A week passed.
Training. Hunting. Pretending things were fine.
I kept my head down. Focused. Let the days blur into repetition. Thalen seemed relieved. Kael pretended not to watch me when I sparred. Lia found ways to keep things from getting too heavy—usually by stealing Kael's food or insulting my aim.
Things were... normal.
Too normal.
So when Kael knocked on my door just before dusk, holding a folded scrap of dark parchment and wearing that barely-there smirk that always meant trouble, I knew something was coming.
—You busy tonight?
—Define "busy."
He handed me the paper. I unfolded it. Elegant, silver-inked script, in a language older than either of us:
FIREBIND CELEBRATION — THE NIGHT OF THE WILDS
Velharis Grove | Sundown | Bring flame, leave fear
—Is this a prank? —I asked.
—It's a tradition,— Kael said. —A festival. Old magic, old songs. One night a year where no one owes anything to anyone.
—And you want me to go?
—With me.
I raised a brow.
—As what? Combat backup? Social camouflage?
Kael leaned in slightly.
—As my partner.
I blinked.
—That's bold.
—It's a party. Not a marriage vow.
—Still bold.
He didn't push.
Just said:
—Say yes. One night. No politics, no training. Just fire, music, food. A thousand lanterns in the trees.
I hesitated. The last time we let our guard down, things got... complicated.
But maybe that wasn't a bad thing.
—Fine,— I said. —But I'm not wearing something ridiculous.
Kael grinned.
—Too late. Lia's already picking your outfit.
I groaned.
—You're both monsters.
—See you at sunset.
He turned and walked off before I could throw something at him.
And just like that… the quiet week ended.
And something new began.
Lia showed up to my room like she owned it.
Arms full of fabric. Fingers stained with ink. A glint in her eyes that made me wonder if Kael had put her up to this or if she was just chaos incarnate.
—Hello darling,— she said.
—What a pleasure to have you here—I said while laughing.
—I brought three options. You're wearing the third one.
—What if I hate the third one?
—Then you'll wear it while hating it. And you'll still look incredible.
I crossed my arms.
—Why are you so invested in this?
Lia started laying things out across my bed—a dark green dress with high slits, a deep red wrap lined with embroidered runes, and something black, silky, and suspiciously backless.
—Because you deserve a night that doesn't end in blood or strategy. Because he asked you, and you said yes. And because...
She looked at me.
—...you want to feel like a version of yourself that existed before all this started. Right?
I didn't answer.
Which meant she was right.
---
An hour later, I stood in front of the mirror, half-dressed, mildly uncomfortable, and still not convinced this wasn't a mistake.
The black dress clung in places I hadn't realized existed. My hair was pulled half-up with tiny metal cuffs along the braid. Lia had painted runes in copper ink across my shoulders—symbols for luck, strength, and fire.
I didn't hate it.
Which was a problem.
—You look like a goddess of something dangerous,— Lia said behind me. —Which, coincidentally, you are.
—He's going to say something smug.
—He's going to forget how to speak.
I rolled my eyes, but I didn't argue.
We walked to the edge of the clearing where Kael was already waiting.
He was leaning against a tree in a dark cloak, sleeves rolled to the elbows, hair pulled back with a bronze clasp.
When he looked up and saw me—
He didn't say anything.
Didn't smile. Didn't blink.
Just stared.
Lia elbowed me lightly.
—Told you.
Kael finally cleared his throat.
—You clean up alright.
I gave him a flat look.
—That the best you've got?
—No,— he said. —But if I say the rest, I might not be able to walk straight.
Lia groaned and shook her head.
—Gods, just say it already.
Then she gave me a wink and turned away.
—You two have fun. Try not to combust.
She left before I could throw something at her.
Kael glanced at me once she was gone.
Then, voice low and rough:
—You look like a sin I'd gladly burn for.
My stomach flipped.
I didn't have a comeback.
He offered me his arm.
I took it.
The forest didn't look like the forest.
It looked like a dream someone had stitched together from heat and smoke and sound. Lanterns floated between trees, some tied with crimson silk, others flickering without flame. Shadows curled across the moss like living things. Runes glowed faintly on stones, in tree bark, across bare skin.
Music echoed in the air—not from instruments I could name, but from rhythms that felt old. Older than memory. The kind that vibrated in your bones more than your ears.
Kael and I walked side by side through the archway of ivy and ash that marked the entrance to the festival grounds.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't need to.
