He hesitated, his gold gaze scanning the horizon. “Every time I step into it. It strips everything away—pretence, pride, fear. It forces you to see yourself for who you truly are, not who you think you should be.” His voice lowered. “The desert tests your limits. Whether you come out better or worse is up to you.”
Reiya’s pulse quickened at the intensity of his words, but she kept her tone light. “No wonder you love it so much. It suits you.”
His brow lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “It does?”
She smiled, stepping closer. “You’re steady, unyielding. Like the desert, you don’t waste words or gestures. There’s no pretence.”
Alarik’s expression softened, the guardedness in his eyes easing just enough for her to glimpse the man beneath.
“The desert can be cruel,” he said quietly. “It shows you mirages—things you want most, only to reveal their illusion when you reach for them.”
The shadow in his eyes deepened, as if he was speaking not of the desert, but of himself. Or perhaps, his past.
He spoke like a man who’d known what it was like to want something, to really desire it with all his heart, only for it to be taken away from him. What was it?
Or . . .whowas it?
It couldn’t be his mother, who died when he was a child. This seemed recent, the wounds fresher.
She searched his face for the openness she’d glimpsed before—the softening in his voice when he spoke of his past, the flicker of vulnerability that had drawn her closer, the way he’d held her through the fevered night, steady and unyielding.
Now, that closeness seemed to have slipped away, buried once more behind the careful stoicism she had first come to know.
Had she imagined it? Had something changed?
She wasn’t sure which thought hurt more.
Alarik handed her the reins, his rough fingers brushing hers. The graze was enough to send a jolt through her, familiar and charged, but when she looked up at him, his expression remained blank.
“You’re good at hiding your feelings, aren’t you?” she blurted.
Alarik blinked, wariness entering his eyes. “If I really were, you wouldn’t be asking me this question right now.”
“I mean . . .” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “I sense a past tragedy, something you don’t want to tell me, and that’s alright. But?—”
She bit her lip and looked away, knowing the words might push him away, but she had totry.
“I’ve lived a sheltered life, and there’s still so much I don’t know, but you don’t have to carry it alone.”
For a moment, his eyes flickered with something raw, unguarded. It was gone almost as quickly as it came, replaced by the same careful control.
“Easier said than done.”
“Why?” She stepped closer. “Because you think speaking out makes you vulnerable? It doesn’t. It makes youhuman. It reminds me you’re not just someone who’s good at protecting, but also someone worth knowing, worth trusting.”
He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
“It’s not easy for me,” he admitted, his voice barely above a murmur. “Trust doesn’t come naturally. But with you?—”
“It’s easier than it should be?” she said, echoing what he’d said that evening at the bathhouse.
Alarik looked away and let out a helpless huff of laughter.
Her heart swelled, warmth unfurling through her chest. Smiling, she reached up, her fingers brushing his arm—steadying herself more than him.
“Then let me remind you,” she said, voice low.
Rising onto her toes, she pressed a kiss to his cheek—not just a soft brush, but a deliberate, lingering touch.
