The flames spat low in the fire, embers throbbing soft and slow, casting glimmering shadows dancing on the boards. Outside, the wind howled at the walls, but within—it was warm. Cozy. Secure.
For the first time in what seemed like forever, nothing lurked in the dark for them. No betrayals. No dangers. No ghosts pounding at the edges of their brains. Just this.
Lucien reclined by the fire, arms crossed under his head, utterly at ease, with that laconic, pleased smile that signified that he was thinking of something reckless. His silver eyes glittered in the faint light, and his hair, wild and untidy, still damp with the cold outside—was a tangle across his brow.
Kah'el was cross-legged next to him, sharpening a dagger in slow, measured strokes. Casual. Unrushed. But his eyes flicked up every few strokes, watching. Measuring. Waiting for Lucien to push.
