"Little bird. Shouldn't you be getting ready for bed?"
"Not yet." She wraps small arms around my neck. "Keira is playing monster with me. You should play too."
"I'm not dressed for monster hunting." I glance toward Keira, who's watching us with something soft in her expression. "Though it looks like you've been doing an excellent job tiring her out."
"She's unstoppable," Keira admits, rubbing her arms again. The motion draws my attention to how she's dressed—a simple tunic and trousers, practical but not warm enough for the chill settling in. "I keep thinking she'll run out of energy, but apparently not."
Amisra squirms and I set her down. She immediately launches into an elaborate explanation of the game's rules, something involving dragons and castles and treasure. I listen with half my attention, the other half focused on how Keira shivers slightly when wind whispers through the garden.
An idea forms. Probably a terrible one. Definitely crossing lines I've been trying not to cross. But watching her try to hide her discomfort while Amisra pleads for more playtime makes the decision for me.
"One moment," I tell Amisra, interrupting her mid-sentence. I reach into the pocket dimension I keep tethered to my belt—a small enchantment, useful for carrying supplies without bulk—and pull out a pair of gloves.
They're simple things, dark leather lined with fur, but the enchantment woven through them is complex. Warming spells layered with temperature regulation and a minor shield against wind. I'd made them years ago for fieldwork, for those times healing required traveling to cold regions or working outside in harsh weather.
"Here." I hold them out to Keira. "You'll need these."
She looks at the gloves, then at me, something wary sliding back into her expression. "I'm fine."
"You're cold." I keep my voice gentle, non-threatening. "And Amisra will keep you out here for another hour if you let her. Take them."
"I said I'm fine." But her jaw is tight, pride written in every line of her body.
I recognize that pride. The same kind I've seen in humans who refuse help because accepting it means acknowledging their position. Means admitting they need something from someone with power over them. It breaks my heart and frustrates me in equal measure.
"They're enchanted for warmth." I take a step closer, not crowding but reducing the distance. "Temperature regulation, wind resistance. I made them for field research but haven't needed them lately." Another step. "It's cold out here, Keira. Let me help."
"I don't need?—"
"I know." I'm close enough now to see how her breath mists in the air, how her fingers have gone slightly red at the tips. "But I'd like to anyway. Please?"
Her hazel eyes search my face. Looking for ulterior motives, probably. For demands or expectations or proof that this kindness comes with strings attached. I hold her gaze, trying to show her the truth—that this is just care. Nothing more complicated than not wanting her to be uncomfortable.
"Uncle Val, is Keira your friend now?" Amisra's question interrupts the moment, innocent and curious.
"I hope so," I answer honestly, still looking at Keira.
Something shifts in her expression. Not surrender, exactly, but a softening. A letting go of some small piece of the armor she keeps wrapped so tightly around herself.
"Fine," she says quietly. "But only because Amisra will definitely keep me out here forever."
Victory tastes sweeter than it should. I move closer still, close enough that I can smell the subtle scent of her—soap and herbs and something uniquely hers. Close enough to see how her pulse flutters at her throat when I reach for her hand.
"May I?"
The question is deliberate. Asking permission instead of simply taking. Proving that I mean what I said in the kitchen—that she's not property to me. That her consent matters.
She nods, just barely, and I take her right hand in mine.
Her skin is cold. Too cold. I resist the urge to simply wrap my hands around hers and warm them through sheer stubborn magic. Instead, I slip the glove over her fingers, careful not to rush, making sure it fits properly. The leather molds to her hand, the enchantment activating with a subtle pulse of warmth.
Her breath catches. Just slightly, but I hear it. See how her pupils dilate a fraction, how color blooms in her cheeks that has nothing to do with cold.
She's not as unaffected as she wants to act.
The knowledge sends heat through my own blood. I take her left hand, repeating the process. This time, I allow myself the luxury of letting my fingers linger against her palm for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Of feeling how her pulse jumps under my thumb before I withdraw.
"Better?" My voice comes out rougher than intended.
