Song vibe: Love Me Again – V

  __________

  SAPHIRA

  Master Chamber, Firestone Castle

  Saphira slipped into Nocturne’s chamber and turned the key. August's terror rung fresh in her mind. If people can wear someone's face, who can I trust? She closed her eyes, touching the amulet he crafted for her. I'm protected. Nocturne is protected too. August has warded Firestone. Trust them

  Books lay in small drifts across the floor, bookmarked with sheets of paper where her husband’s tight hand had scrawled notes. She stepped over them, then fell into his bed. She drew his cloak around her shoulders. The wool smelled of iron and smoke, of Gin and the faintest bite of pine.

  If you were here, I’d cling to you. But I’m tossed in this storm without an anchor.

  Her breathing slowed. She remembered the weight of his arms holding her in his bed, the heat of his chest at her back, his restraint despite his pressing desire. That was the last night I woke truly rested. Nocturne...I'm trying to be the wife you need, but I don't know how much longer I can stay strong.

  The pressure in the room changed—like the drop in atmosphere before a storm. The sense of another presence in the chamber lingered.

  Her eyelids flew open.

  A tall figure leaned against the bookcase, half swallowed by shadow, broad-shouldered and achingly familiar.

  “Nocturne...” she pushed upright, unsteady.

  I don’t care if this is a dream or madness. I’ve never wanted to be held by anyone more than him now.

  She crossed the chamber and threw herself against his chest. His arm wrapped around her—light, wrong, just not him.

  She lifted her gaze. The eyes were umber—but missing the iron behind the fire.

  “You’re…not Nocturne, are you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then who are you?”

  The stranger shimmered and shed Nocturne's shape. When the light cleared, teal eyes looked out from a white mask. It was made of ivory, edged fine as a leaf, a soft sheen of light moving under the surface. He lifted the mask off.

  Lucian stood there, green headscarf tied around his head, watching her with a wary amusement.

  Above: Lucian reveals himself.

  “You—you can’t be in Nocturne’s chambers—”

  “Hush, princess.” He steadied her by the shoulders, his hands light, as if she were glass. “You’re safe.”

  “You’re in Lux with Nocturne. What are you?”

  “Well… Lye would say I’m too pretty to be trusted. He’s not far off. But seriously?” His fingers brushed over the pale mask. “The Dreamweaver Mask. It lets me walk into the minds of others.”

  “I’m asleep, then.”

  “You are. But I’m truly here.” His grin faltered for a heartbeat. “I only meant to dance around the edges, but your mind pulled me in. You're more aware than most dreamers."

  "You played a cruel trick... to appear as my husband." She held her chin up high.

  "I thought I'd smile at you, slip away, leaving you soothed and none the wiser. But you saw right through my performance—and I've been told my acting is convincing.” He tapped a finger to his lips and winked. “Our secret, princess.”

  “I don’t keep secrets from Nocturne,” Saphira said, her heart pounding. "And I'm not a princess, I never was, I'm a—"

  “A countess. A duke's daughter—Nox's wife. I know.” Lucian studied her, the smirk fading just enough to bear something softer. “My lady, you’re too gentle for his world.”

  Saphira flinched. He's right. I couldn't even turn Rell away. Nocturne will be furious with me—a real Countess would never lose control of the situation.

  "You're finding out the hard way, aren’t you? Firestone isn't gentle." He looked at her—Nocturne’s cloak clutched to her fist, her ragged breathing, the fraying of the room at the seams. "Life rarely is."

  "Firestone. Under my care... it's falling apart," she admitted.

  The stone walls shivered as if caught in her distress, mortar lines blurring. Candlelight guttered and doubled, shadows splitting from their sources, the dream pulling apart at the seams.

  Lucian glanced around, his expression tightening. “Careful, princess. Dreams are only as steady as their dreamer.” He lifted his hand, fingers twitching as though weaving invisible threads. “If you unravel, so does the stage. And right now? You’re close to the edge.”

  The chamber bowed around them, air thickening.

  "I'm trying, Lucian." Her voice cracked; the dream world shook. "Will you tell Nocturne that?"

  “Well..." his teal eyes gleamed with mischief. "Would you rather tell him yourself?"

  "Please don't joke—"

  "The mask doesn’t only let me walk into dreams. It can bridge them. Two sleepers, one stage." His thumb caressed the ivory mask. "Nox is sleeping, so I can bring him here with you. Not a memory. Not a trick. Both of you—present. Would you like that?”

  “Is it...safe?”

  “I've not had much chance to test it," he chuckled. “But I’ll hold the doors while you two speak.”

  She closed her eyes. The answer rose in her before she could think of reasons against it. She nodded, resolutely.

  "Then I'll take you into my world, where it's stable." Lucian lifted the mask to his face. Ivory met skin.

