit of lint from his sleeve. “Well. Now you know.”

Which meant a change to his clothes—although she could not have sworn she saw much of a difference between them. They were of the same cut, the same colour, although perhaps if she squinted just right, the cuff of one sleeve was ever so slightly worn?

But then he was rolling up that sleeve, and her heart beat a little faster because she hadn’t known that she could find such an act... attractive.

But she did.

Because it meant he was about to go to work. With her. So they’d have a safe place to sleep tonight. Because she’d asked it of him.

Which made it cheerful work to fetch the buckets. To fill them with water and watch as Lucian took each of them from her and made his way up into the loft. She cut generous chunks of soap from the blocks, then cloths and towels and lanterns—mustn’t forget those, because they needed to see as they worked.

He did not tease her about having to use flame instead of the far more expensive moonstones that his tower employed. He simply situated them about the room, eyeing what furniture remained with an eye that suggested he saw little hope in her plan.

That was all right. She had enough for the both of them.

The windows were the worst. Granted, the floor was not much better. But soot had a way of finding its way into every nook and cranny, and she could not promise that she was particularly good at keeping the door slid shut every time she’d run back into the kitchen for her lunch. Which meant the shutters were coated, the floor was thick with grime, and they soon discovered it was better for one to scrub while the other flew down to the pump for fresh bucks of clean water. Over and over. Until her arms ached and her heart was full, and it was such a pleasant feeling that she was nearly giddy with it.

So consumed with her own emotions, she could not make out Lucian’s. He worked with the stern determination she expected of him, but if he felt little tendrils of horror at their week-long accommodation, he kept quiet.

Let her work. And fuss and prattle about how she’d fetch a pitcher with fresh flowers to sit on that table in the morning. And yes, it had to be placed there because then he could make use of the table once the beds were in.

Which was another matter entirely.

They argued a bit. She thought it best to negotiate the beds down the stairs and out through the kitchen. He thought that ridiculous because they could simply fly them out the window and around to the back. Simple, but it meant trusting that she would not drop the mattress and squash some of her mother’s kitchen herbs in the process.

She did not think it a coincidence when Da just so happened to walk down the hallway in need of water. A likely story, when Mama always kept a fresh jug in their room for just such occasions.

But she would not deny that it pleased her to see her father and mate make short work of the mattress. Then the frames—because they were not slovens, Lucian muttered just loud enough that she could catch his grumbling. She was too excited to take offence, and Eris had no need of her old bed.

Firen would take that one. Perhaps it was silly of her, but she did not like the idea of her mate sleeping in her sister’s old things, no matter how many times they’d been washed and cleaned.

He was hers, after all. And she was allowed to be just a little covetous of his person, even in imaginary arguments with her sister.

It was late when she brought in the bedding. The stars were bright and twinkling, and even her enthusiasm was not enough to keep out the tiredness that seeped into her bones. There had been too many happenings for a single day. Too many tears, and she longed for the feel of curling up in clean bedding in a room that smelled of soap and just a hint of her father’s workshop.

She could not stop her smile when she walked into find Lucian pushing the two beds close together. They did not equal his lone bed back in the tower, but it was the gesture that warmed her. He wanted to be near her. Maybe even needed it. In a strange place with people that, hopefully, soon would not feel like strangers at all.

The linens would not accommodate both cots, and she thought a little mournfully about his over-large coverlet as she piled quilts, some overlapping, others strictly for each respective bed. At least it gave the appearance of a single bed, and she liked that. Hoped he would not mind it terribly much.

She wasn’t convinced it was adequate, not when his hand reached out and pulled at one of the quilts, squinting at its edges. It was one of her oldest, and she did not doubt that the edge could use a fresh patch where she’d scrubbed too hard at the thinning fabric. “Were these bought?” Lucian asked, his finger skimming across the patchwork of mismatched prints.

She suppressed a laugh. She was certain she could find a stall that sold such goods, but they would be rare. This was just... home-craft. Hobbled together from scraps and leftover bits, because waste was frowned upon when something could be useful with a bit of time and effort.

“Of course not. Mama made that one.” She pulled up the corner of the one she was currently fussing with. “This was one of my first. One of Eris’s is probably in here somewhere.” Had she even spoken of all her siblings to him? Made him a little diagram to study as he’d done for her?

