The fire had burned low, casting the room in a soft, amber glow that seemed to hold its breath. The shadows danced on the stone walls, stretching and shrinking with each flicker of the dying flames. The silence was heavy, thick with something that neither of us could name, something that had been building between us for weeks, months, lifetimes.
We sat together on the fur rug before the hearth, our shoulders touching, our hands resting on our knees. The long walk through the mountains had exhausted us both, but neither of us had wanted to part. So we had come to his chambers, as we did most nights now, and we had built a fire, and we had sat in the quiet, watching the flames.
