After the height of their passion, they remained entwined, the water still and silent around them. Lysandra's head rested against Alaric's shoulder, their breathing heavy yet synchronized as the intensity of the moment gave way to a quiet stillness.
"Forgive me," he murmured, his breath brushing against her cheek. "I didn't plan this. I know you should be resting…"
Lysandra tilted her head just enough to meet his gaze, her expression unreadable at first. She huffed softly, her fingers trailing lazily along his shoulder. "I make my own choices. This? This wasn't just you."
His lips twitched into a faint smile, though the worry in his eyes hadn't completely faded. "Still… I should have been more gentle. You're injured, and I—"
"Don't," she interrupted, pressing a finger lightly to his lips. "Don't ruin this by overthinking it."
Alaric's lips twitched into a grin, and a quiet laugh escaped him, the sound warm and unguarded. "Coming from you, that's ironic," he said, his voice laced with amusement.
Lysandra rolled her eyes, though her lips quirked into a faint smirk. "I have my moments. Don't make me regret them."
His laugh softened, but the humor quickly faded as a flicker of realization crossed his face. He glanced toward the closed door of the bathhouse, the tension in his posture subtly returning.
"As much as I'd like to stay like this," he murmured, his tone shifting to something more serious, "we need to leave. If someone finds us here like this…"
Lysandra stiffened slightly, following his gaze to the door as his words sank in. The mercenaries, the knights—they were already watching them too closely, and Lord Halvard's disapproving glances earlier made it clear he wasn't oblivious to the dynamic between them.
She sighed. "You're right. If he sends word to the king…" Her voice trailed off, but the weight of the implication hung heavy between them.
"Exactly," Alaric said.
Alaric moved first, reluctantly loosening his hold on her and stepping back just enough to give her space. The water rippled softly as he stood, reaching for a nearby towel. He handed one to her, his movements casual but his eyes lingering for just a moment longer than necessary before he turned away to give her some privacy.
Lysandra took the towel, wrapping it around herself as she eased out of the water, her body still feeling the effects of her injuries despite the warmth of the bath. As she steadied herself on the edge, Alaric was already there, his hand lightly touching her arm.
"Need help?" he asked, his tone genuine.
She hesitated for a moment before giving a small nod. "Don't get used to it."
"Never," he said with a faint grin, steadying her as she stepped onto the stone floor.
They dressed quickly, the comfortable silence between them laced with a new, unspoken understanding. As they prepared to leave, Alaric opened the door cautiously, glancing down the hall to ensure it was clear.
"Looks like we're safe," he said, motioning for her to follow.
Lysandra stepped out, her usual sharp wit at the ready. "For now. But if anyone finds out, this is your fault."
Alaric chuckled, his voice low as they continued down the dimly lit hallway. "I think you underestimate how convincing I can be. If anyone asks, I'll just say we were discussing strategy. Maybe debating your infamous stubbornness."
Lysandra shot him a sidelong glare, her lips twitching despite herself. "You think that's going to fly? The knights and the Shadow Blades already think there's something between us."
He raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. "And whose fault is that?"
"Yours," she replied flatly. "You're the one who keeps hovering like a mother hen."
Alaric stopped walking, turning to face her fully, his expression amused but touched with a hint of seriousness. "Lysandra, you were limping and nearly collapsed the other day. Forgive me for wanting to make sure you didn't keel over."
She huffed, rolling her eyes. "You're overreacting."
"And you're impossible," he shot back, though the warmth in his tone softened the words.
They started walking again, the tension easing slightly, though the air between them still buzzed with unspoken words.
the guest quarters. Alaric's smirk faded, replaced by an expression far more serious, his brow furrowing as if weighing his words. He slowed his pace, glancing at her from the corner of his eye before finally speaking.
"Are you going to push me away again?" he asked quietly, his voice low and laced with something deeper—an emotion Lysandra couldn't quite name. "Refusing to accept the closeness between us?"
She stopped mid-step, caught off guard by his question. Her sharp wit faltered, and for a moment, all she could do was stare at him, her lips parting as if to respond but no words coming out.
Alaric turned to face her fully, his gaze steady yet vulnerable. "Because I can feel it, Lysandra. Every time we get close, you pull away like you're afraid of something. Like you're afraid of me."
Her jaw tightened, and she crossed her arms defensively. "I'm not afraid of you," she shot back, her tone sharper than she intended.
"Then what are you afraid of?" he pressed, taking a step closer, his voice soft but insistent. "What is it about this—about us—that makes you so ready to run?"
Lysandra looked away, her gaze fixed on the floor. Her throat felt tight, the weight of his words digging into places she had carefully avoided. "This… whatever this is… it's dangerous," she muttered. "You know that as well as I do."
"Dangerous for me," he said, his voice firm. "For my position, my reputation."
Her head snapped up, her eyes blazing. " You're a prince, Alaric. I'm a bastard mercenary with the blood of your kingdom's enemy running through my veins. If anyone finds out about this—about us—I'll be the one they target. Not you."
Alaric flinched slightly at her words, but he didn't look away. "I wouldn't let that happen," he said quietly.
"You can't promise that," she replied, her voice breaking slightly despite her best efforts to keep it steady.
They stood in silence for a long moment, the tension between them heavy and suffocating. Finally, Alaric sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he ran a hand through his hair.
"You're right," he admitted. "I can't promise that nothing will happen. But what I can promise is that I won't stop fighting for you. For us. If you'll let me."
Lysandra's chest tightened, her heart pounding as his words sank in. She wanted to believe him, to let herself fall into the comfort of his resolve, but the walls she had spent years building wouldn't let her.
