The festival had begun to quiet as the lanterns dimmed and the music softened. The once-bustling square now hosted scattered groups of revelers, their laughter tapering into subdued murmurs. Lysandra and Alaric strolled side by side through the cobbled streets, the cool night air brushing against their skin.
"You know," Lysandra said, her tone light and teasing, "it's only proper for a gentleman to escort a lady back to her room after an evening like this."
Alaric smirked, his hands casually tucked behind his back. "Is that so? I must have missed that lesson in etiquette. But then again," he added with a mock-serious expression, "a high-ranking noble like myself should never wander the streets unaccompanied. It's only proper for his mercenary companion to ensure his safety."
She raised an eyebrow, glancing at him with a sly grin. "Safety? From what, exactly? The leftover pastries?"
"Anything's possible," Alaric replied with an air of faux gravitas. "You never know when a rogue baker might leap from the shadows."
Lysandra snorted, shaking her head. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"And yet, here you are," he said, his smile softening as he looked at her. "Still walking beside me."
She rolled her eyes, but her smirk betrayed her amusement. " I'll humor you, Your Highness. I'll walk you back to your room first, make sure you're safe and sound, and then I'll head to mine."
"Oh no," Alaric countered, his voice laced with mock indignation. "I couldn't possibly let you risk the perilous journey back to your room alone. I'll have to escort you after that. It's only fair."
"Fair?" Lysandra crossed her arms, stepping in front of him to block his path. "You'd have me traipsing across the inn all night in circles just to satisfy your so-called chivalry?"
"Well," he said, leaning forward slightly, his smile now undeniably mischievous, "it's not my fault you refuse to accept proper noble courtesy."
She jabbed a finger at his chest, her lips twitching as she fought back a grin. "And it's not my fault you nobles have no idea how to let someone do their job without making it ten times harder."
Alaric chuckled, his warm, rich laugh echoing softly in the stillness of the street. "I suppose we can flip of it."
Lysandra paused mid-step, her gaze narrowing as she glanced up at him, suspicion mingling with amusement. "A coin toss? Really? That's your grand solution to this earth-shattering dilemma?"
Alaric grinned, already fishing a coin from his pocket and holding it up between his fingers. The dim light of the moonlight glinted off its polished surface, revealing the intricate design of the crown on one side and the seal of his kingdom on the other. "Fair and impartial," he said, flipping the coin once in his hand for effect. "Unless, of course, you're afraid of losing."
She crossed her arms, one brow arching as a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "Afraid? Hardly. I just don't trust you not to rig it."
"Rig it?" He placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "Lysandra, you wound me. I would never."
She snorted, clearly unconvinced, but her eyes sparkled with reluctant humor. "Fine."
Alaric's laugh was warm and easy as he held the coin aloft. "Crown side, I get escorted to my room like the proper noble I am. Seal side, I make sure our resident mercenary arrives safely."
"Just flip it already," she said, rolling her eyes.
He complied, sending the coin spinning into the air. The metallic glint caught the light as it turned end over end before landing neatly in his palm. Alaric covered it with his other hand, drawing out the moment as he met her gaze, his expression unreadable.
"Well?" she asked, her impatience clear. "What's it going to be?"
Slowly, dramatically, Alaric uncovered the coin. His lips curled into a triumphant smile. "Crown side," he announced, holding it up for her to see.
Lysandra groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Of course it is. "
"Now, shall we?" He side with a cheeky grin.
Grumbling under her breath, she stepped ahead of him, gesturing with exaggerated flair. "Lead the way, Your Highness."
Alaric chuckled, falling into step beside her. The warm glow of the inn's lanterns came into view as they approached, the quiet murmur of conversation and the faint clink of tankards spilling out into the cool night air. A stable hand, half-asleep at his post, barely looked up as they passed through the main gate into the inn's courtyard.
Inside, the inn's common room was quieter than Lysandra had expected. Most of the revelers had either retired to their rooms or moved on to another celebration elsewhere. A fire crackled warmly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the sturdy wooden beams. A few patrons lingered at the tables, nursing the last of their drinks.
Alaric nodded to the innkeeper, who gave him a polite bow before disappearing into the back. Without hesitation, the prince led the way up a narrow staircase, the creak of the wooden steps breaking the stillness. Lysandra followed, her footsteps light and measured.
As they reached the landing, Alaric gestured toward a polished door near the end of the hall. "Here we are," he said, stopping in front of it.
"Well, Your Highness," she said, leaning casually against the doorframe with a wry smirk. "Safe and sound. I believe this concludes my mercenary duty for the night."
Alaric didn't reply immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. Before she could muster another quip, his hand rose, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face with a tenderness that caught her completely off guard.
"Alaric—" she started, but the rest of her words were swallowed as he leaned in, capturing her lips with his in a kiss that was nothing like before.
This wasn't a fleeting, tentative brush of lips. It was fierce, passionate, and unrelenting, as if he had been holding himself back for far too long and couldn't any longer. His hands found her waist, pulling her close against him, the warmth of his body seeping into hers. Lysandra froze for a moment, her instinct to retreat battling with something deeper, something that made her want to stay.
And then, without fully realizing it, she gave in.
