The rhythmic clink of the Lunara's clawed feet against the cobblestones echoed through the quiet streets as the trio made their way into the heart of the village.
Most of the villagers spared them only a brief look before quickly averting their eyes. Their presence seemed to unnerve them, though none dared to comment. Rowen could feel their unease like a weight pressing against her and instinctively moved closer to Dryanden's side.
"This is the place," Dryanden said, nodding toward the inn ahead. A wooden sign bearing the image of a bird-like creature swung gently in the breeze, its letters painted in soft, welcoming strokes: The Restful Starlingale.
Rowen tilted her head, studying the image. The creature depicted on the sign had slender wings that shimmered faintly, with a long, sweeping tail and an elegant crest atop its head. "What's a Starlingale?" she asked, glancing at Dryanden.
He paused, following her gaze. "A creature native to the Eversnow Glade and some of the quieter forests of Vireth," he said. "They're known for their calming songs and feathers that reflect moonlight. Some villages keep them as companions to ward off predators."
"Interesting," Rowen nodded, her curiosity piqued as they made their way up the path. Dryanden stopped just short of the door, turning to the Lunara. "You've done well today," he murmured, his tone softening slightly. The creature's glowing eyes blinked at him as though in understanding.
Rowen expected him to lead the Lunara inside, but instead, he guided it toward the stables beside the inn. She watched as Dryanden tied the Lunara's reins to a post, his movements efficient and careful. Though he rarely spoke to the creature, his gestures carried a quiet respect, as if acknowledging its strange intelligence. The Lunara shifted, claws scratching against the stable floor, before lowering its head as though conceding.
Dryanden ran a hand down its neck briefly, then turned back to the others.
Rowen couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease at leaving the creature behind. "Do you think it will be all right out here?"
Dryanden's lips quirked in the faintest hint of a smile. "It's not as delicate as it looks."
"Unlike some of us," Thalor added, smirking as he swept past Rowen.
She glared at him but said nothing, her chin lifting in defiance. Dryanden, already at the door, let out a barely audible sigh as if resigned to the bickering.
The smell of roasted meat and freshly baked bread wafted toward her the further they walked into the inn, making her stomach growl audibly.
The innkeeper, a stout man with a warm but guarded expression, greeted them with a practiced smile. His gaze swept over Dryanden first, taking in his refined bearing and the faint shimmer of magic that always seemed to cling to him. Then his eyes flicked to Rowen. His expression faltered for a moment, his brows knitting slightly as his gaze caught on the crescent mark on her wrist.
He quickly recovered, straightening and addressing Dryanden with an air of respect. "We've only got two rooms left. One's a single, and the other's got a double bed." His gaze darted briefly to Rowen before returning to Dryanden. "I'll assume the young couple will take the double?"
Thalor, standing at the back, raised an eyebrow and gave Rowen and Dryanden an exaggerated once-over. "Well, that's convenient."
Dryanden cleared his throat, and her face flushed. "We're not—" they said in unison.
Thalor stepped forward before either of them could finish, his smirk firmly in place. "Yes, yes, the young couple will take the double. I'll take the single. Thank you, good sir."
"Thalor!" Rowen hissed, her voice sharp, but he only leaned against the counter with feigned innocence, spinning a coin between his fingers.
The innkeeper chuckled, handing over the keys. "Dinner will be served in an hour. You're lucky you got a room. It's festival season, and we've been packed every night."
Dryanden accepted the key silently, his jaw tight. Rowen could feel the tension radiating off him as he turned and headed for the stairs. She hurried after him, muttering under her breath, while Thalor trailed behind them, whistling softly.
When they reached their room, Dryanden pushed the door open with a little more force than necessary, letting it swing wide to reveal a small, tidy space. A single window overlooked the village square, and a modest double bed dominated the center of the room.
Rowen stared at the bed, her face heating. "Great. Just…great."
Dryanden sighed, setting his bag down near the wall. "It's just for one night."
"Right," she said, dropping her pack beside his. "One very awkward night."