Everywhere I looked, people danced. Laughed. Kissed under the low branches, drank from curved metal flasks filled with things that shimmered.
Some wore masks carved from obsidian or bone. Others had glowing vines braided into their hair. And some looked like they had stepped out of another world entirely.
A girl walked past us barefoot, her skin painted with silver. A man followed with antlers on his head and fire in his eyes.
I stared. Kael smiled.
—Told you it'd be worth it.
—I think I hate how right you are.
—You'll get used to it.
We passed under a hanging arch of charred wood, runes burned into its surface. I felt a pulse in my chest when we crossed beneath it.
Kael looked at me.
—You okay?
—It just feels... alive.
—It is.
We kept walking.
There were fire pits everywhere, surrounded by people sharing food, stories, smoke. In one corner, dancers moved in a circle, cloaks twirling in time with the beat. In another, two women wrestled in a ring of salt and ash while people cheered them on.
Kael nudged me.
—Want to join?
—Only if you want to lose.
He smirked.
—Later.
We found a low bench near one of the larger fires and sat. Someone passed us cups without asking. The drink inside tasted like heat and spice and something else I couldn't place. I felt it in my fingertips almost instantly.
Kael took a sip and raised an eyebrow.
—Careful. That stuff is mostly liquid confidence.
—Good. I might need it.
He glanced at me sideways.
—Why?
—Because I'm wearing a dress with no back and sitting next to the most frustrating man in the realm.
Kael grinned into his drink.
—Flattery will get you everywhere.
We drank. Watched the fire. Watched the people who had nothing to prove tonight.
For once, I didn't feel like I had to hold my breath.
Kael looked at me again. This time, slower.
—Dance with me.
—What?
—Come on. One dance. Just to say we did.
—You don't dance.
—Not well. But I make up for it with commitment.
He stood, offered me his hand.
I hesitated.
Then took it.
The music shifted as we moved into the circle. Something low and slow and thick with tension. Kael placed one hand on my waist, the other taking mine. His touch was steady. Confident. A little too warm.
We moved.
Not graceful. Not perfect.
But real.
People faded around us. The music became the rhythm of our breath.
I looked up at him.
He was already watching me.
And he didn't look away, neither did I.
We didn't stop moving.
Not until the song faded into something faster, and the dancers around us blurred into a chaotic circle of flashing light and spinning cloaks.
Kael loosened his grip, just slightly.
—See? You survived.
—Barely. If you stepped on my foot one more time, I might've set you on fire.
—Worth it.
We laughed. It felt weird. Light. Like the gravity that followed us everywhere else didn't apply here.
We stepped out of the dance circle and found another table, this one covered in roasted meat, charred roots, things dipped in glowing honey. We ate, we drank. People passed by and nodded or grinned, but no one stopped us.
I liked that. Not being watched. Not being expected to lead or hide or burn.
Just... be.
Kael reached for another cup of whatever passed for wine here and poured half of it into mine.
—You're trying to get me drunk.
—You're already tipsy.
—I'm not.
I absolutely was.
—You're flushed and you keep smiling when you think I'm not looking.
—No proof.
Kael leaned closer.
—I don't need proof.
I met his eyes. For once, he didn't look guarded. Or clever. Or dangerous.
He looked like someone who had let himself forget everything else for just one night.
And I was doing the same.
We found a quieter spot, tucked behind a line of glowing trees. Fireflies swarmed nearby, thick enough to look enchanted.
Kael sat against one of the trunks. I sat beside him, our arms brushing.
—This is nice,— I said.
—You sound surprised.
—Because it is. I didn't think we could do this—whatever this is.
—Me neither.
I tilted my head.
—What do you think it is?
Kael didn't answer right away.
Then:
—Something I don't want to lose.
I stared at him.
—That's... unfairly sweet.
—Don't get used to it.
He reached for my hand. Not like a demand. Just a touch. I let him.
We sat like that. Hands linked. Breathing slow. Watching the lights flicker through the trees.
And for a moment, I felt something I hadn't in a long time.
Safe.
Not because nothing could go wrong but because, for once, I wasn't pretending.
The festival stretched deeper into the night. The music pulsed through the trees, the crowd grew louder, wilder, but where we were it all felt distant. Like a memory instead of something still happening.
Kael passed me another drink. I didn't ask what it was. It was warm, spicy, and it made my blood hum.
—You're drunk —he said, teasing.
—Not yet.
I definitely was.
But so was he.
