"Thank you," he said simply. "I wasn't certain you'd come."
"Neither was I," I admitted.
He gestured toward the deeper gardens, where paths wound between flowering trees and carefully tended beds. "Shall we?"
We walked in comfortable silence at first, following moonlit paths that led away from the formal palace grounds toward the more wild and natural areas where ancient trees grew in groves that predated the temple complex. The air was soft with night-blooming jasmine and the distant sound of water flowing over stone.
"I've always loved this hour," Kaelen said as we passed beneath an archway carved with reliefs of both our patron gods. "When the world belongs to those who can't sleep and don't want to dream."
"Insomniacs and night guards," I said, surprised by the easy response.
His laugh was warm, genuine. "Poets and philosophers, too, traditionally. Though I suppose there's overlap."
We emerged into a secluded grove where fruit trees heavy with late summer bounty created a natural bower. Peach and fig trees formed a loose circle around a small clearing carpeted with soft grass, their branches heavy enough to brush the ground in places. Moonlight filtered through the leaves in shifting patterns that painted everything in silver and shadow.
"Perfect," Kaelen murmured, settling gracefullyonto the grass beneath the largest fig tree. "I was hoping to find somewhere like this."
I joined him more cautiously, unused to such informal settings with someone I barely knew. But the night seemed to invite relaxation, and gradually I felt my military bearing soften into something more natural.
"Hungry?" Kaelen asked, reaching up to pluck a ripe fig from a low-hanging branch. The fruit was perfect—soft but not overripe, the skin beginning to split to reveal the dark red flesh within.
He offered it to me with the same easy grace he brought to everything else. When I took it, our fingers brushed briefly, and I was surprised by the warmth of his skin, the steadiness of his hands.
The fig was incredibly sweet, the juice running down my chin before I could stop it. I reached up to wipe it away, but Kaelen was already extending a clean cloth from somewhere within his robes.
"Messy but worth it," he said with a smile that made my stomach flutter inexplicably.
"Most good things are," I replied, then blushed at the unintended implication.
But Kaelen only nodded as if I'd said something profound. "True. The best experiences usually require getting a little dirty."
He selected his own fig and bit into it with unself-conscious pleasure, apparently unbothered by the juice that stained his lips dark. Watching him eat was oddly hypnotic—the way his throat moved as he swallowed, the small sound of satisfaction he made, thecareful way he licked his fingers clean when he finished.
"Tell me about Lyrian," I said, desperate for distraction from thoughts that had no business in my head.
"My home island?" Kaelen settled back against the tree trunk, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them in a pose that made him look younger, less formal. "It's nothing like this place. Smaller, quieter. The temple there is carved into the side of a cliff, with the sea on one side and olive groves on the other."
"What brought you here?"
"The great library." His eyes lit up with genuine passion. "Lyrian's collection is impressive for a small island, but Eletheria houses texts that exist nowhere else in the world. Manuscripts from before the Sundering, fragments of the original divine revelations, commentary by scholars who walked with the gods themselves."
The excitement in his voice was infectious. I found myself leaning forward, drawn in by his enthusiasm. "And your family? Do they understand your dedication to scholarship?"
Something flickered across his features—too brief to interpret, but present nonetheless. "My father is a merchant. Practical, focused on trade routes and profit margins. He... doesn't quite understand why anyone would spend their life studying books that won't put gold in their purse."
"But you do."
"Knowledge is its own treasure," Kaelen said firmly. "Understanding the divine, learning how the gods interact with the mortal realm, discovering truths that have been hidden or forgotten—that's worth more than any amount of gold."
I found myself studying his profile as he spoke, noting the way passion transformed his features, made them more animated and somehow more beautiful. This was who he truly was beneath the formal scholar's robes—someone driven by curiosity and wonder, someone who saw beauty in ideas and meaning in ancient words.
"What about you?" he asked, turning those storm-grey eyes back to me. "Tell me about the campaigns. What's it like commanding troops in actual battle?"
The question hit differently than I'd expected. Most people asked about glory, about victory, about the excitement of combat. But there was something in Kaelen's tone that suggested he wanted the truth rather than the heroic version.
"Heavy," I said finally. "Every decision you make affects lives—not just enemies, but your own men. You learn to think three moves ahead, to see the battlefield like a game board where the pieces are people you care about."
"It sounds lonely."