She swallowed, smoothing the quilt back down. “They’re warm,” she promised him. “Not what you’re used to, I’ll grant you, but I think you’ll be comfortable.”

She peeked at him, hoping that he would accept her hospitality with grace, because this was all she had to offer him.

“I hope you’ll be comfortable,” she amended, because she shouldn’t make assumptions. She must be open to his complaints—to do anything she could to make this week a pleasant one for the both of them.

“It’s fine,” Lucian assured her, although there was something odd in his expression that suggested it was not as fine as he claimed.

She stopped her fussing with her side—not that it would be her side. She’d let him pick, because they were in her territory now, and it seemed the courteous thing to do.

She would hang something on the far wall. Not a tapestry—she hadn’t the least idea how long one might take to make, and she had no experience to even attempt one. But something pretty. It might make it feel a little more like home to him. Wood instead of stone, but that shouldn’t matter, should it?

Firen tucked herself against his side and brought his arm around her shoulders before smiling up at him. His own smile was slow in coming, but he did not pull his arm away from where she’d placed it. “Thank you,” she murmured, and meant it. She’d been so certain she’d come here alone. That she’d spend the night weeping and doing her best to come up with solutions so tomorrow would not be as wretched as this day had turned out to be.

But now...

Now they would change. This time into their nightclothes. Perhaps up here. Perhaps he would be modest and want to exchange his dirty work clothes in the privacy of the washroom in the main house.

She’d let him do it this time. Give him a moment and not fret that he’d slip away without telling her. She’d... trust him.

“For what?” Lucian asked as he allowed the quilt to settle, his inspection apparently over.

“For hauling buckets and scrubbing with me. Somehow I do not think that is how a lawmancer’s apprentice spends most of his evenings.”

He snorted, his fingers curling about the ends of her hair that had fallen loose from her haphazard attempts to hold it up. “A rare evening, to be sure.” He brought his mouth closer to the top of her head, his lips skimming there. Not a kiss, not a caress. But something intimate and just between the two of them. “Consider it penance. For what you had to endure earlier.”

Her throat tightened, as did her hold on him.

“They’re your family,” she reminded herself. Reminded him. “I don’t want...” She stopped, drew in a long breath, and released it slowly. She would make no allowances for cruelty. She would abide no word or deed against the sanctity of her bond. But she could be gentle. For Lucian’s sake. Keep her harsher words for other ears, if she dared even speak them at all. “I hate to see you so torn,” Firen said instead. “I want to be selfish. Keep you all to myself and stitch you into my life and my home.” She buried her face in his chest and shivered a little as his fingers skimmed her back as he played with her hair. “I thought this would be easy. Always seemed like it was for other people.”

Lucian hummed. “Really? I cannot recall a single story that was not wrought with some sort of misery. Sacrifice isn’t always gentle. Not when it’s forced.”

Another prickle, another ache, and she raised her head to look about the room she’d been proud of just a moment before. He was used to so much... more. And this was all she had to give, and she wanted so desperately for it to be enough. “I don’t want to force you to do anything,” Firen added, her fingers curling into his shirt. Holding him. Hoping they wouldn’t quarrel because she couldn’t bear that. “I just want you to... want to stay with me.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and that was a wretched thing when she’d cried so much already. She did not want his pity, but she would gladly accept some of his compassion.

He reached down, his hand cupping her chin as he urged her eyes upward. “I am here,” he reminded her, and yes, there was a tinge of frustration at the edges of his tone.

She couldn’t be greedy. Wouldn’t be. She’d have patience and not expect more than his presence.

For now.

“Right. Yes, you are. Sorry.” She smiled at him and moved away so she could wipe at her eyes and push away her sudden upset.

“Firen...” he nearly groaned, and she shook her head.

“Would you like to make use of the washroom first? Or shall I?” She moved to her trunk and pulled out a shift and wrap as gingerly as she could. Her hands were not too grubby—she’d scrubbed them last of all with the last of the clean water, lest the clean linens risk being smudged with soot and grime.

His steps toward his own chest were heavy, and he opened the top with more force than was strictly necessary. She did not need the bond to tell her he was annoyed, and she gripped her shift harder as she struggled with what she might say to mend things between them.

