Page 19 of Ash and Burn

Stubborn. Maggie's voice echoed in her mind. You get stubborn when you're feeling vulnerable, Arvid.

"I'm not feeling vulnerable," she said aloud, then immediately felt ridiculous for talking to herself in an alien king's guest room.

But the words rang hollow. Because underneath the frustration and the professional urgency was something that felt suspiciously like fear. Not of Ash Fever—she'd faced worse diseases in worse conditions. Not of dragon shifters or alien worlds or political complications.

Fear of the way Calix looked at her. Like she mattered beyond her expertise. Like her presence here meant something more than medical consultation.

Fear of the way she'd started looking back at him.

She'd spent years building walls, constructing a life small enough to control completely. Safe relationships, manageable risks, no emotional entanglements that could compromise her judgment or leave her vulnerable. It was a good life. A productive life.

A lonely life.

But loneliness was predictable. And Calix Silvanus was the opposite of predictable. He was authority incarnate, a man accustomed to being obeyed without question. Everything about him should have triggered her carefully cultivated wariness of powerful men. Instead, something inside her kept insisting he was different.

Dangerous thinking.

She stopped pacing abruptly, decision crystallizing with military precision. She needed clarification about her restrictions, about this supervision arrangement, about whether Tal was expected to shadow her every movement. Those were legitimate professional concerns that required immediate resolution.

The fact that seeking those answers meant finding Calix was purely coincidental. And the fact that her pulse immediately quickened at the prospect was obviously irrelevant.

She grabbed her shoes from beside the bed, slipping them on with practiced efficiency. The corridor outside her door stretched in both directions, lit by the same warm glow that seemed to permeate all of Ashspire. She'd paid attention during their earlier walk through the estate, noting the layout with the same instinctive awareness that had kept her alive in conflict zones.

She moved through Ashspire's corridors with quiet confidence, her footsteps muffled by thick rugs. The estate felt different at night—larger somehow, full of shadows and the whisper of volcanic heat through ancient stone. Portraits of previous Silvanus rulers watched her pass, their painted eyes seeming to track her movement through their domain. Eleven generations of kings. The weight of that history pressed against her consciousness. This wasn't just a house—it was a dynasty made manifest.

Ashspire's main floor yielded nothing but empty rooms and echoing silence. Arvid moved through the grand spaces with growing frustration, checking the library, the formal dining room, even what appeared to be a war room lined with territorial maps. All vacant. The estate felt like a museum—beautiful, ancient, and utterly devoid of life.

The second floor proved equally fruitless. Guest suites, sitting rooms, and what looked like administrative offices stretched down long corridors lit by the same warm glow that permeated the entire estate. Each empty room reinforced the growing realization of just how alone Calix was in this massive space.

Where is he?

She paused at the base of the final staircase, one that led to the uppermost level. Logic suggested the third floor would house the king's private chambers, but approaching uninvited felt like crossing a line she wasn't sure she had permission to cross. Then again, she'd already wandered through two floors of his home without explicit invitation.

What was one more level?

The stairs curved upward, each step carved from the same dark stone that formed Ashspire's foundation. As she climbed, the air grew warmer, carrying scents of spice, rain, and something distinctly masculine that made her heart race despite her best efforts to ignore it.

The staircase opened directly into an enormous space that stretched across the entire upper level of the estate. No doors. No formal entrance announcing the king's private domain. Just an immediate transition from stairwell to living space that felt both intimate and overwhelming.

Massive windows dominated the far wall, offering a panoramic view of Ashvorn's glittering lights and the dark silhouette of the Caldran volcano beyond. Bookshelves lined portions of the remaining walls, filled with volumes that looked ancient and well-used. Maps and reports covered several tables scattered throughout the space. A sitting area occupied one corner near a fireplace that could have heated her entire apartment back on Earth.

Near the far wall by the windows sat a massive four-poster bed that looked like it belonged in a medieval castle, its dark wood carved with intricate designs that caught the firelight. A door beside it presumably led to what could only be an equally impressive bathroom.

Then she spotted him.

Calix sat alone on the sofa near the fire, a plate balanced on one knee and several reports scattered across the nearby coffee table. The firelight painted gold across his sharp features, transforming him from the commanding king she'd met earlier into something more human. More vulnerable. His attention appeared fixed on nothing in particular, his green eyes distant and unfocused.

For the first time since meeting him, he looked genuinely alone and utterly exhausted. The weight of responsibility sat heavy on his shoulders, visible in the way he held himself even in the privacy of his own chambers. His dark hair fell across his forehead, disrupted from its usual perfect arrangement. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms corded with muscle and marked by a thin scar she hadn't noticed before.

The sight caught her completely off guard and her chest tightened unexpectedly, some unnamed emotion flaring to life. Maybe he was thinking about the outbreak, about Essin lying pale and weak in that hospital bed. Maybe he was thinking about council politics and Cevryn's barely concealed hostility. Maybe he was thinking about⁠—

Stop.

She had no business wondering whether the king of Ashvorn was thinking about her. About whatever had sparked between them during those brief moments of contact. About the way something inside her had recognized him despite meeting him less than twelve hours ago.

Unfortunately, her mental distraction lasted long enough for him to sense her presence. Calix looked up sharply, the plate nearly slipping from his hand. For a brief second, genuine surprise flashed across his face—eyebrows raised, lips parted slightly, those green eyes widening before they focused on her with laser intensity.

Then something stranger replaced the surprise. Relief. Unmistakable and immediate, as though her presence had solved some problem he'd been struggling with.