He leaned back against the tree, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent at the knee. I mirrored him, clumsy and a little too loose-limbed.
—We should head back —I said, not moving.
Kael looked over at me. His eyes were clearer than they should've been.
—You're not ready to go.
—How do you know?
—Because for once you're not trying to carry the world on your shoulders.
I rolled my eyes and poked his leg with my toe.
—You're drunk and poetic. It's disturbing.
He smiled lazily.
—You love it.
I didn't answer. Because maybe I did.
We watched people move past the trees in waves of color and laughter. Someone had enchanted the lanterns to float like stars. The shadows danced with them.
—I'm glad you came —Kael said quietly.
—I almost didn't.
—I know.
He looked down at our hands. We weren't holding them anymore, but they kept brushing. On purpose. Or not.
—I wanted to see you like this —he added. —Not just powerful. Not guarded. Just... you.
I swallowed.
—You're getting sentimental again.
—Stop me.
So I leaned in and kissed him.
Not because I planned it.
Not because of the wine or the firelight or the music still curling around us.
But because I wanted to.
He kissed me back immediately, with more restraint than I expected and just enough heat to undo me. His hand slid around the back of my neck. Mine gripped the front of his cloak.
It didn't last long. Just long enough to leave both of us breathless when we pulled apart.
—You're dangerous —he whispered.
—I warned you.
We stayed there for a few minutes longer, quiet and tangled in something that wasn't casual anymore.
Then Kael stood and offered his hand.
—Come on.
—Where?
—Not far.
I let him pull me to my feet. He didn't let go.
We left the lights behind, following a side path lined with moss and faint blue runes. At the end of it was a building tucked into the trees — an old stone structure turned into a festival lodge, lit by soft lanterns and wrapped in vines.
Kael gave the man at the door a look. He nodded and opened it.
The door shut behind him with a soft click.
Inside it was beautiful, simple, soft, magical.
It was quiet in the room—too quiet after the chaos of the festival. The music was still playing somewhere out there in the trees, but here, it was just us.
Kael didn't move at first. He stood with his hand still on the door, like he wasn't sure what to say now that we were alone.
I turned slowly, shrugging the thin black cloak from my shoulders. The fabric slipped down my back and hit the floor with a hush. The candlelight flickered over my bare skin, catching on the copper runes Lia had drawn. Most of them had faded from dancing and wine, but a few still burned faintly.
Kael's eyes tracked every movement.
He stepped forward, stopping just close enough for me to feel his breath.
—You wore this like armor —he murmured.
—It was.
His hand lifted, rough fingertips tracing the rune over my collarbone.
—You don't need it tonight.
I swallowed.
—Then take it off.
He looked up, and I saw it—the hesitation, the hunger, the quiet reverence. Then his lips brushed the edge of the symbol, heat blooming across my skin.
His hands moved slowly at first. Over my arms, waist, back. Not grabbing, not claiming. Just holding. Like he needed to learn every line.
I tugged at the front of his cloak until it slid off his shoulders. Beneath it, the shirt clung to his chest—damp from heat and barely laced. I loosened it with one hand and pushed it aside. His skin was warm, inked with dark tattoos I hadn't seen in full before.
I traced one that curled around his ribs.
He shivered.
Then pulled me closer.
We kissed again, deeper this time. I tasted wine and fire on his tongue. He tasted like something sharp and necessary.
When he lifted me, it was without strain. My legs wrapped around his waist, and he carried me to the bed like he'd done it in his mind a hundred times before.
He laid me down gently, crawling over me with a slowness that made my breath catch.
—Tell me if this isn't what you want —he said, with a hoarse voice.
I gripped the back of his neck.
—I want you.
And I meant it.
Clothes came off in pieces. Slow. Messy. I pulled his hair loose from its clasp and let it fall around his face. He kissed along my stomach, the inside of my thigh, behind my knee—places no one had ever bothered to.
He made time for all of it.
There were no rushed movements. No uncertainty.
Just hands, mouths, warmth.
And trust.
His weight settled over me, grounding and maddening. When we finally moved together, it wasn't explosive. It was deep, rhythmic, like we'd fallen into a pulse that belonged to something older than either of us.
He groaned against my throat when I bit his shoulder. I whispered his name when he slowed down, when he sped up, when I couldn't keep my voice from shaking.
He pressed his forehead to mine at the end. Both of us breathless. Both of us undone.
No words.
None needed.
