He didn’t think he slept any less soundly when they were apart. Didn’t lie awake at night. No anxiety. But on the evenings she came in late, having adjusted her schedule to return a few hours earlier than planned so she could slide into their bed? Always, he felt a quiet relief.
Perhaps Nocren had changed more than he realized. Perhaps he possessed certain depths he’d never known, or that only Calya could bring about. After all, he’d sworn—boasted, even—that he’d love her enough for the both of them.
Hardly a feat when she made it so easy. For if Calya had changed him, Nocren didn’t feel those shifts. Not so overtly. They were more the kind of thing he noticed in subtle reflections. That the transition had been mostly seamless felt… perfect. An affirmation that Calya was right for him. And if he’d made any such impact on her, well…
He put the thought on hold as he disembarked and made the short trip to the set of rooms Ezzyn Sor’vahl had offered up on his private estate. The wind swirled around Nocren’s hand as he reached for the polished brass door handle. It imparted just a hint of excitement before dissipating.
It did that rather a lot now, giving him no more than a glimpse when it came to Calya, regardless of whether the feeling was good or bad. She had remained steadfast in her disinterest for his magic. That brought its own sense of relief. Although Calya had said it with her usual bluntness. Being told, “I refuse to let myself become reliant on fickle tools,” had a way of making one feel indignant despite it being a favorable outcome.
His magic didn’t share any such contradictory feelings. When it came to Calya, the wind’s loyalty was abundantly clear. A whisper of a thrill was all it gave. Otherwise, it was simply a light breeze. Not that he had ever asked it for more, never tried to analyze Calya or their future. He had a sneaking suspicion that if he attempted to, the wind wouldn’t answer anyway.
Quietly, he let himself into the foyer. Sor’vahl might live more modestly than other royalty, but he was still a prince, and the “set of rooms” was more like an entire wing of a mansion. It was smaller than the royal palace but still left Nocren vaguely unsettled by all the space. Even more so because Sor’vahl and Anadae were away, deploying their updated wards across as much of the kingdom as they could manage.
Despite the late hour, few of the lamps were turned up on the lower level, early summer providing enough light for Nocren to easily make his way up the stairs. It was quiet, suggesting the staff had already retired for the evening, but it wasn’t so late that Calya would be in bed. Maybe, if she’d known he was coming tonight. He’d been greeted in such a manner when they’d traveled separately. Many times. He lamented his lack of foresight to send a message ahead that he’d arrive a day earlier than expected. At the time, it had seemed like his arrival would make for a welcome surprise.
The bedroom was empty, the lamps on either side of the bed pleasantly dim. The magicked lightstones present in so many Rhellian buildings didn’t flicker, their illumination accompanied by a soft hum audible only if one stood very close. It was a sound easily overridden by the gentle splash drifting from the adjoining washroom’s open door.
Nocren’s pulse sped up as he walked toward the door, but he forced himself to keep a deliberate pace, neither sneaking nor hurried. Which took some discipline after being away from her for the better part of a week.
Gods. A week. He’d been well and thoroughly ruined by Calya Helm.
He wouldn’t want it any other way.
Tapping softly on the washroom door, Nocren pushed it fully open and stuck his head in. Warm air brushed his face.
Calya lounged in the tub, perusing a sheaf of papers. Though a pair of lamps provided ample light, a smattering of candles arranged on the window ledge added their own glow to the room.
“Hello ranger,” she said, smiling and setting the papers down on a low stool next to the tub. “You’re early.”
She reached for the towel on the stool, but Nocren motioned for her to stay. He commandeered the stool for himself, shrugging out of his cloak and shoulder harness.
“Wanted to surprise you,” he said.
Calya leaned against the side of the tub, her arms resting on the edge. “Consider me pleasantly surprised.”
The heated water gave her skin a rosy tinge. A hint of petrichor filled his nose as he bent for a kiss, but she turned her face away, a wickedness to her smile. “Toll. Did you bring me anything with your speedy arrival?”
“Only want me so long as you get something, eh?” Nocren fetched the documents from his bag.
“I’ve never pretended to be coy.”
“Or patient.” He handed her the paperwork. “Malek’ko sends his regards.”
Calya made a delighted sound as she took hold of the exclusivity contract.
Nocren settled back on the stool, kicking off his boots as he eyed the papers she had abandoned. “What were you working on?”
A vague fluttering of fingers accompanied her distracted, “Just some new terms for the armament side of the deal with Froley. Putting a few sweeteners in for Orren if he stays on the full two years.”
Nocren glanced at the figures she’d scrawled onto the page. “Sweetheart, are you trying to poach the good lieutenant from Avenor Guard? Not very business partnery of you, is it?”
“It’s very businessy, though perhaps less on the partnership side,” she said mildly. “But that all presumes I want to stay business partners a few years from now.” She turned to the next page in her contract, not looking up as she added, “Captain Orren has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
Nocren shook his head. He flipped the paperwork over and moved to set it down when he noticed a jagged list of names on the back, several of which were scratched out.
“What is this?” he asked. “V-L-E-N.”
“Some ideas for my new business name. I circled the leading candidate.”