Before she’d decided, he’d slid open the loft door and hopped down, his dark wings slowing the distance to the ground.

And then he was gone.

Which was better, she decided. So she could order her thoughts and he could see to his, and they’d come together and everything would be all right again.

It took longer for her eyes to stop burning.

Longer still for her heart to stop aching so fiercely.

And there was time enough for her to pin her damp clothing on the wash line in the yard to dry come morning.

And that was all right. Because he was coming back. He wasn’t leaving her.

She darkened a few of the lanterns, but left the lamp on so he could see his way back. Tucked her feet into cold sheets and wished she’d thought to take out stockings until the weather warmed, but it wasn’t worth the trek back to her trunk.

She could not admit her relief when she heard the workshop door open and close.

Could not admit that she was almost willing to fling herself at him when he walked back through the door of her—not her playroom. She grimaced at the word. Not that any longer. This was not one of her fantasies come to life. This was their room, if only for a week. Their quarters. Their...

Lucian looked at her with his jaw tight and his shoulders even more so. “Have I ever left you? Run off? Why must you incessantly pull at the bond whenever I am out of the room?”

He did not say it, but the accusation hung between them all the same. She was the one that did that. That told him she was leaving. Moving away. Returning home and he could do what he liked, and he could find her when he was more agreeable.

She plucked at her wrap and took a sharp breath. “I didn’t know I was doing that.”

He grimaced, dimming the lantern by the door as he went. “It is horribly distracting,” Lucian complained. “I hate to imagine how it will affect my focus if I’m ever allowed back into the Halls.”

It made her want to curl up into a little ball. To whisper her apologies and have him come hold her until she felt less guilty for just how much she’d robbed from him.

But she’d been robbed too.

The thought wasn’t a welcome one, but it was enough to keep her seated just as she was. To steel herself from crying and...

And being as pathetic as Oberon thought her to be.

He crossed over to the bed. She was tired. Sore. Overwrought and drained of nearly everything.

And yet when he settled into her old bed, she curled toward him. And when that was not enough to quiet the racing of her heart, she threw one of her legs over his lower half and clutched his sleep-shirt.

Because he wore one.

Which was an insult all its own. Because it meant she could not be trusted not to seduce him, as she apparently had done before.

“I’ve done that to you,” Firen acknowledged, because it was worth saying it aloud. “I thought my reasons good ones, if it’s any consolation.” He grunted, and still he did not hold her. And they truly needed to get better at this. Both of them. “If I had stayed, would it have helped?”

His hand shifted just a little closer to her hip. “No. But you would have been able to hear me say the words. Would have perhaps trusted me a little more. That I will not let them hurt you. That I do not want our bond to be dissolved, even they have mastered that particular skill.” His hand came to her hip, and she relished the way it gripped her. “Which they have not.”

She breathed a little easier. Because bonds were permanent, just as they were meant to be. No mortal should have the ability to pluck it out, to murder it, just because it suited them.

No, not them.

Their families.

Because they aspired to better, because they were callous and pompous and thought too highly of their own schemes.

“Then I am sorry I left,” Firen offered. Meant it. She’d hurt him, although that had not been her intent. They should have been united before the rest of them. But she’d doubted it. Doubted Lucian. Found it easier to retreat than to watch him neglect his responsibilities to her.

Except he hadn’t.

She buried her head against his chest, and his hand moved along her back. Where muscles were tight with fatigue and all her scrubbing. Not pressing hard enough to relieve the tension, but present. Welcome.

It was quiet between them for a moment. Him holding, her clutching. But when he spoke, it warmed her. That maybe they were getting somewhere after all.

“I am sorry that you felt you had to go.”

She wriggled upward. Because she had to look at him. Had to see the way his eyes were soft even as his brow was furrowed. Such conflict within him. Always. And it made her smile. Made her reach out with her pointer finger and smooth across those lines. Watched as he glowered briefly, unamused by her simple game, but not so much that he meant to stop her.

“I want you to know, I like it best when we are together. I do not want to leave you.”

His eyes darkened as she knew they would. “Then stop doing it.”

