“Figured we could all use something a little more substantial than whiskey,” he says, voice dry but warm.
The trays are set down, and just like that, the room feels alittle less heavy.
ENOUGH
TWENTY-SIX
“ . . . it’s definitely curious. I suspect this curse may not be a curse. Curses are rare and often have more defined edges about them. I am hoping to find more info on this. But I admit I don’t know where to look. However, I firmly believe that when one is at an impasse, one should go back to the basics—basic texts on basic cures, and see what I can discover. A beginner’s mindset can often see what we overlook.”
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
After dinner—and more quiet talk about our departure for the capital—we find ourselves walking toward Thane’s quarters. He didn’t ask if I would stay the night and I didn’t ask if I could.
We just started walking together, side by side, like it was always the plan.
I wrap my arms around myself like I’m cold even though the night air is warm, thick with the lingering heat of summer. From beyond the courtyard, I hear the frogs. Their low croaks carry through the dark, steady and strange.
We cross the open stone path slowly.
Around us, a few soldiers and staff linger in small groups and pairs, talking quietly, laughing, moving easily through the late evening air.
As if the world didn’t tilt sideways hours ago.
We pass beneath the arched entrance to the private wing. The halls here are quieter, dimmer.
The only light comes from the occasional torch bracketed to the walls, casting long, flickering shadows that dance along the floor at our feet.
Neither of us speaks. We don’t need to. The bond between us hums low and steady like a silent tether.
I’m here.I’m not leaving.
The farther we walk, the heavier the quiet becomes, almost sacred. Like the stillness between heartbeats.
Thane slows as we near his door, and I feel him glance at me out of the corner of his eye—checking, not assuming. And without hesitation, I step closer, closing the last inch of distance between us.
Thane pushes the door open and gestures for me to step inside first. I do, breathing in the familiar scent of him—smoke,leather, and something quieter beneath it.
Home.
I’ve been here before—more than once—but tonight feels like the first time.
The room is spare but lived-in. The dark wood panels, the simple, large bed, the worn armchair near the hearth. The folded cloak over the chair. The blade mounted neatly on the wall.
Everything in its place.
And yet, somehow, the air feels heavier. Charged. Like even the bond has settled into the bones of this space.
Behind me, the door clicks shut. Soft. Final.
I turn and find Thane watching me. Like he’s still not sure if he’s allowed to want this. Wantme.
Even now.
Something in my chest tightens, warm and aching. This man who puts everything ahead of himself still won’t let him believe he can haveusalso. Without a word, I step farther into the room, a quiet certainty guiding my feet, to show him he can.
But Thane isn’t the Warlord tonight. Not the one who commands armies. Not the one who holds the line. Not the man who never lets anyone close.
