The woman’s smile widened as she glanced toward Kaelen, now sitting beside Alarik. She whispered, “You could do far worse than those two, dear girl. If I were you, I wouldn’t let this opportunity slip through my fingers. Not everyone gets to be so lucky.”
Heat bloomed in Reiya’s chest, spreading up her throat. Su Lian hadn’t spoken of one man, but both—and without hesitation, without scorn. The words conjured images she hadn’t meant to summon—memories of an afternoon spent wrapped in their arms, their warmth grounding her, soothing her through her Kindling.
But as quickly as the warmth flared, unease followed.
Her fingers brushed over the fading bruise on her neck, Jodhar’s bite a dark reminder of the flare of desire the mercenary managed to pull from her.
After finishing her chores, she scanned the camp, realizing Kaelen was no longer among those chatting around the fire.
She found him behind the wagon, stacking firewood with slow, methodical movements. Each log was placed with care, as if the task required all his focus. It was an odd sight—he wasn’t one to linger on mundane chores, not when there was company to enjoy.
But here he was, alone.
She hesitated, watching the tension in his shoulders. Gone was the easy charm, the effortless confidence.
Something about it tugged at her, urging her forward.
“Kai? What are you doing back here?”
He paused, the log in his hands hovering midair before he placed it down with a soft thud. He glanced over his shoulder at her, a smile readily appearing on his face.
“Just keeping busy,” he said, though his tone lacked its usual brightness.
She bit her lip. Here, in the quiet behind the wagon, away from the fire and the watching eyes of the caravan, why was he still giving her the same practiced smile, the same easy mask he wore for everyone else?
She couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept it. Not from him.
Tilting her head, she echoed, “Keeping busy, or . . . avoiding everyone?”
His smile deepened, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He wiped his hands on a nearby rag. “Maybe a bit of both.”
She folded her arms, leaning against the wagon. “You’ve had quite the audience today,” she said carefully. “I don’t blame you for needing space.”
He let out a quiet chuckle, but the sound was swallowed by the night. “They mean well.”
She studied him for a moment, noting the subtle lines of fatigue around his eyes. Gently, she asked, “Have you had a chance to breathe at all?”
He shook his head, smirking faintly. “I’m fine. Just needed a moment to clear my head.”
She wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t press. Instead, she settled herself on a nearby stump, arranging her skirt around her, and struck a lighter tone.
“So much happened today. Did Alarik tell you? He started teaching me archery. We had our first lesson earlier this afternoon.”
He raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting just slightly. “Archery? Impressive.”
“Before you laugh, I wasn’t terrible. I wasn’t great either, but I managed to hit the target . . . once or twice.”
That earned a soft chuckle, the tension in his frame easing just a fraction. “I’ve no doubt you did wonderfully.”
“He’s a strict teacher,” she said with a mock sigh, “and I think he enjoys watching me struggle more than he should.” Her teasing lilt drew another smile from him, this time more genuine. “But it was . . . nice. To learn something new. To feel like I was doing something for myself, something I could actually use.”
His smile gentled, the last of the tightness fading from his features. “Your arms will ache tomorrow, and you might curse yourself for ever picking up a bow—but stick with it. It’s worth holding on to.”
“I will. And who knows? Maybe I’ll get good enough to challenge you one day.”
He laughed, warm and genuine. “I look forward to that.”
She smiled, satisfied to see him more like himself again. Their conversation had shifted into lighter waters, but in the quiet pauses, she remained attuned to him—offering her presence as a comfort without pressing for more than he was willing to share.
