I press the hollow spot right over my heart, and I exhale slowly.
Magic hums throughout my being—that has always been my truth.
But there’s something else living there now.
A line. An anchor. A tether.
And I know exactly to whom it leads.
Phoebe. My viyella.
The dinner fires have long been extinguished, leaving only the faint glow of embers and the hush of waves beyond the tents.
The storytellers ended their epics hours ago, and the blessing from Second Shore’s shaman still hums faintly in my bones.
Now, it is just us—my Telya and I—here in the tent prepared for us tonight.
Last night, she was so exhausted I did nothing but hold her while she slept.
My arms around her, her breathing steady against my chest—that was enough.
But tonight, tonight I can hear the faint rustle of cloth as she undresses on the other side of the partition, and I can smell her curiosity in the air.
Bright. Sweet. Tempting.
“Are you feeling well, Telya?”
My voice is lower than I intend, strained with want I am trying to keep contained.
“Uh, yeah,” she murmurs. “I’ll miss Jules. Do they live far from Castletide?”
“The Eyrie is a little far,” I tell her, leaning against the carved post in the center of the room. “But there is magic that makes distance nothing at all. I will show you when we return.”
“Oh, um, that would be good.”
I feel like a boy trembling on the edge of something dangerous as I wait. The chamber is magicked, the air warmer than the cool night, the bed draped in fine linen soft as sea foam.
I know I don’t want to keep my distance tonight.
I can’t.
I want her too much.
Still—I will never force her.
She must come to me.
Always her choice. Always her word.
Then she steps past the screen, and my breath punches out of me.
She’s wrapped in a silk shift so thin it might as well be mist.
Every curve of her body is illuminated, soft and inviting, her blonde hair curling loose and wild over her shoulders.
She is softness made flesh.
Beauty so sharp it hurts to look at her.
