“Laugh?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It makes this house feel warmer.”
Something about the sincerity in his voice makes my chest tighten unexpectedly.
For a few minutes we eat in comfortable quiet. The fire crackles softly in the hearth while the marsh wind brushes gently against the windows. The moment feels… ordinary.
A healer and a demon sharing dinner. The absurdity of that realization makes me smile faintly.
“You’re staring again,” I say.
“You noticed.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Why is that good?”
“Because it means you’re not afraid of me anymore.”
The words land softly between us.
“I was never afraid of you,” I say before thinking.
His brow lifts.
“That is demonstrably false.”
“I mean now.”
He studies me with a quieter expression than before.
“That,” he murmurs, “is far more dangerous.”
After the meal I collect the bowls and rinse them in the basin while he watches from the doorway between the kitchen and the main room.
“Are you always this domesticated?” he asks.
“Only when my house isn’t surrounded by villagers with torches.”
“That seems reasonable.”
When I turn back toward him he is still leaning against the doorway, wings folded behind him in a way that somehow makes the enormous creature look almost relaxed.
“You look tired,” he says.
“I am.”
“You stood in front of an angry mob for an hour.”
“Yes.”
“That tends to drain people.”
