The fire in their chamber had burned low, casting long shadows across the stone walls. Outside, the wind whispered through the palace spires, but inside, silence reigned.
Kael stood by the hearth, unfastening the clasps of his tunic. His movements were slow, deliberate—not from vanity, but from pain.
Elara watched him from the edge of the bed, her eyes narrowing as the fabric slipped from his shoulder.
And then she saw it.
A deep, angry gash carved across the muscle of his left shoulder. The skin was torn, the wound hastily bound with a strip of linen, stained dark with dried blood.
Her breath caught.
"You're hurt."
The words sliced through the quiet of the chamber, sharper than any assassin's blade. Kael froze, his fingers stilling on the final clasp of his tunic. He didn't turn, his broad back to her a silent, stubborn wall.
"It's nothing," he said, his voice a low rumble, a king's attempted dismissal.
Elara was already crossing the room, the silk of her chemise whispering against the cold stone floor. "Don't lie to me." She came to a halt behind him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, to see the truth he was trying to hide.
A deep, ugly gash marred the perfect expanse of his shoulder, a savage tear across the sculpted muscle. It had been hastily, poorly bound with a strip of linen, now stained a dark, ominous rust-brown. Her breath hitched, a tiny, pained sound. He'd been bleeding. He'd been in pain. And he'd said nothing.
He finally turned, his storm-grey eyes meeting hers. "It's already healing."
"You didn't tell me." The accusation was a tremor in her voice, fueled by a rush of fear and a flicker of anger.
"I didn't want to worry you." His jaw was a hard line, the picture of regal obstinacy.
She stepped even closer, refusing to be shut out. The air between them crackled. "You went after an assassin alone. You bled for me. And you didn't think I deserved to know?" Her hand lifted, not quite touching the stained bandage. My king. My husband. The words screamed inside her head.
"I needed to end it. Quickly. Quietly." Each word was clipped, a defense forged in a lifetime of solitary duty.
"You're not alone, Kael."
"I know."
"Do you?" she asked, her voice softening to a whisper that seemed to hang in the firelit air. "Because sometimes it feels like you still carry everything by yourself,even when you tell me not to carry everything by myself. You carry the crown, the kingdom… me. You hold it all, and you never let me help you bear the weight.But you always want to help me,so why can't I help you too "
He looked away then, a rare crack in his formidable armor. The gesture undid her. The anger bled away, leaving only a raw, aching tenderness. Without another word, she moved to the washbasin, her movements efficient. She poured water, tested its warmth, gathered the clean linen and the jar of golden salve that always sat on their mantle.
She returned to him and knelt. He didn't stop her. Gently, she peeled back the crude bandage. He winced, a sharp intake of breath the only sign of his pain. She didn't apologize. This pain was his lesson. Her careful, meticulous cleansing of it was hers.
She dabbed at the wound, washing away the dried blood to reveal the angry, clean cut beneath. "You're reckless," she murmured, her focus entirely on her task.
"I'm a king," he stated, as if that explained and excused everything.
Her eyes flicked up to his. "You're my husband."
He looked down at her, and the fierce pride in his gaze melted into something infinitely warmer, more vulnerable. "And you're my world."
Her hands stilled. The cloth dripped warm water onto the floor. She held his gaze, seeing past the crown, past the title, to the man beneath—the man who would carve out his own heart if he thought it would protect hers. "I hate that you were hurt," she whispered, the truth of it clogging her throat.
"I'd take a thousand more wounds if it meant keeping you safe."
"Don't say that." She shook her head, applying the salve with a feather-light touch.
"Why?"
"Because I need you whole," she said, her voice breaking. "Your whole heart. Your whole body. Not some scarred relic broken for my sake."
When she was done, she tied the fresh bandage securely and rose to her feet. They stood close, the scent of healing herbs and woodsmoke clinging to them, a potent mixture of conflict and care.
Kael reached for her hand, his calloused fingers weaving through hers. "Lyria," he said, his voice a low, intimate vibration that went straight to her core. "I'm not just fighting for the crown. I'm fighting for us. For this." He squeezed her hand, his thumb stroking her palm. "Every decision, every risk… it's for the life we're building. I forget, sometimes, that the fight for us doesn't have to be fought alone."
She searched his face, the hardened planes and angles she knew so well. And she saw it—the fear that lived beside his courage, the deep, abiding love that fueled his ferocity. The same fire that burned in her own heart.
Her free hand came up to cup his cheek, her thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone. "Then let's fight together,like you always say to me. "
It was all the invitation he needed.
He leaned in, and his lips found hers. It was not the hurried, desperate kiss of a king claiming his queen. It was slow. Searching. A silent apology and a profound promise woven into the soft pressure. Her lips parted beneath his on a soft sigh, and the kiss deepened, turning fiercer, a confirmation of everything they had just laid bare.
His hands came up to frame her face, his touch achingly gentle despite the strength in his fingers. Hers slid from his cheek into the dark silk of his hair, pulling him closer. The world narrowed to the feel of his mouth on hers, the taste of him—wine and winter air and Kael.
He broke the kiss only to trail his lips along her jaw, down the column of her throat, finding the frantic pulse that beat there. A low moan escaped her, and she felt his smile against her skin. His fingers found the delicate strap of her chemise and pushed it down, his mouth following the path it revealed, branding her shoulder with hot, open-mouthed kisses.
Her own hands went to the loosened tunic he still wore, pushing the heavy fabric over his shoulders, down his arms. It fell to the floor with a soft thud, forgotten. Her palms flattened against the warm, hard plane of his chest, feeling the powerful beat of his heart against her skin, a frantic rhythm that matched her own.
He was everything solid and real in her world. His skin was warm under her touch, a map of old scars and new strength. She traced the lines of him, learning him all over again, as he did the same to her. His breath was hot on her neck, his own hands roaming her back, pressing her against the solid length of his body until not a sliver of air remained between them.
He lifted her then, effortlessly, and carried her the few steps to their bed, laying her down amongst the furs as if she were made of the most precious glass. He followed her down, his weight a welcome anchor. The fire cast their entwined shadows against the wall, a dance of love and devotion. His mouth found hers again in a deep, soul-searing kiss that spoke of a forever that was only just beginning.
Later, much later, tangled in the rumpled sheets and the comfortable silence, Elara traced the edge of the fresh, clean bandage on his shoulder. The fire had burned down to embers, painting the room in shades of deep orange and gold.
"You should have told me," she said again, her voice soft with satiation and sleep.
Kael captured her wandering fingers and brought them to his lips, pressing a kiss into her palm. "I'm telling you everything now," he murmured, his voice thick with a promise that went far beyond words.
She smiled, a slow, languid curve of her lips, and curled into his side. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."
He pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin. "Neither am I."
But outside their window, high in the palace spire, a shadow detached itself from the greater darkness. It had been watching. Waiting. And as the first grey light of dawn began to bleed into the night sky, it moved silently away.
In the morning, a new letter would arrive.
This time, not for Elara.
But for Kael.
And his alone.