With one more look at Arisanna, he hurries to arrange some kindling in the hearth, and soon a flickering orange glow fills the room.
Not that he needs it now, but she will.
Taking a deep breath, he turns back toward her. Will she need his help? Will she want it?
“Cerian?” she whispers as she lifts her head.
“I’m here.” He steps back to the tub, and she looks up at him.
“You got your trousers off.” She covers a yawn as his fire prods at him again. “Is there one of those for me?” She gestures to his robe, and he nods.
When she attempts to stand, she gets caught in her skirt, and he catches her around the waist as she loses her balance.
“I may need help,” she murmurs. Her cheeks have turned a rosy pink, and she hesitantly meets his gaze as his magic pokes at him some more.
He’s still waterlogged enough to control it. Thank the fates.
“I will help,” he says. “If you wish me to.”
When she nods, his heart races in a tempo to match hers. But he takes a deep breath and attempts to calm both their hearts.
“My dress is heavy,” she whispers. “I don’t think shimmeron is meant for bathing in. I...I should take it off before I get out, probably.”
“Whatever you believe is best.” He takes another breath as he reaches for a towel for her before blanketing the air around her with heat from his burgeoning fire magic.
“At least shimmeron is easy to get off,” she says as she frees her left arm.
“That would have been good to know an hour ago.”
She snaps her eyes to his. And then she laughs. It’s a tired laugh. Half delirious.
He won’t take advantage of her exhaustion. She’s clearly nervous about him standing there watching her, even if she hasn’t said anything.
And even if he’s already run his hands over every part of her that hides beneath that dress.
As soon as her other arm is free, he steps behind her and wraps the towel around her. “Hold on to it,” he says softly.
With her towel covering her, he gently tugs her gown the rest of the way off and leaves it in the water where it falls.
“I’ll get it in a moment.” He offers her his hand, and emotion fills her eyes as she looks up at him.
“I’m sorry. I’m just exhausted, and this isn’t quite how I imagined—”
He presses a finger to her lips. “No expectations, Arisanna. Let’s get you dry, all right?”
When she rises on her toes to kiss him, he returns her kiss with all the love he feels every time he thinks about her. Eventually, he hands her the robe and fishes her gown out of the tub before hanging it and his trousers over a chair in front of the hearth to dry.
By the time he returns to her, she’s tying the dressing gown around her waist as another yawn takes over her gorgeous face.
Then her eyes grow wide.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
A nervous laugh slips from her throat, and she glances toward his knapsack where he left it by the door when they first arrived.
When she looks back at him, she says nothing, and he studies her.
What is she keeping from him? And why? What did she and Tharios discuss that she doesn’t want to tell him?
