Chapter 41: The Architecture of Peace
The world did not simply return when the frantic heat of their coupling cooled. It seeped back in slowly, like the pale dawn light filtering through the heavy drapes of their chamber. The first thing Lyra was aware of was the weight of Kael's arm draped possessively across her waist, his body a solid, warm wall at her back. The second was the profound silence, broken only by the soft crackle of the dying fire and the steady, synchronized rhythm of their breathing.
There were no words. None were needed. The desperate, raw energy that had consumed them against the door had been transmuted, through the alchemy of their joining, into a deep, bone-melting calm. The political chasm that had begun to yawn between them had been bridged, not with words, but with touch, with taste, with the silent, screaming truth of their bodies.
