Page 24 of Ash and Burn

Right. Her babysitter.

Arvid extended her hand and found his grip firm but respectful. "Just Arvid is fine."

A hint of relief flickered across Tal's features. "His Majesty explained the situation with Elder Cevryn yesterday. I understand this arrangement isn't ideal for you."

"How diplomatic of him." She couldn't keep the edge from her voice. Of course Calix had briefed Tal on the council meeting. Probably told him exactly how she found the whole supervision requirement utterly ridiculous. "But yes, I'm not thrilled about having a shadow, yet I understand the politics involved."

"I promise I'll stay out of your way as much as possible," Tal said, and something in his earnest tone made her believe him. "You won't even know I'm there."

Despite her mood, Arvid found herself smiling. There was something refreshingly straightforward about Tal—no hidden agendas, no political calculations, just a young warrior trying to do his job without making her life more difficult than it already was. "Thanks for that. I have a feeling I'm going to like you, Tal."

They stepped out into the morning heat together, the air already thick with volcanic warmth and the distant scent of sulfur from the Caldran volcano. The massive caldera dominated the horizon, a silent reminder that this alien world operated by different rules than Earth. Just like everything else that had happened since she'd met Gerri Wilder two days ago.

As they walked toward the Hearthring district in companionable silence, Arvid tried to ignore the persistent tug in her chest—a magnetic pull toward wherever Calix might be at this moment. She told herself it was residual attraction. Dragon shifter pheromones lingering in her system. Definitely not any growing connection between them.

But the truth whispered through her defenses anyway. She missed him. Missed his presence beside her, the way his authority created a bubble of safety around them, the rare moments when his careful control slipped and she glimpsed the man beneath the crown.

Professional distance, she reminded herself.

That's what this situation required. She would throw herself into solving the Ash Fever outbreak. Make work the top priority like she always did when emotions threatened to complicate her life. Work was safe. Work was controllable. Work didn't ask her to trust it with her heart.

The pyrestone streets warmed beneath her feet as they made their way through Ashvorn's morning bustle, and Arvid forced herself to focus on the medical mystery ahead rather than the king she'd left behind.

But she couldn't deny that things had irrevocably changed between them—she could feel it in the way her body still hummed with awareness and in the phantom sensation of his touch that lingered on her skin. But compartmentalizing was her specialty. It had gotten her through her parents' divorce, through a military tribunal, through three years of rebuilding her life from scratch. It would get her through this too.

When they finally arrived at the front entrance of the main medical building, Tal fell into step beside the entrance, his posture shifting into something that looked distinctly like a guard assuming position.

"I'll wait out here until you're done for the day," he said, settling against the wall with practiced ease.

Arvid paused, studying his face for any hint of resentment about being relegated to escort duty. Instead, she found only professional acceptance.

"Thanks for respecting my need for space."

"Not a problem." Tal's grey eyes held genuine understanding. "I've worked with enough people to know that hovering doesn't help anyone."

Arvid nodded and stepped inside the building, finding the corridors buzzing with morning activity—healers moving between rooms, assistants carrying supplies, the quiet hum of voices discussing treatments and progress. Arvid navigated toward the lab, her mind already shifting into analytical mode. Work had always been her sanctuary, the one place where emotions couldn't complicate outcomes and where her competence spoke louder than her past mistakes.

But even as she focused on the task ahead, a persistent awareness tugged at her consciousness. Somewhere in this territory, Calix was going about his morning routine. Probably reviewing reports, making decisions, carrying the weight of every citizen on his shoulders. The memory of his exhausted expression by the fire last night flickered through her mind, followed immediately by the sensation of his hands on her skin.

Focus, she reminded herself sharply.

Dorn was waiting at the lab's central workspace when she finally entered the lab, a small rectangular device in his weathered hands. His tired eyes brightened when he spotted her approach, and she caught a glimpse of hope beneath his perpetual exhaustion.

"Here's your new datapad," he said, extending the device toward her. "All my compiled notes are on there for you to review."

Arvid accepted the datapad, surprised by its light weight and the way the surface seemed to respond to her touch. The display flickered to life, revealing a series of clearly marked files organized with precision. Medical histories, symptom progressions, treatment attempts, environmental factors—everything cataloged with surprising thoroughness.

"This is incredibly organized," she said, scrolling through the file structure. "I can tell you put a lot of time and effort into this yesterday."

A flush of pride crossed Dorn's features. "Four months of data took some time to organize, but it should be easy to navigate now."

"Thank you for this." Arvid's respect for the healer climbed another notch. In her military experience, the difference between success and disaster often came down to thoroughness and efficiency. "I'll review all of it and meet up with you later. Do you happen to have a cafeteria here? I didn't eat breakfast and I really could use some coffee."

Dorn's expression shifted to something almost fatherly. "Exit the lab, go down the corridor and hang a left to the connecting corridor. It's at the end of that corridor." He paused. "And the coffee tastes better than it looks."

"Thanks." She found herself smiling despite the gravity of the situation. "I'll check back soon."

Minutes later, the cafeteria occupied a bright corner space with large windows overlooking one of Ashvorn's residential districts. Arvid approached the vending machines with scientific curiosity—everything here should be safe for human consumption, and cross-species contamination seemed unlikely given her completely different physiology. Besides, she was genuinely hungry, and hunger made thinking more difficult.