Tonight, he is just a man.
And gods, I have never wanted him more. The want isn’t sharp or frantic like it was at the lagoon. It’s deeper. Bone-deep. A pull born from everything we’ve endured—and everything he’s finally let me see.
“Would you like to wash up?”
The question startles me. I blink, turning to him.
But he’s already moving—opening drawers, his motions brisk and careful.
“I can run the bath for you,” he offers, his voice low. Almost too casual.
He reaches deeper into a drawer and pulls out what he wassearching for: a soft, worn shirt I could wear as a sleeping gown.
He holds it out to me without meeting my eyes.
“Do you need clothes to sleep in?” he adds, his voice a little rougher now, like he’s bracing himself for rejection even in this small, simple offer.
I study him, tilting my head.
Thane doesn’t fumble. He’s not tentative. And yet here he is—standing with a shirt in hand, eyes averted, unsure.
And gods, I nearly melt.
I don’t say that, of course. The poor man has been through enough. So, for once, I keep my teasing to myself.
“That would be great,” I say, reaching out for the shirt with a small smile. “Better than sleeping in sweaty leathers in the dead of summer.”
Okay. Alittleteasing.
My fingers brush his as I take the bundle from him—a light touch, fleeting but grounding. Thane nods once as the corner of his mouth lifts, eyes softening.
Then he turns toward the bathing chamber. I follow.
He crouches beside the faucet set into the stone wall, twists it open, and the water begins to flow—clear and steady. The sound fills the space between us like a soft veil.
He reaches beneath the sink, pulling out a small bottle. Without a word, he pours a thick, velvety liquid into the water. Almost immediately, bubbles begin to bloom, soft and white, curling over the surface. Steam rises.
I blink, staring for a moment as the scent of lavender and something faintly sweet fills the air.
The Warlord is making me a bubble bath.
Abubble bath!
For a moment, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Because somehow, this small, absurd, tender thing feels like the bravest gesture he’s made all night.
He looks at me. And for the first time tonight, he smiles. Not the sharp-edged smirk of the Warlord. Not the grin he wears in strategy meetings or battle briefings. A real smile. Soft.
Almost shy.
The bond between us hums in response—a gentle caress against my skin, warm and steady, like a fingers brushing through my hair.
And suddenly,Ifeel shy.
Which is ridiculous, maybe. We’ve seen each other naked more than once. But this . . . this feels different. This isn’t just about sex. It isn’t just about attraction.
It’s abouteverything else.The truths. The fears. The broken pieces we let the other see.
And still—we’re here.Still wanting. Stillchoosing.