Thalor leaned against the doorframe, his smirk firmly in place. "I'll leave you two lovebirds to settle in."
Rowen spun toward him, her cheeks blazing. "We're not—"
"Of course not. That's why you're both acting completely normal about sharing a bed." Thalor chuckled, clearly pleased with himself.
Rowen opened her mouth to retort, but Dryanden beat her to it. "Go away, Thalor."
Thalor straightened, giving a mock salute. "As you wish, Your Highness." With that, he sauntered off down the hall, leaving them alone.
The silence that followed was heavy and awkward. Rowen shifted on her feet, her eyes darting anywhere but the bed.
"You can take it," Dryanden said after a moment, breaking the quiet.
"What?"
"The bed," he clarified. "You can take it. I'll sleep on the floor."
Rowen frowned. "That's ridiculous. I can take the floor."
"I'm not letting you sleep on the floor." His tone left no room for argument.
"Well, I'm not letting you, either," she shot back, folding her arms.
He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We'll split it, then. It's big enough."
Rowen's stomach twisted at the thought of sharing a bed with Dryanden again, no matter how wide it was. She knew she had done this before, a few times now, but it didn't seem the same anymore. She wasn't sure if it was the awkwardness of the situation or something deeper—something she didn't want to examine too closely.
She hesitated, her heart pounding hard at the thought. "Fine. But stay on your side."
"I could say the same to you," he muttered, his gaze flicking to hers briefly before he turned to fiddle with his bag.
Rowen huffed and sank down onto the edge of the bed. The mattress creaked under her weight, but it was soft—softer than anything she'd slept on in days. She glanced toward Dryanden, who was busy checking the straps on his bag, and felt a twinge of guilt for how sharp she'd been.
"I'm sorry for… snapping at you," she said quietly.
Dryanden looked up, his expression softening.
He didn't respond immediately, but when he did, his voice was quiet. "It's alright, Rowen. I understand."
The silence stretched again, this time less charged but still heavy.
"Dinner?" she asked finally, standing and smoothing her skirts.
Dryanden nodded, picking up the key to the room. "Let's go."
They left together, locking the door behind them, the awkwardness lingering like a shadow. Rowen followed Dryanden down the stairs. She focused on the comforting aroma of roasted meat and fresh bread drifting up from the dining area.
Dinner. Just focus on dinner.
Rowen sat uncomfortably in her seat, trying to ignore the loud growl of her stomach. The inn's dining area was modest but cozy, with rough-hewn wooden tables and a crackling fireplace that filled the room with warmth. The savory aroma of roasted meat and herbs filled the air, making her mouth water.
She glanced at the plate set before her—a steaming bowl of stew paired with a thick slice of crusty bread. The meal looked simple enough, but the vibrant spices and deep, earthy aroma were unlike anything she'd ever encountered on Earth. Her stomach protested again, louder this time.
"Don't let it intimidate you, Rowen," Thalor said, watching her with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, his own plate nearly empty. "I assure you, it's not alive. Well, not anymore."
She scowled at him and grabbed her spoon. "I wasn't hesitating."
"Of course not," he said, smirking.
Dryanden sat to her right, quietly eating his meal. His presence was steady as always, a calm counterbalance to Thalor's teasing. "Ignore him," he murmured. "He feeds on reactions."
"Don't ruin my fun, Dry," Thalor interjected, his tone mock-wounded. "I was just trying to ease the tension." He gestured between Rowen and Dryanden with his spoon. "You two seemed awfully quiet after that…couples arrangement."
Rowen felt her cheeks flush, and she fumbled with her spoon, nearly spilling stew onto the table.
"We aren't a couple," Dryanden said, his voice firm.
Thalor raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I know. It's just fascinating how defensive you both are about it." He leaned forward conspiratorially, a wicked gleam in his eye. "Deny it too much, and people might start to wonder…"
Rowen shot him a glare. "Why are you even sitting here? You have your own room. Shouldn't you be off enjoying your privacy?"
Thalor chuckled and took another bite of bread, unbothered. "What can I say? I like the ambiance."
