The faint light of dawn filtered through the window, painting the room in soft, pale hues. Rowen stirred, her dreams fading as consciousness returned. The first thing she noticed was the warmth—soft and steady, radiating from somewhere close. Too close.
Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she didn't understand what she was seeing. Dryanden's face was just inches from hers, his features relaxed in sleep. The steady rise and fall of his chest matched the rhythm of his breath, which brushed faintly against her cheek.
Her gaze shifted downward, and her heart stumbled. Their hands were clasped between them, fingers entwined as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She had no memory of reaching for him—or him for her—but the undeniable warmth of his touch sent a jolt of awareness through her.
Rowen froze, her pulse hammering in her ears. How had they ended up like this? They'd gone to bed on opposite sides, hadn't they? Her thoughts scrambled for answers, but none came. All she could do was stare, her breath catching as she took in the details of his face—so close she could see the faint silver glint of his lashes in the morning light.
Dryanden stirred then, his brow furrowing slightly before his crimson eyes blinked open. They locked onto hers, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The quiet stillness between them was broken only by the sound of their breathing, shallow and uneven.
"Rowen," he said softly, his voice rough with sleep. The way her name fell from his lips made her heart ache in a way she couldn't explain.
"I—" She pulled back, her face burning as she realized—really realized—just how close they were. Their hands were still joined, and she hastily tried to pull hers away, but his fingers tightened for a heartbeat before he released her.
"I'm sorry," Dryanden said, his voice low as he sat up, his expression guarded. "I didn't mean—"
"It's fine. Me too," she said quickly, cutting him off. Her own voice sounded strained to her ears, and she avoided his gaze as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. "It was just… the bed's small. That's all."
"Right," he said, but the tension in his tone suggested he wasn't convinced. He ran a hand through his hair, the movement drawing her attention to the faint shadows under his eyes. He didn't look like he'd slept much.
Or maybe he was hungry. Rowen pushed the thought away, while she still had the chance.
Rowen busied herself with adjusting the pouches on her belt, anything to avoid the silence that felt heavier than it should have. "We should probably get to breakfast soon," she said, her words rushed and clumsy. "We don't want to miss it."
"Agreed," Dryanden said after a moment, though his tone was quieter, more reflective than usual. He stood and began gathering his things, moving with a precision that made her wonder if he was doing the same—hiding behind routine to avoid the questions neither of them wanted to ask. She couldn't help glancing at him again. His shoulders were tense, his movements just a little too deliberate. For all his calm exterior, something about the moment had unsettled him, too.
The bond. It had to be the bond. That was the only explanation for why her heart was still racing, why the memory of his warmth lingered like a phantom touch. She couldn't let herself think it was anything more.
The charged silence between them lingered as they finished getting ready for the day. By the time they stepped out of the room and into the hall, the awkwardness of the moment still clung to her, a silent echo she couldn't shake.
The warm light of morning filtered into the dining area of The Restful Starlingale, painting the wooden tables with soft golden hues. Rowen sat stiffly, her fingers curled tightly around her mug of tea. She tried to focus on the warmth seeping into her hands and the steam rising gently into the air, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the morning.
Dryanden's face inches from hers. The way their hands had been clasped between them. She couldn't forget the fleeting look in his eyes when he woke, equal parts confusion and something else—something unspoken, unbidden.
She sighed, pushing the memory aside as her gaze flickered to Dryanden, seated across from her. His demeanor was calm, as always, but she could see the faint lines of tension in his shoulders. He wasn't looking at her, instead focusing on his breakfast with a level of precision that made her suspect he was avoiding the moment as much as she was.
The smell of fresh bread and spiced porridge filled the air, but Rowen barely noticed as she poked at her food with her spoon. Her appetite had fled, chased away by the awkward tangle of emotions that had been simmering since they left the room.
"I must say," Thalor's voice broke the silence, his tone far too amused for Rowen's liking. "You two look remarkably well-rested for people who had to share a bed last night."
Rowen's cheeks flared with heat, and she dropped her spoon, sending a faint clink echoing through the quiet dining area. "Thalor—"
"What?" Thalor leaned back in his chair, a wicked grin on his face as he toyed with his own mug. "I'm just making an observation. No need to get defensive."
Dryanden sighed, the sound heavy and resigned. "Don't you have anything better to do?"
"Not at the moment, no," Thalor replied cheerfully. "But thank you for your concern, Your Highness."
Rowen groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Can we not do this right now?"
"Do what?" Thalor's grin widened. "I'm just trying to make breakfast more lively. You both seem so… tense."