She could push him. Could retort that he ought to stop putting her into a position that it became necessary. But she didn’t. Because then they would argue, and she was rather tired of that.

So she kissed him instead. Softly. Just a brush at first, so she might gauge his reaction. They were tired, after all. Weary, both in body and in mind.

But she gasped when his hold on her tightened. When he seemed intent on pouring all the frustrations of the day into his kisses. And she hadn’t expected his fervour, might have been frightened of it except that it sent a delicious thrill through her. To be wanted. To be desired. Even if things were not perfect between them.

So maybe the nightshirt was not a symbol after all. Perhaps he was simply cold or...

She coloured slightly.

Maybe it was that they no longer had a private bath between them, and he was being modest lest her mother catch sight of him without his clothing.

His fingers tangled in her hair, and she really should have combed it properly. But she had thought they were going to be sleeping. More work for the morning, but she hadn’t thought she needed to look alluring or...

His lips found her neck, nipping at her lightly, and it should not have made her heart race as much as it did. Should not have made her straddle him beneath the quilts, should not have made her hands delve into his hair so she could push his mouth closer to her flesh.

But perhaps there were not rules when it came to loving. There were not shoulds or shouldn’ts...

Just the feel of him against her. The way the bond hummed and settled after too many partings and too many doubts.

But he’d chosen her.

Chosen to come with her, even when she’d been so absolutely certain he would not.

It made her want to be closer to him. Made her want to feel the whole of him, to make her claim and bind him to her in every way she could.

But they were tired. Or... had been.

They’d worked hard. And she wouldn’t presume. She’d be thoughtful and kind, and maybe he would not want to be with her after she’d left him.

Again.

His hands skimmed down her waist, settling on her hips.

And he groaned into her mouth as she rested more fully against him, and her pulse flared and there it was, that need that was so much more than physical.

His thumbs were delving, pulling at fabric until they found skin instead, and she shivered. She leaned down, wanting to kiss him again, and it put pressure in the most delightful of ways, and she closed her eyes tightly as she sought his mouth with the rest of her senses.

“Do you mean to have me again, Firen?” Lucian asked, and it was a wretched thing to say. Made her sound like some sort of defiler. A seducer. And she was his proper mate. She had a bond warming in her chest to prove it.

She opened her eyes and wished he could always look at her that way. Full of all the affection he was reticent to give. “If you’ll have me,” she answered back, and punctuated it with a kiss. Maybe two. A third, that lasted a great deal longer because his hand came to the back of her head and kept her there.

She hated he was right. That talking was so hard, that circumstances meant challenge and heartache and far too much uncertainty.

But this...

They certainly knew how to do this part.

And do it well.

He did not let her linger on top of him as long as he had before. Instead, he rolled her onto her back almost immediately, and his urgency left her breathless. Or maybe it was the kisses.

Or maybe it was the way his hand delved between them, pushing up at her shift and making a long, languid stroke up her thigh. Then down to her knee. Then up again.

Not quite where she wanted it, but drifting closer still with each pass.

Until she was squirming and frustrated, and when she opened her eyes to voice her complaint, he was smirking at her.

Which really was insufferable.

And if he could tease her, then surely that was permission to do the same. So she reached down. Huffed out a breath when, of course, he was wearing sleeping trousers, and his sudden need for modesty really was inconvenient for a quick fumbling in the dim of their week-long home.

So she plucked at the drawstring.

And if she had thought he’d need much coaxing, she was quickly proven wrong.

There would be no teasing him into readiness.

So she grasped at him instead, her hand delving into his trousers. And that really was a rather bold thing to do.

But she was gratified with his groan.

And even more still when his hand came to settle where it belonged.

It was almost enough to make her laugh with the strangeness of it. That it did not feel awkward at all to be holding one another in the most intimate of ways. To touch and yes, to tickle—and she really would start laughing if he continued to touch her so lightly.

But thoughts of amusement or oddity fled when his touches grew more insistent. When he allowed more of his weight to cover her as he kissed her mouth, her throat, then down to the tops of her breasts where her neckline allowed.

She supposed they ought to take their clothing off. It had felt so delightful before. To feel all of him, to watch his eyes when he took in all of her nakedness.

