When I closed my eyes, I was back in the hall below, the sigils blazing so brightly they burned the dark from the stone. The silence afterward felt sharp enough to cut. And he was there, waiting—not reaching for me, not claiming me, only watching with a concern that felt far more dangerous than the storm.
I’d thought I would break apart, a body split between fight and surrender. But then I’d taken that first step.
My hand found his face, rough with the start of a beard, the kind of scruff that looked accidental but felt deliberate. His skin had been warm, impossibly so, like the storm had left its fire in him. And the moment I touched his face, the tearing stopped.
I opened my eyes again. The room was vast, but it didn’t sprawl. It gathered itself close, every corner deliberate. The bed was the heart of it, massive, draped in blankets of velvet so dark they drank the light, pillows layered deep enough to swallow me whole. The frame rose high, carved with waves and storm sigils that gleamed faintly in the gray morning glow.
Heavy curtains pooled at the tall windows, their fabric rich with threads of silver and deep indigo. Iron sconces studded the walls, their flames low but steady.
Stormglass veined the walls in bold strikes, alive beneath the surface like lightning waiting to break free. A wardrobe stood tall against the far wall, its doors left ajar from where I’d pulled a shirt the night before. The fabric soft with age and still smelling of cedar and smoke.
Curiosity stirred before fear could. I rose, the velvet blankets whispering as I left them behind and padded across the stone floor. The tall windows drew me; I pushed the curtains back past their folds until the balcony doors stood clear before me.
The horizon was a pale blaze where the sun met the sea, streaking gold and rose across the water. Waves moved steady and calm, brushing the black stone cliffs with a softness I hadn’texpected after so much fury. For the first time in days, the air smelled only of salt, not lightning.
It was beautiful. A stillness so rare I was afraid to breathe and break it.
I saw him in the stillness, though he wasn’t there, the man beneath the storm, the one who held my gaze as if it mattered more than crowns or curses.
The sea seemed to soften further under that memory, the dawn less fragile, as if even the world was waiting for him to arrive.
Suddenly there was a knock. Not loud, but just sharp enough to get my attention.
Before I could answer the door creaked open and a young woman stepped in, balancing a tray against her hip. She couldn’t have been much older than me, her dark hair was bound by a loose braid, her cheeks pink from the climb of the stairs. She moved carefully, but not with stiffness or fear. When her eyes met mine, she gave me a smile, the kind that asked for permission to stay.
“I’m Maren,” she said softly, setting the tray down on the table near the window. “I brought breakfast. And fresh linens. The others thought you might like something… less formal.”
Her voice was gentle, unassuming and something in me eased at the sound of it.
“Thank you,” I said, the words coming easier than I expected.
Maren’s smile deepened, quick but genuine. “Of course, I’ll come by again later, if that’s alright. Just to make sure you’ve got what you need.”
I nodded, surprised at how much lighter the room felt for having her in it.
Maren adjusted the tray so the steam from the teapot curled toward me. “Atlas will come by shortly,” she said as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. “There’s a bathing chamber through those doors”, she nodded toward a tall panel of carved wood, its edges inlaid with thin veins of stormglass—" and everything you should need is already inside. Oils, fresh towels and a comb set. If anything is missing, call for me.”
“Thank you,” I said again.
She hesitated only to add, softer, “The water runs hot. It helps.” Then she slipped out, closing the door with care that left the room quiet rather than empty.
I stood for a moment, listening to the gentle tick of cooling metal on the tray, the distant hush of the sea against stone.
I crossed to the carved doors Maren had indicated. Up close the stormglass inlay caught the light and sent it skimming across my knuckles.
The bathing chamber beyond was warm and dim, lit by a handful of candles mirrored in black stone. Steam ghosted from a sunken pool, and shelves along the wall held folded linens, small bottles, and a brush with a dark wooden handle that fit my palm. The room smelled faintly of cedar and something bright, lavender maybe—already winding into my breath.
Fresh steam curled up from the pool, thin ribbons drifting through the air. Someone had been here not long before me. I tossed the borrowed shirt aside and eased into the water. The heat closed around me, deep and immediate, and I let my eyes fall shut. For a while I didn’t move at all, only breathed and let the quiet gather around me.
When I opened my eyes again, the steam had thinned, and the pool was cooling. I reached for the oils and soap, worked them through my hair, over my skin, until the last of the night washed away down the dark stone.
I rose, water sliding heavily from my limbs and wrapped myself in a towel. The clothes Maren left had waited neatly folded on a stool by the door, a simple gown of soft gray, its fabric light enough to move in easily. I slipped it over my head, the weave cool against my skin and tied the plain sash at my waist. It was practical, modest, and still finer than anything I had worn in years.
I walked across the chamber and sank onto the edge of the chair, smoothing the gown against my knees. My hair was still damp, strands clinging to my neck, and the brush moved through them in long, steady pulls. Each stroke sounded louder than it should have been, a small rhythm in a room holding its own breath.
Outside the window, the horizon blazed with pale fire where dawn touched the sea. The world lay quiet and unmoving—except the mark beneath my skin, pulsing harder as though it felt him drawing closer.
Then came footsteps that sounded slow and certain. Each one striking like a drumbeat, closing the distance I had both dreaded and craved.
