For so long I have been told I am too much.
Too angry, too volatile, too dangerous to be close to.
But Delia doesn’t seem to mind.
She only steps closer.
The fire inside surges and I realize my fingers have tightened around her hand—just shy of bruising. I force myself to ease my grip.
She doesn’t pull away.
Doesn’t flinch.
Instead, she leans into my side, letting the heat pass between us like a shared secret.
“I didn’t mean for you to frighten Grier,” she says lightly. “He seems decent.”
“He is decent,” I admit grudgingly. “For a man who enjoys testing my patience.”
“He was just explaining the camp to me,” she murmurs. “You don’t have to charbroil every guy who makes eye contact.”
“I am not charbroiling anyone,” I mutter, though I am imagining setting Grier’s boots on fire the next time he looks at her too long. “But they should remember you are the viyella of their Lord. Respect is the least they can offer.”
“They have been respectful,” she counters. “Honestly, I think they’re more scared of you than interested in me.”
“Good,” I say immediately.
She snorts. “Of course you think that’s good.”
We pass a smithy’s stall—portable, smaller than the ones in Ashfell but still blazing. Sparks fly with every hammer fall.
A group of miners pause in their work just long enough to bow their heads as we walk by. Delia gives them a small, warm smile.
They straighten a little taller after that.
My chest tightens.
She has been here such a short time, and already her presence shifts the air.
Softens edges I never thought could be softened.
My people see her and straighten under her regard instead of shrinking from my temper.
She is not just good for me.
She is good for the Broken Plains. And that means she is good for all of Nightfall.
But I—greedy, undeserving creature that I am—want to keep every piece of her for myself.
“You’re doing that other thing again,” she murmurs.
“What other thing?”
“Brooding. You go all quiet and your eyes get darker and I can practically hear you mentally setting things on fire.”
“I am thinking,” I say flatly.
“Mm-hm.” She bumps her hip into mine. “Thinking about me?”