Dryanden's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond, instead spearing a piece of bread with his fork. Rowen glared at Thalor, wishing she could wipe the smug expression off his face with sheer willpower.
"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "We're tense. Happy?"
"Delighted," Thalor replied with mock sincerity. He leaned forward slightly, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. "You know, it wouldn't kill you two to loosen up a bit. You're allowed to laugh, even in situations like this."
Dryanden shot him a warning look, but Rowen hesitated. As infuriating as Thalor could be, there was something disarming about his playful demeanor, something that made the knot in her chest ease just a little.
"You're insufferable," she muttered, though there was less bite in her tone now.
"And you love me for it," Thalor shot back, winking.
Dryanden set his fork down with a faint clatter, his calm facade cracking just enough to catch the irritation simmering beneath. "Thalor, if you're done, perhaps you could go check on the Lunara."
"Ah, the great dismissal," Thalor said with exaggerated drama, placing a hand over his heart. "Fine, fine. I'll leave you two lovebirds to your brooding." He stood, grabbing the last piece of bread from his plate and tossing Rowen a mischievous smile. "Try not to miss me too much."
Rowen resisted the urge to throw her spoon at him as he strolled out of the dining area, his footsteps light and unhurried. She let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly now that the source of most of her frustration had left the room.
"I don't know how you deal with him," she muttered, glancing at Dryanden.
"I don't," he replied flatly.
Rowen shook her head, leaning back in her chair. The tension in her chest eased slightly, but her thoughts remained jumbled, circling back to the morning. "Still, he has a point. We've been on edge ever since we got here. Maybe we should… I don't know. Take a moment to breathe?"
Dryanden looked at her, his gaze steady and unreadable. "Breathing is a luxury we can't always afford."
His words hung between them, heavier than she expected, and for a moment, she wasn't sure how to respond. "That's a bleak way to look at things," she said softly, poking at her porridge again.
"It's a practical way," Dryanden replied, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness. He glanced out the window, his fingers idly tracing the edge of his plate. "The world isn't going to wait for us to catch up, but…" he trailed off, "the festival is tonight."
Rowen looked at him surprised, excitedly putting her spoon down. "Do you really think we could go?"
Dryanden didn't respond immediately, his focus still on the square outside. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. "It's dangerous for you to be that overwhelmed with… so much happening around you."
The words stung more than she cared to admit. "So I don't get to enjoy myself?"
His gaze softening slightly, his usual guarded expression giving way to something almost resembling guilt. He leaned back in his chair, his hand resting lightly on the table. "It's not about denying you pleasures, Rowen. It's about keeping you safe."
Rowen crossed her arms, tilting her head as she studied him. "And what if I don't want to play it safe? What if I want to experience this world instead of just surviving it?"
Dryanden hesitated, his fingers tracing absent patterns against the wood grain of the table. For a moment, he looked like he might argue, but instead, he let out a quiet sigh. "You'll stick close. To me, not Thalor. No wandering off."
Rowen's eyebrows shot up. "Is that a yes?"
"It's a conditional yes," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "And only if Thalor doesn't throw a fit about keeping an eye out."
As if summoned, Thalor reappeared at the edge of the room, his smirk firmly in place. "I love it when people talk about me behind my back. What am I agreeing to this time?"
Rowen turned to him, her lips quirking into a faint smile. "We're going to the festival." She said excitedly despite herself.
Thalor raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between her and Dryanden. "Really? His Highness is actually letting you have some fun?"
"It's not about fun," Dryanden cut in, his tone clipped. "It's about observation. The festival gives us a chance to blend in, gather information, and—"
"—experience the cultural wonders of a quaint little village," Thalor interrupted, his grin widening. "Don't ruin this for her, Dry. You've already said yes."
Rowen bit back a laugh, glancing at Dryanden, who looked thoroughly unimpressed. "You don't have to call it fun if that makes you uncomfortable," she teased lightly.
Dryanden sighed again, clearly resigned. "Just stick to the plan. No unnecessary risks."
Thalor clapped his hands together, his enthusiasm almost childlike. "Wonderful. I'll even promise to behave—for the most part."
Rowen felt another flutter of excitement, the weight of the previous night and morning lifting just slightly. She turned back to her food, her appetite returning as she stole another glance at Dryanden. His expression remained serious, but there was a faint trace of something softer in his eyes—a flicker of understanding, maybe even excitement.
As they finished their meal and began gathering their things, Rowen couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips. For the first time since arriving in this strange world, the idea of stepping into the unknown felt more thrilling than terrifying.
The festival awaited, and for once, she dared to hope it might be worth the risk.