I hesitate briefly, then glance up. “Goodnight, Warlord.”
Thane looks down, scanning my face for half a breath before he responds. “Goodnight, Amara.”
I step into the barracks. The warmth closes around me, leaving the night air—and the Warlord—behind.
Through the wooden door, I hear his footsteps—steady, unhurried—fading into the night. I exhale, pressing my fingers against the grain of the doorframe, my pulse not quite settled.
Was he going to kiss me?
The thought slams into me, sharp and unexpected. My mind races—back to the way he looked at me. The silence between us. The space neither of us closed.
Another thought cuts through—sharp, unwelcome:
Did I just ruin everything?
No. That’s ridiculous.It’s Thane.The Warlord, for gods’ sake.
I lean back against the closed door, exhaling slowly. The barracks are quiet, dimly lit by the dying hearth. But my thoughts won’t rest. I replay the evening in my mind, turning over every detail, every moment.
The way he greeted me at dinner.
The quiet way he said,I’m glad you came.
The way he pulled out my chair before taking his seat beside me, the smallest gesture, but one that stayed with me.
The walk.
The way he looked at me beneath the stars, the way his voice softened when he told me I made him believe.
Something shifting in the space between us. Closer, then pulling away. Like we both felt it, but neither dared name it.
I tilt my head back against the door, closing my eyes. What was that? Was it something? Or was it nothing at all?
I let out a breath, but it doesn’t settle anything. Because I know the truth, even if I don’t want to admit it.
Hewaslooking at me. And Iknowthat look.
I don’t know how long I stand there, leaning against the door, my mind tangled in all of the moments of the evening.
But then—I move.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I turn and grip the handle, pulling the door open. The night air rushes over me, warmer than before, thick with the scent of damp stone and summer grass. I know where his quarters are. I step outside, retracing our steps, my borrowed slippers quick against the worn stone paths.
The night replays, moment by moment. I walk faster now—each step more certain. More resolved. Because I need to know.
I retrace the path we walked not long ago, my steps light against the stone. The air beneath the archways is still warm, thick with summer grass and torch smoke. The fireflies are fewer here, their glow fading into the night.
I step into the open corridor, heart pounding harder than I want it to. I make a right, walking briskly, my thoughts tangled in the weight of the evening—the way he looked at me, the silence stretching between us, the moment left unfinished. But then—I stop short.
I freeze. My breath catches.
Several doors down, barely visible in the dim torchlight, a figure stands in the dark. I barely have time to react before instinct pulls me back—I slip into the shadows, pressing against the cool stone. My pulse pounds in my ears as I watch.
Lady Evelyne.
She’s standing in front of Thane’s door. And then, slowly, carefully, she opens it. The firelight flickers against her as she disappears inside. The door closes softly behind her.
I can’t move.
