“Maris?” Serenya’s voice, muffled through the door but unmistakable. Calm. Warm. Unassuming.
She hesitated, swallowing down the thrum of shame still coating her skin. “Yes?”
“Thought you might want to come spar. We’ve got sun, space, and I’m feeling cocky.”
Maris exhaled shakily and stared at the door. For a moment, she considered pretending she hadn’t heard. Letting the silence answer for her. Letting the dream stay tucked away beneath her skin, safe and unsaid.
But no.
Running wouldn’t erase what had happened. It never did.
“Sure, I’ll be up in a moment,” she called back.
She waited until Serenya's footsteps retreating, and then she stood. Her knees ached slightly, whether from the ships constant motion or dream-wrought exhaustion, she didn’t know. Her hand brushed the ring again. She pulled it off this time, placing it into pillow. Just for now. Just until she could breathe again with on without feeling like a liar.
She dressed slowly.
Her sparring leathers clung too tightly.
They always did, but this morning… gods. Every cinch and strap, every sleek line of black leather hugging her thighs and chest, reminded her far too much of that dream. Of the way Alarik’s eyes had roamed her as if he’d stitched every inch of her body into memory. Of the way he’d worshiped her skin with his lips, and not once rushed her.
He hadn’t taken.
He’d waited.
Her hands trembled as she smoothed the buckles down. “Pull yourself together,” she muttered under her breath.
The ship creaked gently around her as she approached the narrow stairs leading above deck. A burnished gold light spilled in through the cracked hatch that should’ve felt warm but it felt like a spotlight.
She could already sense him. Alarik. Not close, but aware. Like the thread between them had grown taut overnight and refused to release its tension.
She paused just beneath the ladder.
This is fine. He won’t say anything. You won’t say anything. It was just a dream. Just a dream. Just a —
She climbed above deck, repeating the farce with each step. The sun kissed her skin like an apology.
Maris squinted against the brightness, wind tugging at the loose tendrils of her hair. The Argo groaned beneath her, slicing through calm seas. Crew moved efficiently about, the scent of new wood thick in the air as her eyes landed on Serenya first.
Her friend stood near fresh railing, already rolling her shoulders and twirling a short blade between her fingers like it was a natural extension of her arm. Her braid was wind-tossed, her grin feral.
“Took you long enough,” she called, tossing the extra practice blade her way.
Maris caught it, letting the solid weight ground her.
“I had to mentally prepare,” she said dryly. “You fight like Yseron in the flesh.”
Serenya laughed. “And you? Like something that relishes in chaos.”
Maris quirked a brow. “Relishes?”
“After yesterday?” Serenya’s grinned cocking her head to the side with a raised brow. “Please. You glowed like a second moon. And snapped your fingers like a goddess with an attitude.”
Maris fought the heat that threatened her cheeks. “Don’t let that go to your head.”
“Oh, it won’t.” Serenya stepped into the center of the deck, slicing the air in a low arch with her blade. “But it’s not leaving mine either.”
They circled each other.
