All colliding into a situation that feels increasingly unstable, balanced on the edge between duty and desire in ways that threaten to complicate everything.
The evening bringsUrsik and Falla to my door with the casual expectation of people who've been dropping by unannounced since we were adolescents causing trouble together.
"Where's your lovely bride-to-be?" Ursik asks, settling into his preferred chair with the boneless sprawl of someone completely comfortable in any environment.
"Her name is Saela," I say, echoing my earlier correction to Shae. "And she's resting."
"Resting from what?" Falla inquires with the precise diction he uses when he thinks someone is being evasive. "Excessive gift receiving? Overwhelming clan adoration?"
"Long day of social obligations," I reply, moving toward the kitchen area to avoid their penetrating stares. "She's not used to constant attention."
"None of us are," Ursik points out reasonably. "But most people adapt faster than a week of careful distance and polite conversation."
The observation stings because it highlights something I've been trying not to think about—how much effort both Saela and I put into maintaining safe emotional distance despite living in the same space and sharing daily routines.
"It's a complicated situation," I say.
"Everything's complicated if you think about it hard enough." Ursik's gray eyes carry the kind of gentle mockery he's perfected over years of friendship. "Sometimes simple approaches work better."
"Such as?"
"Talking to her like she's a person instead of a political obligation. Spending time together because you want to rather than because Bronn thinks it's good for clan morale." He pauses, studying my expression with uncomfortable accuracy. "Admitting that you're attracted to her instead of pretending it's purely duty-based concern."
Heat climbs my neck despite my attempts to maintain neutral composure. "That's not?—"
"Please." Falla's dry interruption cuts through my defensive response. "You look at her like a lost pup hoping for table scraps. It's painful to witness."
"I do not?—"
"Yesterday you spent ten minutes explaining proper sword grip technique that she already understood because you wanted an excuse to stand behind her with your hands covering hers," Ursik adds helpfully. "Very subtle."
The accurate observation makes my jaw clench involuntarily. I had been looking for excuses to maintain physical contact during training sessions, justifying the proximity as necessary instruction while trying to ignore how much I enjoyed those brief moments of closeness.
"She needed correction?—"
"She needed you to stop treating her like she might disappear if you get too attached." Falla's voice carries the blunt honesty that makes him an effective healer and an occasionally brutal friend. "We've all noticed how carefully you avoid anything that might be interpreted as genuine interest."
"Because genuine interest complicates everything." The admission is sharp, carrying frustration I've been trying to suppress. "She doesn't want to be here, doesn't want this binding, doesn't want anything to do with clan politics or arranged relationships. Getting attached would be unfair to both of us."
"Would it?" Ursik leans forward with the expression he wears when he thinks he's identified a fundamental flaw in someone's reasoning. "Or would getting attached give you both something worth fighting for instead of something to endure?"
The question hangs in the air like smoke, carrying implications I don't want to examine. The possibility that genuine feeling might make the situation better rather thanworse, that caring about Saela could transform political obligation into something resembling actual partnership.
Dangerous territory. The kind of hope that leads to crushing disappointment when circumstances inevitably force impossible choices.
"She's grieving her friend," I say quietly. "Worried about survival, about freedom, about being trapped in circumstances she never chose. Romance is the last thing she needs from me right now."
"Maybe." Falla's tone suggests he thinks I'm rationalizing rather than reasoning. "Or maybe knowing someone genuinely cares about her wellbeing would make everything else easier to bear."
The conversation continues, but I find myself only half-listening as my friends dissect my behavior with the ruthless accuracy of people who've known me long enough to see through careful emotional control.
They're right about the way I watch Saela—with hunger I try to hide and longing I won't acknowledge. Right about the excuses I manufacture to extend training sessions and the careful attention I pay to her interactions with other clan members.
Right about the fact that I'm attracted to her in ways that extend far beyond political convenience or physical appeal.
But they're wrong about the solution being simple. Nothing about this situation is simple, especially not the growing certainty that caring about her—really caring, beyond duty and protection and clan obligations—would make losing her infinitely worse when circumstances finally force resolution.
And they will force resolution. Sooner or later, the political pressures and personal complications will demand choices that please no one and satisfy nothing except the brutal requirements of survival.
