Someone is coming looking. Someone has already tasked me with bringing her back.
I break the kiss, pressing my forehead against hers while we both catch our breath. The night air suddenly feels cold against my heated skin. Her hands still rest against my chest, and I wonder if she can feel the chaotic pounding of my heart beneath her palms.
"Domno?" Uncertainty colors her voice, and I hate myself for putting it there.
I slide the bad of my thumb along her jaw. "I do not want to stop," I say roughly, and it seems to settle the hurt blooming in her eyes. "But I don't think we should keep going." Then I quickly add, "At least tonight."
And I am wrong for that. For giving us both hope. But I can't stop myself when I say it.
She nods. "You're right."
I breathe a sigh of relief.
Tilting her head up, I press a slow, soft kiss to her lips before I force myself to step back. I am already too close to her and Erisen. I can't risk hurting her before I decide what I am going to do.
"Goodnight, Esalyn," I whisper.
She stares up at me with a look so mixed with longing and uncertainty it nearly cracks me in half. "Goodnight, Domno."
And it takes every ounce of my strength to walk away.
14
ESALYN
Idon't sleep. Not really. The night stretches endlessly as I lie beside Erisen, his small body curled against mine, innocent and unaware of how his mother's world has just tilted on its axis. Every time I close my eyes, I feel the ghost of Domno's hands on my waist, the pressure of his mouth against mine, the rough texture of his jaw beneath my fingertips.
What was I thinking?
The ceiling above me offers no answers, only shadows that shift and dance with each flicker of the dying lamp. Outside, rain begins to fall, pattering against our thin roof in a rhythm that matches my restless heartbeat. I trace my lips with trembling fingers, still feeling the imprint of his kiss like a brand.
It's been so long since anyone touched me with desire instead of ownership. So long since I've wanted to be touched. Six years of running, of keeping my gaze lowered, of flinching when men move too quickly near me—all of it dissolved the moment I pressed my mouth to his.
The memory of Vorrak rises unbidden—his cruel hands, his mocking laughter when I cried, the possessive gleam in his eyes that signaled another night of pain. I squeeze my eyes shut,willing the memories away, but they cling like smoke. How many times had he reminded me that I was nothing but a plaything, worthless except for what my body could provide?
Yet when Domno looked at me tonight, I saw none of that. His golden eyes held heat, yes, but also something else—something that made me feel seen. Not as property. Not as prey. But as a woman who might be worth wanting.
It terrifies me more than anything else has in years.
Beside me, Erisen shifts in his sleep, one small hand still clutching the wooden batlaz Domno carved. The sight twists something painful in my chest. My son, who trusts so rarely, has given his complete faith to a demon we've known for mere days. A demon whose intentions I still cannot fully discern, despite the way my body betrayed me tonight.
When dawn finally breaks, painting thin strips of light through the cracks in our shutters, I rise with eyes that feel like sand. I move through our morning routine by rote—heating water for washing, preparing a simple breakfast of porridge flavored with the last of our dried zynthra, braiding Erisen's dark hair to cover the tiny horns at his temples. His golden eyes, so like Domno's in color yet infinitely more innocent, watch me with unusual concern.
"Are you sick, Mama?" he asks, reaching up to touch my cheek.
I force a smile, smoothing back a stray lock of his hair. "Just tired, love. I didn't sleep well."
"Bad dreams?" His voice drops to a whisper, serious and concerned. He knows about bad dreams. Has his own that wake him crying in the night.
"No, love. Just thinking too much." I kiss his forehead, breathing in his clean, familiar scent. "Ready for the market?"
At the old woman's fruit stall, I arrange wares mechanically, my mind elsewhere as my fingers sort through the produce.Twice I miscount a customer's change. Three times I jump at shadows, expecting to see Domno's tall figure among the morning crowd. My lips still tingle with the memory of his mouth on mine, and heat blooms in my cheeks every time I recall how easily he'd lifted me against him, how perfectly our bodies had aligned.
"That man is looking for you," the old woman says suddenly, her gnarled fingers gripping my arm.
My heart stutters painfully until I follow her gaze and see it's only the baker who has some work for me. Not Domno. Not Vorrak. Just the ordinary dangers of an ordinary day.
By midday, I've convinced myself Domno won't return. Why would he? I've seen the restlessness in him, the shadow of old wounds that drive him to keep moving. Whatever drew him to us, it can't possibly outweigh the complications we represent.