Her hands moved of their own accord, sliding up his chest as she leaned into the kiss, her initial hesitation melting away. The world outside the inn faded into nothing—no festivals, no kingdoms, no enemies. There was only the press of his lips against hers and the way his arms held her like she was the only thing that mattered.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together. Alaric's hand lingered on her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin as he searched her eyes.
"Lysandra," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "I've wanted to do that for longer than I care to admit."
She stared at him, her mind racing, her heart pounding against her ribs. She wanted to say something, anything, but words failed her. Instead, she reached up, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his tunic as she pulled him into another kiss—this one softer but no less intense. It was unspoken but mutual, a surrender to a moment neither of them could deny.
Just as she began to lose herself in the warmth of his embrace, Alaric stiffened. His head turned slightly, his sharp hearing catching the faint but distinct sound of footsteps approaching down the hall. His gaze darted to her, a flicker of concern flashing across his face.
Without a word, he turned, his hand reaching for the doorknob behind him. Before Lysandra could process what was happening, he pushed the door open and pulled her inside, shutting it softly but firmly behind them.
"Alaric—" she started, her voice low but laced with irritation. "What in the—"
He held a finger to his lips, his other hand still resting lightly on her arm. "Shh," he whispered, his voice barely audible. He tilted his head toward the door, his eyes signaling for her to listen.
Sure enough, the footsteps slowed as they passed his room, then continued down the hall, fading into the distance. Alaric relaxed slightly, exhaling a quiet breath of relief.
"Well," she said, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. "Care to explain why you just dragged me into your room ?"
"I thought you might appreciate avoiding gossip if anyone saw us out there like that," he replied, his lips curving into a small smirk. "Unless you enjoy the thought of Donall and Kellan making comments for the rest of the journey?"
She opened her mouth to retort but promptly closed it again, realizing he had a point.
His smirk softened into something more sincere as he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "Are you alright?"
Her heart skipped a beat at the sudden tenderness in his tone, but she quickly masked her reaction with a scoff. "I'm fine. Just trying to figure out what kind of mess you've gotten us into this time."
Alaric chuckled, his hand dropping to his side. "I suppose I should apologize."
"Don't bother." she said, her voice softening slightly.
For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them thick with tension once again. Lysandra finally broke the silence. "So, what now? Am I just supposed to wait here until it's safe to leave?"
Alaric's smirk returned, though it carried a hint of playfulness. "If you want. Or," he added, leaning slightly closer, "we could pick up where we left off."
Lysandra's cheeks warmed, the heat spreading down her neck as Alaric reached for her, his hands finding her waist and gently pulling her closer. Her breath hitched, but she didn't resist. Instead, she let herself be drawn into his space, her palms instinctively pressing against his chest.
"Alaric," she began, her voice low and uncertain, though she didn't push him away. She hated how easily he was dismantling her defenses, how his touch felt natural, even safe.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as his forehead rested lightly against hers. His gaze locked onto hers, his expression softened, vulnerable. "Tell me, and I will."
Her lips parted as if to say something, but the words refused to come. She searched his eyes for any sign of jest, of arrogance, but there was only sincerity. Her resolve crumbled a little further.
Her fingers curled slightly into his tunic, betraying the truth she didn't want to admit. His lips curving into a faint smile as his hands slid up her sides, gentle and steady.
Before she could respond, he kissed her. Passionately, as if he had been holding himself back for far too long. His lips were warm and demanding.His hands pressed firmly against her back, pulling her closer as their breaths intertwined, the world around them melting away. With effortless strength, he lifted her into his arms, her body molding against his as if they had always been meant to fit together this way. He carried her to the bed, his steps slow and deliberate, savoring every moment.
As he gently laid her down, he never once broke the kiss, the intimacy between them growing deeper with each passing second. The softness of the bed cradled them as he joined her, his body a comforting weight on top of hers. His hand brushed against her cheek, his touch warm and reverent, while his other hand undone the belt holding her daggers by her waist throwing it to the floor.
Lysandra froze for a heartbeat, caught off guard by the intensity of it. But then she melted into him, her arms sliding up to wrap around his neck as she kissed him back with equal fervor.
The kiss lingered, unhurried yet filled with a passion that spoke of unspoken desires. Every movement, every piece of clothing removed, every touch, was deliberate, as if they had all the time in the world to explore the connection that neither of them could deny any longer.
Her heartbeat pounding in her ears as every thought of protest vanished.
It was raw, unguarded, and terrifying in its intimacy. She hated how much she wanted it—how much she wanted him.
The firelight danced across his sharp features, casting shadows between their now naked bodies that seemed to deepen the hunger in his eyes. It was a hunger that mirrored her own—a dangerous, uncontrollable need that she had fought so hard to ignore.
But now, there was no fighting it. His hands, strong yet trembling with restraint, cupped her face as if she were something precious, and the weight of his gaze rooted her to the spot. He hesitated, waiting for her permission, and when she gave the slightest nod, it was as though the dam broke.
Their lips met, and the world fell away. It wasn't soft or tentative—it was desperate, fervent, a culmination of all the moments they had denied themselves. Her fingers threaded through his hair as she pulled him closer into her, his hands roamed down her back, drawing her flush against him, as though trying to eliminate any distance between them moaning each other's names.
It was reckless and untamed, and for the first time in her life, Lysandra didn't care about the consequences. All that mattered was this moment—this man.