Dryanden's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. Rowen took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on her own food and not the heat creeping up her neck.
After a moment, Dryanden broke the silence. "The innkeeper mentioned it's festival season. It might explain why the villagers seemed…on edge earlier."
Rowen glanced at him, grateful for the change in topic. "Didn't they seem a little more on edge than that warrants?" she asked, lowering her voice.
"Perhaps." Dryanden's tone was noncommittal, but his gaze flickered toward Thalor briefly, as if weighing something unspoken.
Thalor wiped his mouth with a napkin, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. "You're not wrong, Rowen. Villagers in places like this don't see a lot of…what we bring to the table. Between your highness over there, your mark and our aura's, it's a lot for them to digest. Small minds are easily spooked."
Rowen frowned. "I don't think it's fair to call them small-minded just because they're cautious."
Thalor studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he shrugged. "Perhaps. Let's just say the unfamiliar tends to unsettle people like them. And we're about as unfamiliar as it gets. Either way, I'd wager they're more intrigued than afraid."
Dryanden leaned back slightly, his gaze steady. "Let's hope that intrigue doesn't turn into anything more troublesome."
The weight in his words hung between them for a moment before Rowen broke the silence. "Well, I think I've had enough intrigue for one day. Can we just eat in peace?"
Thalor grinned but said nothing, content to let the conversation drop—for now. They finished their dinner in a tense silence, the only sounds utensils scraping plates.
After dinner, the walk back to their room was quiet, the weight of the evening settling over them like a thick fog. Rowen trailed behind Dryanden, her mind preoccupied with the awkward tension that seemed to have taken root since the room arrangement was revealed. Thalor's teasing had only made it worse, and the memory of the innkeeper's assumptions still burned in her cheeks.
Dryanden unlocked the door with a faint click, pushing it open with his usual calm efficiency. Rowen followed him in, taking a moment to glance around the room once more. The small space seemed even smaller now, the modest double bed practically commanding the entire room. She stopped near the window, the silence between them heavy and uncomfortable.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet punctuated only by the faint murmur of voices drifting up from the inn below. Rowen finally broke the silence.
"Really I can take the floor," she said quickly, gesturing to the narrow space between the bed and the door.
Dryanden looked at her, his expression unreadable. "That isn't an option."
She huffed and sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing lightly on the mattress. She tried to focus on that small comfort instead of the awkwardness simmering in the air. Dryanden, meanwhile, busied himself with his pack. The silence stretched, thick and awkward, before Rowen spoke again. "Thanks."
Dryanden glanced at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "For what?"
"For…being a gentleman so far." She avoided his gaze, instead becoming suddenly occupied with her hands.
He paused for a moment before nodding. "It's not a big deal."
It felt like a big deal to her, but Rowen decided not to press the matter. She reached for the clasps of her cloak, her fingers fumbling slightly as the tension in the room lingered. Shrugging the heavy fabric from her shoulders, she folded it neatly and set it aside, revealing the layers of her enchanted gown beneath.
Reaching for one of the small pouches on her belt, Rowen unlatched it and withdrew the palm-sized chest—the enchanted chest Thistle had given her. It rested comfortably in her hand, its surface cool against her skin. She hesitated for a moment, before sitting it on the floor in front of her, focusing on her magic. The crescent tingled faintly and started to glow softly as she envisioned the chest growing.
In the blink of an eye, the small chest expanded before her, its shape shifting seamlessly into a modest trunk large enough to hold her belongings. Dryanden's gaze flicked toward her briefly, but he said nothing, his expression unreadable as he returned to his task.
Rowen set the chest on the bed and opened it, the hinges creaking softly. She began unfastening the belt cinched around her waist, her movements deliberate as she peeled back the layers of her enchanted gown. The fabric adjusted itself as always, but she couldn't ignore the weight of Dryanden's presence just a few feet away.
