But instead, all she saw was what her people lacked.
What they needed.
What she had the power to help, if she gave up everything else.
She swallowed hard. “Nythir… would you—could we—”
He looked down at her, eyes soft. “Anything.”
“Could we rent a room tonight?” she blurted.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
A faint, bright red flush crept up his neck.
“Rent a—” He choked. “A room? For… sleeping?”
Esther felt her own face ignite. “Not for sleeping.”
“Oh.” Nythir froze completely, ears rigid, eyes wide like a startled animal. “Oh!”
She covered her face with both hands. “You don’t have to! I just—I want—I mean—” She dropped her hands helplessly. “I want to choose something for myself. Just once. And I choose you.”
He stared at her like she’d just said the moon had been carved for him personally.
“Essie,” he breathed, “are you sure?”
Her throat tightened. “Yes.”
He swallowed so hard she saw it move. “Then… yes. Of course. We can. I mean. Yes. Absolutely. Tonight. A room. Together.”
He paused. “Not for sleeping.”
She groaned and buried her face in his cloak while he laughed nervously, hands hovering awkwardly, unsure where he was allowed to touch.
The inn they chose sat on the edge of the district, tucked between shuttered shops and quiet alleys.
It smelled of clean linens and old wood. The lanterns burned low and warm.
The innkeeper’s knowing smile nearly undid them both.
Upstairs, behind the closed door of their room, the world narrowed.
The bed was neatly made. The lantern cast a golden glow. The space felt too small and far too intimate.
“If you want to change your mind,” Nythir said quietly, closing the door, “I’ll still be here. I’ll still want you.”
Esther crossed the room and took his face in her hands. “I don’t want to change my mind.”
As soon as her eyes met his, he pulled her against him. His mouth met hers hungrily. His calm demeanor fell away as he frantically, clumsily deepened their kiss.
Esther moaned, arching her body into him. His tongue slid against her lips, begging for entrance.
She obeyed.
