Instead, I stayed exactly where I was, my hands coming up to rest against his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow and steady beneath my palm.
Just for a moment, I told myself.
Just until I was sure he was really asleep.
Just until I could convince my body to stop fitting against his like we were two pieces of something that had been broken and poorly reassembled.
Outside, night pressed against the windows, and the fire burned down to embers, and I lay in Varyth’s bed trying not tothink about how this was the second time I’d felt safe in someone else’s arms since Navaire died.
Trying not to think about how wrong that should feel.
How wrong it didn’t.
Fuck.
31
Ididn’t know how long I’d been there. Time felt slippery, unmeasured. It could’ve been minutes or hours since I’d somehow ended up in Varyth’s arms again, my back pressed against the solid heat of his chest, his body curved around mine.
The rational part of my brain, the part that usually screamedrunorfightordon’t trust this, had apparently fucked off to take a nap. Because I was still here. Still pressed against him. Still breathing in sync with the rise and fall of his chest.
And gods help me, I didn’t hate it.
The room was quiet except for our breathing and the distant sounds of the castle settling into night.
Which should have been my first warning that peace never lasted.
Behind me, Varyth stirred.
It started with a small shift—his fingers flexing against my hip where his hand had been resting. Then a slow exhale that ghosted across the back of my neck and sent every nerve ending I possessed into immediate, catastrophic awareness.
“Isara.” My name came out rough, sleep-thick and edged with something that made heat pool low in my stomach.
“Mm?”
His hand slid from my hip to my waist, fingers splaying wide like he needed to feel more of me. “How long have you been awake?”
“Not long.”
“Liar.” The word was a rumble against my spine, and then his mouth—gods, his mouth—brushed against the curve where my neck met my shoulder. Not quite a kiss. More like a question. “Your breathing changed twenty minutes ago.”
Twenty minutes. I’d been lying here, hyper-aware of every point where our bodies touched, fortwenty minutes.
“You were awake too,” I accused, my voice coming out breathier than I’d intended.
“Obviously.” Another brush of his lips, this time with the faintest edge of teeth. “Did you think I could sleep with you pressed against me like this?”
His hand drifted lower, tracing the line of my ribs with maddening slowness.
“You’re being very...” I searched for the word as his thumb traced lazy circles just below my breast. “Tactilethis morning.”
“This morning?” A low laugh vibrated through his chest into mine. “Isara, it’s past midnight.”
Oh.
“The pain tonic must’ve worn off,” I managed, trying desperately to sound casual while his hand continued its slow exploration of every curve and hollow he could reach.
“Mm. Yes.” His mouth found that spot just below my ear that made my toes curl. “It has.”