Slipping out of the gown, Rowen carefully folded it and placed it inside the chest. She paused, glancing down at the underskirt that added unnecessary bulk to her current attire. With a sigh, she unfastened it and added it to the chest, smoothing the fabric down before closing the lid. Her bloomers and chemise—both practical and modest—were all that remained, along with her thick woolen socks.
"I'm almost done," she murmured, glancing toward Dryanden.
He didn't look up but nodded, his tone neutral. "Take your time."
Rowen rubbed her arms, suddenly feeling the chill of the night air on her exposed skin. She retrieved a blanket from the foot of the bed, wrapping it around herself before sitting down on the edge. She glanced at Dryanden again, noting his own preparations. He had removed his boots and outer jacket. His undershirt clung to his frame, the fabric outlining his broad shoulders and lean figure. He moved with his usual quiet efficiency, his focus unwavering.
"Okay, I'm good." She said quietly.
When he finally turned toward her, the flicker of unease in his expression mirrored her own.
"Something on your mind?" Rowen asked softly, not sure why she even broke the silence. Maybe it was the tension; maybe she couldn't stand the stillness any longer.
He didn't look at her right away. When he did, his expression was thoughtful but guarded. "No. Just…thinking."
Rowen narrowed her eyes. "You know, for someone who claims to know what their doing, you seem to do a lot of brooding."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it was fleeting. "It's habit, I suppose."
Rowen wanted to push, to ask what he was really thinking about, but something held her back. Instead, she sighed and shifted in the bed. The mattress creaked faintly under her weight, and she tried not to think too hard about how small it felt with Dryanden standing so close.
He moved to extinguish the small lamp on the bedside table, plunging the room into dim, silvery light from the moon outside. He hesitated for just a moment before sitting down on the opposite edge of the bed. The mattress shifted slightly under his weight, and Rowen stiffened instinctively.
"I'll stay on my side," he said quietly, his tone reassuring.
"Good," she murmured, though her voice lacked conviction. She turned onto her side, facing away from him and staring at the faint patterns of moonlight on the wall. Despite her exhaustion, she felt too tense to relax. The weight of Dryanden's presence on the bed—so near and yet so distant—seemed to press down on her more than the events of the day.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep, but her mind refused to quiet. The awkwardness of the situation, the subtle shift in their dynamic over the past few days, and the strange, unnameable feeling that had started to creep in whenever Dryanden was near—it all churned in her thoughts, refusing to be ignored.
After what felt like an eternity, Dryanden's voice broke the quiet. "You should rest."
"I'm trying," she replied, a touch of exasperation creeping into her tone. "Easier said than done."
He was silent for a moment before responding, his voice softer this time. "It's been a long day."
Rowen sighed, shifting slightly beneath the covers. "No kidding." She hesitated, then added, "…but I don't think it's just the day."
Dryanden didn't respond right away, but she could feel the weight of his gaze in the silence. The air in the room seemed to thicken, charged with something unspoken. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost hesitant. "What do you mean?"
Rowen stared at the wall, unsure how to put her thoughts into words. "I mean… everything. This place. The bond. The way people look at me. I don't belong here." Her voice wavered, and she hated how vulnerable she sounded, but she couldn't stop. "It's like the longer I'm here, the less I know who I am anymore."
The confession hung in the air between them, and for a moment, Rowen regretted saying anything. But then Dryanden shifted, and she heard the quiet rustle of fabric as he turned toward her.
"You're not alone in that," he said quietly, his tone uncharacteristically open. "This world… its harsh. It changes people. It makes you question things you thought you were sure of. It's not easy."
Rowen turned her head slightly, glancing at him over her shoulder. The soft light from the window caught on his features, highlighting the faint lines of tension in his expression. He looked tired—not just from the day, but from something deeper, something that weighed on him constantly.
"Does it ever get easier?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
He hesitated, then shook his head. "No. But you learn to live with it. And you find things—or people—that make it worth enduring."
Her heart skipped a beat at his words, though his tone was calm and steady, as if he hadn't meant for them to carry any weight. She looked away quickly, her cheeks warming.
"That's… comforting, I guess," she said, though she wasn't sure she believed it.
