I hadn’t heard the door open. No footsteps. No retreat. Nothing. As if he’d never been there at all.
Had I truly dreamed of it? Some cruel, sweet dream spun from longing and my own fractured mind?
I pressed my fingers to my mouth once more, searching for certainty in the trembling curve of my lips.
Was it real?
Or was I losing myself piece by piece inside the icy walls of this house?
The cold floor stung beneath my bare feet as I slipped from the warmth of the bed. My limbs still felt oddly heavy, as though I moved through molasses, but the curiosity gnawed at me like a splinter beneath the skin.
I padded quietly toward the adjoining door to Sylum’s room. The golden handle glinted in the dim moonlight. I stared at it, heart ticking strangely in my chest, then pressed my ear softly to the door.
Silence. Not the rhythmic hush of sleep. Not the shifting sounds of movement. Just… stillness.
I curled my hand into a fist, hesitated, then gently, so gently, knocked.
Once.
Twice.
Nothing.
Perhaps he hadn’t returned. Or perhaps he was sleeping peacefully. Just as I turned to retreat, I heard it. The soft hush of footsteps beyond the door. Slow. Heavy.
Mybreath caught.
The knob turned.
The door opened a fraction, golden light from his side spilling over the threshold, and there he stood.
His ebony hair was tousled, sleep-soft and curling slightly at his temple. His robe hung loosely over his bare chest, revealing the carved muscles hidden beneath the soft patch of hair there.
His expression was easy as he leaned casually against the doorframe, brows furrowed, eyes shadowed with sleep.
“Lucy?” he said, voice rough and low, curling down my spine.
I stared at him, my eyes drawn to his towering figure. My gaze swept up to his mouth, lips full and soft. Had those lips kissed me with such warm devotion, crooned strange, fever-dream confessions against my skin?
Or had I conjured it all?
I opened my mouth, but the words trembled on the edge of my tongue, refusing to leap.
He straightened, taking a step closer, concern rising gently beneath his drowsiness. “Is something wrong?”
I shook my head slowly, swallowing the fear, the hope, and the terrible confusion that pressed like a weight into my chest.
“I… I thought I heard you come in,” I lied. “I wasn’t sure if you had.”
“I returned not long ago,” he assured softly. His eyes searched mine. “One of the mares gave birth. I told your maid to tell you.”
A lie?
The truth?
I couldn’t tell.
I wrung my hands together, my pulse still fluttering like wings against my skin. My lips still throbbed with phantom memory. And his were the lips I had kissed in shadowed moonlight.