But maybe there was something charming about this as well. To abandon her teases so she could grip at his shoulders instead. To feel the tension in him, to know that they could ease that. Together.

And they’d sleep better, afterwards. They’d proven that before.

She liked the way his breath felt on her damp skin. Liked the way his fingers dipped. Just one, then a second. Careful of her, preparing her.

Liked better still the way he cursed beneath his breath because she hadn’t undone the drawstring all the way, so he had to fumble with his trousers and if she giggled just a little, then that was all right, because he had his revenge a moment later when he was suddenly there .

Pressing.

Holding still.

His neck tense and his brow furrowed, as if he was going slow for her sake rather than for his. She reached up. Cupped his cheek in her palm. Because he was rather beautiful, her mate. With his high cheekbones and the pale hair that had a tendency to dip over his forehead in the most becoming of ways. She could forgive that he looked too much like...

She did not allow her thoughts to linger there.

Would not let that man have one moment’s quarter while she was entangled with her mate.

Hers.

His eyes met hers. Had she said it aloud? She didn’t know. Hadn’t meant to, if she did. But it somehow he seemed to know the turn of her thoughts, the claim she had on him.

And he turned his head so he could place a kiss to the centre of her palm, and she thought her heart might burst at the sudden burst of affection she felt for him.

It groaned, and suddenly there was no more pausing. No more waiting and teasing. Just fervent movement, insistent and not quite right, not quite...

She shifted, brought her leg up a little higher, and she had to close her eyes against the sudden sensation.

Better.

Much better.

He huffed out a breath, and her hand fell away. She couldn’t decide if she liked it better clutching at his back, smoothing her fingers through the downy feathers at the base of his wings, or clutching at the bedclothes beneath her.

She settled with one hand doing each, and his head dropped to tuck at the curve of her shoulder, hiding his expression, hiding how something so simple and yet so fundamental could affect him.

That was all right. She could allow such little modesties, especially when it meant she could squirm all she liked, could smile and bite at her lip and do whatever else pleased her without fretting about anything at all.

She abandoned her hold on the bedclothes and settled it against the back of his head. Let her fingers drift through the soft hairs at his neck, the longer bits artfully cut. Did he have someone to tend his hair? Surely he did not do it himself, and she doubted he would be ushered into the kitchen along with the rest of his family to await a father’s skills with shears and a mother’s care with fresh wing feathers.

His lips parted. His teeth found her shoulder, and it might have been a shocking sensation as they pressed downward. Not hard, but present, and it kept her very still as she was more than aware that he had found his pleasures.

While she’d yet to find hers.

Which was all right. Surely.

Except that her body still thrummed with the tension of it, and she wasn’t ready for his weight to lift from her.

Certainly was not ready to sleep. Not when she hadn’t... when she’d...

She could not express her disappointment when he slipped out of her. When the feeling of delightful fullness was replaced with a cool sort of emptiness. When she was aware of how he’d soon be retreating from the bed to wash himself from the basin before he came back and rolled her back onto her own cot, perhaps not even aware how... neglected she felt.

Which hadn’t been his fault. She could acknowledge that in an exasperated sort of way. He’d touched her well, he’d kissed her and prepared her and...

He pulled his weight from her.

And she would not cry. Would not complain about how cold she felt when she realised her shift was up around her waist and the quilts had fallen to the sides, and it was somehow worse than when she was naked and sated and held no shame at all for any of the things they’d done.

And it wasn’t shame now. Just...

He did not leave the bed. Instead, he tucked himself behind her, his lips coming to her shoulder as he rolled her onto her side, his body following the entire length of her. “Where did you go?” Lucian asked, his lips skimming across the naked skin of her shoulder where her shift had fallen. “You were with me, and then...”

She swallowed, trying not to shift and wriggle as her body urged her to do.

Made all the worse when his hand reached around to offer her some relief, his ministrations entirely too slow. Which she would certainly not grasp hold of his hand to urge him to do it differently, because that was... that would be...

“I was thinking about who tends to your hair,” Firen answered, because that seemed the only thing to do when the alternative was to indulge her own boldness. “I got distracted.”

He laughed at her. A chuckle of breath and sound that warmed against her skin and did strange things to her stomach. Because she liked it. And it saddened her it was such a rarity. But if she dwelled on that, then she would lose the sensations again and...