Dryanden didn't reply, and the silence stretched again. This time, though, it felt less suffocating, more like a shared moment of understanding. Rowen let out a slow breath, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly.
"Goodnight, Dryanden," she murmured, turning her face back toward the wall.
"Goodnight, Rowen," he replied softly.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. The bed was still small, the space between them impossibly narrow, but somehow, the awkwardness didn't feel quite as unbearable anymore. Instead, there was a quiet, unspoken connection—a fragile thread that neither of them was ready to acknowledge but couldn't deny was there.
The night was quiet, but Rowen couldn't sleep. She lay on her side, staring at the sliver of moonlight cutting across the room through the small window. Dryanden's steady breathing behind her was a reassuring rhythm, yet it did nothing to quiet the restlessness stirring in her chest.
She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping the tension would ebb, but it only grew. It wasn't just the events of the day—or even the awkward closeness with Dryanden—that unsettled her. There was something else, something faint and distant, like a tugging thread pulling at the edges of her consciousness.
And then she heard it.
You're awake, aren't you?
Thalor's voice was unmistakable, though it wasn't spoken aloud. It was in her mind, light and teasing, carrying the same infuriating smirk she'd come to associate with him.
Rowen bolted upright, her heart racing as she whipped her head toward the door. It was shut tight. Thalor wasn't there.
You're not losing your mind, his voice came again, calm and unhurried. It's our magic.
Our magic. The words almost stung as she thought them.
"What do you want?" she whispered harshly, glancing back at Dryanden to make sure he hadn't stirred.
Nothing, really. Just thought I'd check in. You seemed… unsettled at dinner.
Rowen clenched her fists. What's your game, Thalor? She said, this time in her head.
Game? His laugh echoed faintly in her mind, warm and maddening. I'm wounded, Rowen. Can't I simply care about my traveling companions?
She scowled, but the irritation wasn't enough to drown out the other emotions bubbling up: curiosity, unease, and an odd sense of reassurance she couldn't explain. The bond. It had to be the bond.
You're in my head. You're for sure playing a game.
It's not as bad as you think, Thalor continued, his tone softening slightly. The pull, I mean. It doesn't control you—it only connects. The rest is yours to decide.
And why would I trust you? she shot back, unable to help the grimace on her face at the intimacy of the connection.
There was a pause, long enough for her to start wondering if he'd gone. Then, You don't have to trust me. But maybe trust yourself a little more. You belong in this world, Rowen. You'll see that soon enough.
His voice faded after that, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She wanted to press further. Ask him how long he had been in her head, but she knew he wouldn't answer. Her pulse thundered in her ears, and she pressed her palms against her temples, willing the bond's influence away. But the damage was already done. Thalor's words lingered, tangling with her doubts and fears until she couldn't tell where her own feelings ended and the bond began.
A quiet rustle behind her broke through the haze, and she turned to find Dryanden stirring. His eyes opened slowly, his brow furrowing as he took in her tense posture.
"Rowen?" he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
"I'm fine," she said quickly, too quickly.
He pushed himself up on one elbow, his gaze sharpening. "You don't look fine."
"I'm just… adjusting," she admitted, her tone quieter now. "To all of this."
Dryanden studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a quiet sigh, he sat up fully. "It's not easy, I know. But you don't have to carry it alone."
She swallowed hard, the words catching her off guard. He wasn't talking about the bond—he couldn't be—but his offer still felt like a lifeline.
"I'll be all right," she said finally, forcing a small smile. "Go back to sleep."
Dryanden didn't look convinced, but he lay back down, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he closed his eyes again.
Rowen laying back down, her mind still racing. She didn't want to admit it, but part of her found comfort in Thalor's presence, even if it was just in her head. And that terrified her more than anything.
The bond had changed everything. And she wasn't sure if she'd ever feel like herself again.
As sleep finally began to pull her under, Rowen let herself feel the faintest sense of comfort in Dryanden's presence, his steady breathing lulling her into an uneasy but much-needed rest.