I glance over my shoulder and smile. “Did you enjoy the stew?”
He pats his stomach. “Surprisingly yes. The washing up part, not so much.”
“Well, how about you make breakfast tomorrow and I’ll do the washing up?”
“You want me to… cook?”
I grin. “I have seen you turn to smoke, vanish into thin air and fly straight into a cyclone, but cooking worries you? I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“We can only hope,” Daed exhales.
I hold his gaze for a moment longer, then look down at the vine in my hands, its tendrils curling and twisting with life. It feels as if the plant itself is eager to be set into the soil, to root itself here. I smile and glance back at Daed, still watching me with that curious expression, as if he's trying to make sense of the peace I find in this simple act.
“Come here,” I say softly, patting the ground beside me. “I want to show you.”
He hesitates for a second, but then, as if drawn by something he doesn’t quite understand, he crouches down next to me. The closeness of him makes my breath catch, his presence overwhelming in the quiet intimacy of the garden. His shirt is still open from earlier, and his skin glows faintly in the sunlight. I can feel the heat radiating off him as he moves closer, his broad shoulders brushing mine.
“This is how you plant her,” I explain, gently placing the vine in the shallow hole I’ve dug. My fingers move through the dirt, cradling the fragile roots with care. “You have to make sure the soil is soft enough, so she can spread her roots without being suffocated.”
Daed watches my hands intently, studying my every movement. I take one of his large hands in mine and guide it to the vine. His fingers brush against mine, rough from battle, but gentle now, as if he’s afraid to hurt the delicate plant.
“Like this,” I murmur, guiding his hand to cover the roots with earth. His touch is careful, tentative, and it’s a strange contrastto the strength I know he wields. I can feel his breath on my skin, warm and steady, and I suddenly realize just how close we are.
“See?” I say, my voice barely above a whisper as I glance up at him. “It’s not so hard.”
Our faces are inches apart now, the air thick with something that feels deeper than the garden, than the act of planting. His eyes meet mine, and there’s something different in them—softer, more vulnerable. I forget about everything else. It's just him and me, here in this garden, our hands in the earth.
“Not so hard,” he echoes, but there’s a slight rasp in his voice, a tightness in his throat that I can feel mirrored in my own chest.
I release his hand slowly, my fingers lingering on his for a heartbeat longer than necessary. His gaze falls to my lips, then flicks back to my eyes, and I can’t tell if it’s the magic of the garden or the quiet intimacy between us, but the air seems charged now, humming with something unsaid.
“I think she’s going to do well here,” I say, breaking the silence, though my voice is a little unsteady. “She’s strong. She’ll take root and grow.”
Daed’s hand remains in the soil, his fingers lightly brushing the vine. He turns his head slightly, just enough that his cheek grazes mine, and my breath hitches again. It’s a fleeting touch, but it feels like a spark, sending a warmth through me that has nothing to do with the earth beneath my hands.
“I hope so,” he says quietly, his voice a low rumble.
His words hang between us, heavy with meaning, and I realize he’s not just talking about the vine. There's something deeper in his tone, something that makes me feel as though he’s talking about me—about us.
“You seem different here,” I say. “Lighter. I’ve seen you smile at least twice.”
“You have a way of making things seem less... difficult,” he admits, his voice softer now, his gaze flickering down to where our fingers press into the soil, before meeting mine again.
For a heartbeat, it feels like the world stands still. His fingers tighten around mine, just slightly, and I can’t tell if he’s holding onto the earth, or if he’s holding onto me.
But suddenly Daed pulls away, his fingers slipping from mine as he clears his throat. “I, uh, need to clean up,” he says, his voice breaking the moment like a fragile glass. The warmth of his hand is replaced with the cool air, and I watch him step back, the space between us growing wider.
“Of course,” I reply, forcing a smile that feels more like a mask than a reflection of my heart. He turns away, and I’m left kneeling in the garden, the serenity of the flowers around me contrasting sharply with the hollow ache that starts to form in my chest.
Once inside the castle, I retreat to my room, a swirl of emotions catching in my throat. I wash my hands of the soil and change into a simple nightgown, the soft fabric feeling delicate against my skin. I sit on the edge of the bed, the plush mattress inviting, but my heart isn’t in it.
I keep glancing at the door, hoping to hear his footsteps approach, to feel his presence wash over me again. Before I lie down, I find myself drawn to the balcony, the cool night air brushing against my skin. Stepping outside, I lean against the railing, gazing out over the garden bathed in silver moonlight.
The edges of the moon shimmer like the finest silk, a delicate veil that seems to pulse with life. As it waxes in its fullness, it brings forth an aura of warmth and promise, inviting dreams and stirring desires. The soft glow illuminates the petals of the flowers below, making them appear as if they are sprinkled with silver dust, and the leaves seem to shimmer, dancing in the light breeze.
As my gaze wanders, I catch sight of Orios and Solena nestled beneath the flowering branches, their silhouettes entwined in a tender embrace. Their kisses are soft at first, delicate brushes of lips that speak of their affection. I shouldn’t be watching—this moment feels private, sacred—but something holds my gaze. I take in the way Solena tucks her hair behind her ear as Orios cups her face, his touch reverent, the moonlight casting a gentle glow around them.
As their kisses deepen, the atmosphere shifts, a longing radiating between them. Orios pulls Solena closer, and she melts against him, her fingers trailing down his arms, tracing the contours of his sinewy muscles. They breathe each other in, savoring the intimacy of the moment, and I feel the stirrings of envy and admiration mix within me.
