He snorted but didn’t argue, just waited while she bundled into his jacket that hung past her knees. Outside, the cold bit sharp but clean. The twin suns were starting their descent, casting purple shadows across the snow. He led her to a grove of trees she’d seen from the window, their branches heavy with blue-green needles.
“These?” She touched a branch, which released a scent like pine but sweeter, with an almost citrus edge.
“Young ones are best. More fragrant.” He pulled a knife from his belt, then selected branches with careful attention. “Here, smell this.”
He held out a cutting and she leaned in, inhaling deeply. The scent filled her lungs, bright and alive. When she looked up, he was watching her with an intensity that made her stomach flip.
“Perfect,” she managed and they gathered more.
Back inside, they arranged the branches among the decorations. The scent mixed with the silver herbs, creating something new. Neither human nor Latharian.
“Your mother,” he said suddenly, not looking at her as he adjusted a branch. “She would have liked this?”
The question caught her off guard, emotion rushing up to tighten her throat. “She would have loved it. The mixing of traditions, the handmade ornaments. She always said the best celebrations were the ones you created, not the ones you bought.”
“Sounds like a wise female.”
“She was.” Juni touched one of the stars, remembering her mother teaching her to fold paper ornaments. “She would have liked you too.”
He snorted. “Doubtful.”
“No, really. She had a thing for grumpy men with good hearts. Said they were the most trustworthy because they didn’t waste energy on false charm.”
He went still, looking at her while that muscle in his jaw pulsed. “I’m not?—”
“You are though.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. “Good-hearted, I mean. You pretend otherwise but you bought me Christmas supplies. You’re helping me decorate. You saved my life yesterday and then held me while I?—”
“Juni.”
The way he said her name, low and warning and something else, made her stop.
“I’m going to start the fire.” He moved toward the hearth. “The ceremonial woods need time to catch.”
She watched him arrange kindling and logs, moving closer in fascination. The woods were all different colors… some pale as bone, others dark as night. One was deep purple and there was another in bright green. He treated each piece with careful attention, placing them according to a pattern that meant nothing to her.
“What do the different woods mean?”
“White niilkia for releasing sorrow. Black soorn for strength through darkness. Red heartwood for passion.” He paused on that last one, then continued. “Silver biir for new beginnings. Gold traais for prosperity.”
“Which one are you focusing on?”
He struck a spark, coaxing the kindling to life. “All of them.”
The fire caught, flames dancing up through the logs. The smell was amazing… complex and layered, each wood adding its own note. She breathed in and moved closer, drawn by the warmth and the way firelight played across his features.
“I should check the stew,” she said but didn’t move.
“It can wait.” He added another log. “Needs to simmer anyway.”
She should get plates. Set the table. Do something other than stand here watching him tend the fire. But her feet wouldn’t move. The room had gone dusky beyond the circle of firelight, their decorations glowing soft in the growing dark.
He stood, brushing his hands on his thighs, and almost bumped into her when he turned. They both froze. She tilted her head back to meet his eyes, the angle making her throat feel exposed, vulnerable.
“There’s one more tradition,” he said, voice rough. “For luck through winter.”
“What’s that?”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a sprig of silver herb she recognized from their wreaths. “Worn behind the ear. To invite good fortune.”
