"Yes." I can hear the smile in his voice. "That is part of the appeal, is it not?"
I laugh into his chest. "You're learning my particular brand of pettiness."
"I am an apt student." He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Now. You mentioned requiring food. Shall I assist with dinner?"
"You're going to supervise my cooking technique?"
"I am going to ensure you do not add random amounts of spice without measuring."
"That's how intuitive magic works."
"That's how chaos works. There is a difference."
"There really isn't."
He sighs—long-suffering and entirely theatrical. "I see we have much work ahead of us."
But his arms don't loosen around me, and when I tilt my head up to look at him, he's smiling.
"I love you," I say, because I can. Because I want to. Because every time I say it, something in his expression softens in a way that makes my chest ache.
"And I love you." He kisses my forehead, my nose, the corner of my mouth. "Even your chaos."
"Especially my chaos."
"That remains under negotiation."
I pull him down for a proper kiss, and dinner is delayed by quite some time.
Neither of us minds.
Iris
Three days until the feast.
Three days until solstice.
Three days until everything changes.
I'm trying not to think about it as I sink into the copper tub, letting the hot water ease muscles I didn't realize were tense. The bathroom is one of the few rooms Grandmother never modernized, outside of the toilet. No electric lights here, just candles flickering on every surface, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. It makes going to the bathroom in the middle of the night super interesting. The rest of the world has smartphones and cars and central heating, but this room belongs to another century.
I used to find it frustrating. Now I'm grateful for the excuse to slow down.
The water is almost too hot, the way I like it, infused with lavender and chamomile from the stores I’ve carefully cultivated since I arrived. Steam rises around me, and I let my eyes drift closed, letting the heat seep into my bones.
I feel him before I hear him.
The bond pulses, warm and golden now, so different from the gossamer thread it was when I first arrived. I don't startle when the door opens. Don't feel the need to cover myself.
We're past that now.
"I felt you," Cadeon says from the doorway. His voice is low, rough. "Through the bond. I thought you called for me."
"Maybe I did." I open my eyes, find him watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle despite the heat. "Unconsciously."
"Perhaps." He doesn't move from the doorway. Doesn't look away, either. His gaze traces over what he can see above the water, my bare shoulders, my throat, the wet hair clinging to my skin. "I should go."
"Should you?"