  Light threaded the seams. The chamber dissolved—the bed, the books, the stone—pulled into a whirl of dark that felt like falling without moving. Cold wind tore through and rebuilt itself as sky.

  They stood on a narrow ridge high above the world. Yule Mountain rose into the clouds; black valleys yawned below, rivers cutting veins of silver, beyond—Hart Mountain and a perfect view of Firestone Castle.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  The air felt so thin it sliced Saphira's lungs; she shivered and looked down. All she wore was Marigold’s thin dress of apricot silk.

  “Hold,” Lucian instructed, his voice somewhere between priest and conjurer.

  He held the mask on his face. The light inside it became a thread, then two, then three. One was already attached to Saphira’s sternum, the other to Lucian. Another cast itself out into the dark like a line.

  Lucian’s shoulders stiffened. The wind faltered. For a heartbeat, the world went soundless.

  A man took form on the ridge. First, his presence—the sheer force of his iron will. Then, his dark hair and the scar on his face she could trace in memory with a finger. Nocturne’s boots met rock soundlessly. His hand rushed to his side, moving to draw Shadowrend from its scabbard.

  His eyes found Lucian. The mountain wind tore at his cloak, and he let it fly into the clouds.

  “Why am I here?” he growled, sword half-drawn.

  “Hello to you, too,” Lucian said lightly, voice thinned by strain as he pulled away the mask. “Complain after you’ve seen her.”

  “Nocturne,” she breathed. "Forgive me."

  Nocturne swung to Saphira. The anger in his expression burned away, swept into the air like ash.

  He took a single step towards her. She met him halfway, and his arms came round her with the weight she craved—even in a dream, she was protected, safe.

  “I’m sorry." She pressed her face to his chest and heard his heart pounding underneath. “I…needed you.”

  “No apologies,” he answered, voice roughened, “You’re supposed to need me.”

  He held her tight until her breathing steadied.

  Lucian stood a little turned away, giving them the privacy of looking at anything else.

  Saphira loosened her grip enough to see Nocturne’s face. She saw the steel piercing in his ear and felt the weight of hers, too. She reached up and touched his piercing, brushing her finger over the warm metal. He leaned into her touch, then took her hand into his palms, covering them completely.

  "Are you unharmed?"

  She nodded. "Are you in Lux yet?"

  “We rode through the night. Arrived at the Beaumont Estate this morning. No messages from Firestone.” He held her tighter. “What’s happened?”

  She told him everything. Not the details—but enough. The snakeroot, the scratching in the walls, Verity's possession, August's breakdown. As she spoke of Rell, she felt the tremor return to her hands. I'm so ashamed I can't even look at him. He said he was betrayed in the past...I can only assume it was a woman.

  "Please...I never meant to bring this on your name. I've never thought of anyone else in that way. Except you."

  Nocturne went still. The fire in his eyes darkened, heavy as a storm held behind iron shutters. His hand flexed once at his side as if reaching for Shadowrend, then stilled.

  “He should never have touched you.” The words came low, controlled, edged like a blade held back from striking. Beneath them ran a deeper hurt, the ache of a father whose son had faltered; the sting of a husband once betrayed. He set his palm over her knuckles until her tremor folded into his stillness. “I left you to carry this.”

  “You left to protect me.” She swallowed, the words quick, a balm. “But, why the silence? There have been no letters. Nothing.”

  Nocturne cut a look at Lucian—cold as river ice.

  “I sent messages,” he growled. "Surely, none?" Then, he commanded her, “Have Quintus’s office turned inside out—”

  “Nox,” Lucian cut in, still trying not to look. “This isn’t the moment to strategise. Time’s limited.”

  Nocturne’s hand twitched towards Shadowrend.

  “Nocturne—” she touched his wrist, bringing him back to her in an instant. “One more thing. Rell.”

  He held her in his gaze, the softness fading at the mention of his squire.

  “Show him mercy,” Saphira pleaded. “He misjudged, yes. But he’s kept me safe. He loves you with everything he has. If this breaks him, I won’t forgive myself for my part.”

  “I put him there—my choice," Nocturne admitted, his shoulders squaring. “Felix warned that he lacked the maturity. I chose steel over subtlety. I never thought the danger would come crawling from the inside.” His eyes locked with hers, steady. “Rell’s the strongest with the blade. If war comes—go to him.” A breath’s pause. “If anyone repeats those rumours, they'll pay in blood.”

  She shivered. It's moments like these when he feels worlds away from me.

  “As for the other rumours—your father spread lies about me. Have they reached you?” Nocturne did not look away. Saphira shook her head.

  “He said I took you into bed. By force,” Nocturne said, voice low. “I will not let that stain follow you—he'll pay in blood.”