After, he tucked the blankets around me, then curled beside me with an arm draped across my stomach.
I traced lazy lines across his chest. He kissed the top of my head, once, then again.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt like someone saw me—really saw me—and didn't look away.
Sleep came easier than I thought it would.
No dreams. No nightmares.
Just his breath against the back of my neck.
And the feeling that maybe, just maybe, something in my life didn't need to be fought for. Maybe it was already mine.
The room was quiet when I woke.
A pale gray light had slipped through the tall window, tracing soft lines across the sheets, across Kael's shoulder, across the mess we'd left behind.
He was still asleep.
One arm tucked beneath the pillow. The other curled loosely around my waist, fingers resting at the curve of my hip. He looked younger when he slept. Or maybe just less guarded. Less like the Kael the world thought he was, and more like the one I had finally let in.
I didn't want to move.
Didn't want to break the spell.
His breath was steady. Warm. Every rise and fall of his chest matched the rhythm of something in me that had quieted.
It was real, not a dream, not a mistake.
And I felt it everywhere—from the ache in my legs to the softness in my chest.
Last night wasn't a detour, it was a choice.
Kael stirred a little and blinked at the ceiling before turning his head toward me. His hair was a mess. He looked unfairly good for someone who hadn't moved all night.
—Hi,— he rasped.
—Hi,— I said back.
He reached out and brushed a piece of hair from my cheek.
—Still here,— he said.
—That makes two of us.
He smiled. A soft, lazy one that didn't hide anything.
—So… what now?
I exhaled and stretched slightly.
—Now we get dressed. Drink something bitter. Pretend we didn't have the best night of our lives and act normal.
Kael made a face.
—That sounds terrible.
—It's how people survive things.
—Is it?
He rolled closer, hand brushing along my thigh. I stopped him.
—I mean it.
Kael looked up at me.
—Are you regretting it?
I shook my head.
—Not even a little.
He leaned in and kissed my shoulder.
—Good.
We got up slowly. Took our time dressing. There was no rush, but there was weight.
Outside, the festival was already being cleared. Fires down to coals. Tables half-empty. The wildness of the night before reduced to faint echoes and footprints in the dirt.
Kael and I walked side by side back toward the main path, hands brushing but not quite holding.
The cottage looked smaller when we returned.
Maybe it was the quiet. Or the weight of everything still clinging to my skin from the night before. The scent of smoke and wine, of Kael, of fire that hadn't gone out yet.
Thalen stood by the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, watching us approach with that expression he used when deciding whether or not to pretend he wasn't worried.
—You're late,— he said.
Kael gave a lazy shrug.
—We survived.
Thalen looked at me. Not unkind, but sharp.
—Everything go as planned?
I met his eyes and didn't flinch.
—Better.
He didn't push. Just nodded and turned back toward the house.
Kael lingered beside me, thumb brushing against my hand like a silent question.
I didn't pull away.
Later that afternoon, Lia showed up with a bag of leftover festival bread and the worst grin I'd ever seen.
—So,— she said, dropping onto the bench beside me, —how was your night?
—Fine.
—That bad?
—Lia.
—Maeryn.
I groaned.
She leaned in.
—Did he cry?
—You're insufferable.
—You're glowing.
—I will bury you under the herb garden.
She snorted.
Kael came around the corner then, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Lia looked between us, then stood, brushing her hands together.
—Alright. I'll leave you two alone before one of you combusts.
She winked at Kael.
—Good work.
He didn't respond, just gave a brief nod and waited until she disappeared around the side of the house.
Once we were alone again, Kael sat beside me.
—Do you regret any of it?
—Why do you keep asking me that?
—Because I need to hear it.
I looked at him. Saw the real question in his eyes.
—No,— I said. —Not even for a second.
Kael leaned back slightly, exhaling like he'd been holding something in since sunrise.
—So where does that leave us?
—Here. Now. Quiet.
—You want to keep this secret?
—Not because I'm ashamed. But because we still have things to do. A plan. A future to claim first.
Kael nodded slowly.
—Then it's ours. No one else's. Not yet.
I reached for his hand, held it beneath the table, away from any eyes.
—Not even Lia or Thalen. Not until we're ready.
He squeezed my fingers.
—Then it stays between us. Quiet. Real.
We sat like that for a long time.
No declarations. No theatrics.
Just the truth of it, alive and burning beneath our skin.
And in that secret, in that stillness—
We felt more official than any crown or vow could make us.