"I don't know if I can," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Alaric stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush against hers. "You don't have to decide now," he said softly. "Just… don't push me away."
She hesitated, her gaze flickering between his face and the floor. After a long moment, she nodded, though the doubt in her eyes remained.
As they finally reached the door to her room, Lysandra paused, her hand resting on the wooden frame. The dim light from the corridor lanterns cast soft shadows across her face, highlighting the conflict in her expression.
"This is it," she said quietly, her voice flat but edged with a weariness that went beyond her injuries.
Alaric lingered, his hand brushing the edge of the door as he watched her carefully. "You should rest," he said softly, though his tone carried more weight than the simple suggestion.
She glanced at him, her sharp features softened by exhaustion. "You think that's going to fix everything?"
"No," he admitted, his voice steady but gentle. "But it's a start. You can't keep running on empty, Lys. You know that."
She let out a faint scoff, though it lacked her usual bite. "You don't give up, do you?"
"Not when it comes to you," he replied without hesitation, his words simple yet powerful in their honesty.
Lysandra looked at him, her defenses wavering for a fleeting moment. Her hand tightened on the doorframe, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn't know what to say—how to respond to the steady patience in his eyes or the sincerity that lingered in his words.
Finally, she exhaled sharply, turning her gaze back to the door. "Go, Alaric. Before someone sees us here and decides to make a story out of it."
His lips twitched into a faint smile, though his gaze lingered on her a moment longer. " But if you need anything—anything at all—you know where I am."
As she opened the door and stepped inside, she hesitated again, glancing over her shoulder at him. "Goodnight, Alaric."
"Goodnight, Lysandra," he replied softly, his tone laced with a quiet warmth that made her chest tighten.
She closed the door behind her, leaning against it as the sound of his retreating footsteps echoed down the hall. Her hand rested on the cool wood, her thoughts swirling as the quiet of her room settled around her.
You're playing a dangerous game, Lysandra, she thought to herself, closing her eyes. And he's not making it any easier.
But as she sank into the bed, her mind replaying his words, she couldn't bring herself to regret the moments they'd shared—or the way he looked at her like she was a lady worth fighting for.
Lysandra woke up the next day feeling lighter, as if some of the weight she had been carrying for so long had lifted, if only slightly. The sunlight streamed through the window, warming the room with a soft golden glow. For a moment, she simply lay there, blinking up at the ceiling, her thoughts unusually quiet.
Her body still ached, the soreness from her injuries lingering, but it was bearable. The memories of the night before flickered in her mind—Alaric's words, his steady presence, his touch and the quiet vulnerability they had shared. It was dangerous, she knew, but for once, the thought didn't fill her with dread.
With a deep breath, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, testing her weight on her injured leg. The pain was dull but manageable.Good enough, she thought, pulling on her boots with practiced efficiency.
As she finished dressing, there was a soft knock on the door.
"Come in," she called, her voice steady, though her mind raced with who it might be.
The door opened to reveal Kellan, his usual smirk firmly in place. "Morning, Lys," he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "You look less like death. That's a good sign."
"Thanks for the glowing compliment," she replied dryly, rolling her eyes as she adjusted her belt.
Kellan leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Alaric told us to make sure you take it easy. Something about you being stubborn."
Lysandra snorted. "I'll take it easy when I am dead."
"Uh-huh." He tilted his head, giving her a knowing look. "He's also waiting for you in the hall. Said something about strategy, but I'm pretty sure it's just an excuse to be near you again."
She paused, her hand hovering over her satchel as her thoughts briefly stumbled. "I'll be out in a minute."
Kellan grinned, clearly amused by the faint hint of hesitation in her voice. "Sure thing. Don't keep your prince waiting too long."
She shot him a sharp glare, but Kellan only chuckled, clearly enjoying her irritation, as he backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Grabbing her satchel, Lysandra slung it over her shoulder and straightened her posture, shaking off the remnants of sleep and soreness. As she stepped out into the hallway, she quickly caught up to Kellan, who was sauntering ahead with a smug grin on his face.
Without missing a beat, she gave him a playful shove, causing him to stumble slightly. "You're insufferable," she muttered, though her tone lacked any real heat.
Kellan grinned, recovering quickly. "And yet, here you are, tolerating me."
"Barely," she replied with a faint smirk, her eyes briefly flicking toward the end of the hallway where Alaric stood waiting.
The prince was leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp as they settled on her. His lips quirked into a small smile as she approached.
"Morning," he said, his tone warm but neutral enough to avoid drawing suspicion. "Sleep well?"
"Well enough," Lysandra replied briskly, adjusting the strap of her satchel as she stopped a few steps away from him. "I hear you've been sending people to check on me."
Alaric raised an eyebrow, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "Just ensuring my soldiers and allies are at their best. Nothing more."
Kellan snorted, stepping past Lysandra with a knowing look. "Sure, Your Highness. Nothing more."
Alaric ignored him, his attention fixed on Lysandra. "You look better this morning," he said, his tone softening slightly.
"Don't sound so surprised," she shot back, though there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "I'm not that fragile."
"Never said you were," he replied smoothly, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Are you ready? We've got a long day ahead."
"Always," she replied, her voice firm as she straightened her shoulders.
Alaric's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he nodded. "Good. Let's go."
The three of them moved down the hallway together, the quiet tension of the morning giving way to the hum of the manor coming to life. As they walked, Lysandra couldn't help but notice the way Alaric stayed just a step closer than necessary, his presence steady and unspoken.