“Then I must not have been attending to you properly, if you could think about something so mundane when I am attempting to pleasure you.”

She opened her mouth to apologise, because really, it hadn’t been him at all. And it couldn’t be her fault, either. She hadn’t known how distractible she could become, did not know that events of the day could not simply disappear just because... because...

His strokes became more purposeful, as if determined to push everything else from her mind.

And it was working. Or should have worked.

Except that she was suddenly nervous, as if she’d done something wrong by taking too long. When he should be sleeping—really, they both should, and she should stop him because this was selfish of her and there was always next time, and...

“You think I could sleep,” Lucian murmured, his breath warm against her ear, his lips soft as he kissed her neck, her shoulder. The curve of her upper arm. “When you were unsatisfied? I have my pride.” She shivered all over, because he was touching just the right spot, and retreating just when it grew too much, only to return before her skin had stopped thrumming, her belly had stopped tensing. “And I’ll not have my mate thinking me selfish. She already thinks me a deserter.”

Her mouth opened, and she meant it to be a denial, because she didn’t, she just... she just got nervous, that was all. Wasn’t sure... that he...

He rolled her ever so slightly. Not quite on her side, but not quite on her stomach. And her wing was a little too squashed, but it changed the angle just so and he was covering her, but in ways he hadn’t before, and somehow that was what she needed.

Needed so she could...

It didn’t embarrass her. The gasp she made wasn’t disgraceful. The way she clutched at his arm and yes, even the hand that had given her this, it was all right, because he was still placing kisses along whatever skin he could find, and the bond was warm, and he was a good mate. That wouldn’t have been able to sleep while she was left wanting.

He let her move first. Didn’t pull himself free of her the moment her eyes opened and her body grew slack. Let her wriggle around so that she could kiss him properly, body languid.

He’d done that. Taken care of her.

“We can sleep now,” she murmured, perfectly content to snuggle into his side and do just that.

He snorted, but there was laughter at the edges of it, and so she didn’t mind when he kissed her once more and rolled to the edge of the bed.

Her mate liked to be clean, and she supposed there were worse traits.

She heard the dip of cloth into water. The trickle of liquid when he squeezed it out again.

She didn’t watch him. Did not stare to see him coax out his length so he could tend it properly. Did not watch as he soaped his hands and rinsed them clean again.

So it surprised her when he came back to her, a fresh cloth in his hands as he wiped at her, and she jumped at the coldness of it and she might have glared except she was met with a knowing look that stayed her. “Sacrifices,” Lucian reminded her. No hearth and tanks and taps that meant hot water for bathing afterwards.

So she bit her lip and let him wash her, and if there was a strangeness in that, a mortification she should feel at such attentions, it didn’t occur to her to feel them. Because it was tender with her. Gentle. In ways that harsh looks suggested that he wouldn’t be. But when he returned to bed, there was a sigh he made when he wrapped himself about her. Held her to him without her having to tug at him through the bond.

Because maybe he needed her, too. Needed her closeness, needed the feel of her. To make this unfamiliar place feel a little bit more like home.

Which was perfectly all right with her.

“I’m going to stop,” Firen murmured into the dark. He’d doused the last of the lamps, and the windows were shuttered tightly. “Leaving you,” she clarified. His hold on her tightened. “If I need to be outside, if I need to fly or to take a dip in the sea, or just... walk, I’ll tell you.” She swallowed. “Or you could come, sometimes. We could pace together. Until we feel better.”

He nuzzled into her neck, or maybe he was burying his face in her unbound hair. She could not tell. But she liked the feel of it. Liked being held, liked the rightness they’d found between them.

“Sleep,” Lucian commanded. “You can plan our next quarrel in the morning.”

It should not have made her smile. Should have provoked her guilt at how many times they’d managed to argue already.

But instead she closed her eyes and revelled in the feel of him, knowing he’d soon roll over to sleep properly on his side.

Although...

She had shimmied onto her own cot to make room for him.

And he’d come to find her.

So maybe... maybe he’d stay.

Which sounded rather lovely, especially with the day they’d had, and this room really was comfortable when they were situated just like this, and...

He stayed.

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