The morning prayers felt like attempting to hold water in cupped hands—every sacred word slipped through my consciousness before it could take root. I knelt in the Temple of Aerius among my fellow scholars, supposedly focused on the dawn invocation, but my mind wandered like a compass needle seeking true north.
It found that north in memories of his eyes and the rare smile that had transformed Rion's serious features into something radiant. I could still taste the sweetness of shared figs, still feel the way the night air had carried his quiet laughter when I'd made some observation about ancient hermit caves. Most vivid of all was the moment his military bearing had finally softened, when he'd stopped being Lieutenant Rion and become simply... himself.
A man who carried the weight of others' lives like stones in his pockets. Someone who understood loneliness in ways that made my chest ache with recognition.A warrior who wrote down fallen soldiers' names so they wouldn't be forgotten—that detail had lodged itself in my heart and refused to let go.
"...and grant us wisdom to see truth clearly, unmarked by the desires that cloud mortal vision..."
Elder Myris's voice carried the familiar cadence of morning ritual, but the words felt like gentle mockery. Unmarked by desire? My desires had never been clearer, blazing through me like sunlight through crystal. I wanted to see Rion again. Wanted to watch his careful facade crumble into genuine emotion. Wanted to learn what other truths he kept hidden beneath layers of discipline and duty.
"Kaelen." The whispered hiss came from beside me, sharp with irritation.
I turned to find Lysander's disapproving glare fixed on me, his brown hair perfectly arranged despite the early hour, his scholar's robes immaculate. Everything about him radiated the kind of rigid adherence to protocol that I'd always found suffocating.
"You're supposed to be meditating on divine wisdom," he murmured, barely moving his lips. "Not... whatever it is you're doing."
Heat crept up my throat. Had my distraction been so obvious? "I'm contemplating the nature of truth," I whispered back. "Specifically, how it manifests in unexpected ways."
"Try contemplating it with your eyes closed and your mouth engaged in prayer rather than whatever daydream you're lost in."
The rebuke stung because it wasn't entirely wrong.I was daydreaming—replaying every moment of last night's stolen conversation, every shared laugh, every instant when Rion had let his guard down enough to show me glimpses of who he really was beneath the military conditioning.
But it didn't feel like mere fantasy. It felt like the most real thing that had happened to me in years.
I forced myself to close my eyes and attempt actual meditation for the remainder of the service. The effort was largely unsuccessful—my mind kept drifting to the way moonlight had caught in Rion's dark hair, the careful way he'd chosen his words when sharing difficult truths, the moment when our fingers had brushed while passing that cloth and something sudden had raced up my arm.
When the morning prayers finally concluded and we rose to disperse to our daily duties, Lysander lingered beside me with the expression of someone preparing to deliver unwelcome advice.
"Your focus has been... scattered lately," he said as we walked toward the scriptorium. "Ever since this cross-Order bonding was announced. Perhaps you should consider whether you're truly prepared for such a significant responsibility."
The comment hit like a slap. "My preparation has been thorough. I've researched every aspect of cross-Order partnership dynamics, studied historical precedents, consulted with?—"
"I'm not questioning your academic preparation." Lysander's tone carried the particular condescension he reserved for moments when he thought himselfwise. "I'm questioning your wisdom. Bonds require clear thinking, not romantic fantasies about handsome militants."
My cheeks burned. "I don't know what you think you've observed, but?—"
"I've observed a brilliant scholar reduced to dreamy distraction by the prospect of physical intimacy with someone completely outside his intellectual sphere." Lysander paused at the scriptorium entrance, fixing me with a look that managed to be both pitying and superior. "Cross-Order bonds are diplomatic necessities, Kaelen. They're not opportunities for romantic adventure."
"Thank you for your concern," I said tightly. "But I'm perfectly capable of maintaining scholarly objectivity."
"Are you?" His smile was thin, knowing. "Then perhaps you can explain why you've spent the last three days staring out windows instead of focusing on your research."
Before I could formulate a response that wouldn't reveal too much, he swept into the scriptorium with the air of someone who'd delivered devastating wisdom. I followed more slowly, my mind churning with irritation and—worse—a growing certainty that he wasn't entirely wrong about my distraction.
The morning's work suffered accordingly. I attempted to focus on a commentary regarding ritual preparation in ancient partnership ceremonies, but the words blurred together on the page. My thoughts kept wandering to this evening, to whether Rion would bewatching for me from his window, to what we might discover about each other when freed from the formal constraints that had shaped our first meeting.
By midday, I'd accomplished perhaps an hour's worth of actual scholarship. The rest of my time had been spent in elaborate daydreams disguised as contemplation—imagining conversations we might have, places we might explore together, moments when his careful military bearing might soften into something more genuine.
I was, I realized with equal parts embarrassment and anticipation, completely besotted.
The afternoon crawled past with agonizing slowness. Every shadow that shifted across the scriptorium floor marked time passing with geological patience. When the evening bell finally rang, releasing us from formal duties, I had to force myself not to rush from the temple like an eager boy.
But as I walked through the familiar corridors toward the exit, my heart hammered with excitement that felt both ridiculous and wonderful. Tonight, I would see him again. Learn more about the man hidden beneath Lieutenant Rion's perfect military facade. Continue building whatever this was between us—this connection that felt more real than any bond sanctioned by ceremony and protocol.
The thought carried me through the temple doors and into the warm evening air, anticipation singing in my veins like wine.
The path to the militant quarters had become familiar over the course of a single night—through thescholars' garden, past the meditation alcoves, around the fountain that marked the boundary between our respective domains. But as I approached the area below Rion's window, something felt different.
The gardens here were deeper in shadow, the usual evening sounds muffled by a stillness that seemed almost expectant. I paused, suddenly uncertain. Perhaps this was presumptuous. Perhaps last night's easy connection had been an aberration, a moment of weakness he regretted in daylight.