  “He dares to say that of you?" The purple in her eyes flashed. "My father’s filth knows no end. You’ve never touched me without my will.” She reached for his hand. “Never doubt that I know it.”

  "Good." He placed both hands on her hips, holding her down, his umber eyes burning as he looked her up and down. "I'll be home soon."

  "Is my face that forgettable?" she teased, looking up at him coyly. “You look at me like you’re memorising me."

  “I am.” His thumbs felt the silken dress. "Apricot silk. I remember."

  Her mouth flickered. The memory of their kiss in the Solar rose. She lifted on her toes, standing on the tips of them, until her lips were at his ear.

  “I hope you... also remember the taste of strawberries,” she whispered.

  He went still. A slow, reluctant warmth moved through his eyes, softening iron to something dangerous. His hand came up to the back of her head, fingers sliding into her lavender hair with care he rarely let himself show.

  “I’m not likely to forget,” he murmured.

  His lips brushed her ear, then found the steel piercing he had given her. He kissed it—slow, deliberate—lingering as if he might trace a line down her neck, to her shoulder, and lower. But he stopped. His hand cupped her cheek, holding her from him as much as to him.

  “Not like this,” he murmured into her ear. “When I return to you—in truth.”

  Above: Nocturne longs for Saphira.

  Lucian cleared his throat. “Ah, Nox—”

  "You." Nocturne spun to him. “Warn me next time.”

  “Understood.” Lucian’s mouth tipped, weary amusement breaking through. “Now—let’s go.”

  “Wait,” Saphira said sharply. “Rell told me you could use the mask to help with the nightmares… Could you?”

  Lucian’s eyes flicked to Nocturne, then back. “This morning, I already tried. Smoothed the edges where I could.”

  The words struck, leaving a cold feeling in Saphira's chest. Her lips parted to protest, but Nocturne’s hand settled firm on her shoulder.

  “I commanded it,” he said. “I had to know you were safe—that you weren’t…suffering.”

  "I understand." She closed her fingers over his, steady but unyielding. “But next time—ask me first, please?"

  Nocturne flinched—in the way a man did when he was unused to being challenged. He did not apologise nor deny. He squeezed her shoulder firmly.

  "—Because if you had asked," Saphira continued, the steel rising in her voice, "I would’ve told you to rip the root right out. I'm sick of feeling this way."

  "It's too risky." Nocturne’s hand tightened on her. "No."

  “Please…” she pleaded gently, turning into him, her fingers brushing over his hardened knuckles, “I'm... I'm afraid to go to sleep. Especially alone.”

  He pulled her into him, hand gripping so tightly on her waist she winced.

  “If Lucian goes,” he said, “I go too.”

  Lucian shook his head. “I can just hold us three, here, in my dreamscape. But adding three into Saphira’s mind, for a whole night? That will tear her sanity."

  Nocturne’s mouth tightened. He looked like a man agreeing to let a surgeon set bone without numbleaf.

  The light within the mask guttered. The ridge shivered underfoot; hairline cracks raced across the stone, widening by the second.

  “Time,” Lucian said through his teeth. “Something's waking Nocturne."

  Nocturne pulled Saphira closer as if the act could hold the dream by force. She curled her fingers into the seam of his shirt, her fingers tight.

  “Don’t go,” she said.

  “I’ll come back,” he answered. “To hold you in truth."

  His lips brushed her temple. The warmth of his lips remained on her skin as the mountainscape melted away.

  The bed returned—stone and wool and the weight of Nocturne's cloak around her. Saphira lay curled where she had begun, the warmth of his touch lingering in the ache of her arms.

  Lucian stood by the bookcase again, mask dangling slack from his hand. He looked pale and beautifully wrecked.

  “If Nocturne didn't order this—it would've been a violation," she whispered.

  “I know. I...never thought you'd see me. But that doesn’t ease my intrusion. That's why I wanted to give you a moment with him... as close to an apology as I've ever given.” He slid the mask into his cloak. “You’ll feel a heaviness when you wake. I pulled you into my dream—that puts a toll on your mind. Eat. Drink water. Gather your strength for tonight."

  “Will we all remember this when we wake?” she asked.

  “You, with longing; Nox, with brooding. And me?” He flashed teeth, then let the grin slip more softly. “I’ll feign forgetfulness—better that than waking to Nox gutting me.”

  She sat up, clutching the cloak. “Lucian,” she said, and he looked over his shoulder. “...Thank you.”

  “I'll tell him you said that,” he replied, and some of the usual mischief returned to his face. “It'll help me keep my head attached to my neck."

  He crossed to the door, paused, and glanced back at the piles of books.

  “Almighty, Rell was right,” he murmured, almost fond. “He really does nest in paper.” His eyes warmed for her just a fraction. “Tonight then—if you permit it.” For once, his voice was low, stripped of mockery. “And I won’t judge.”

  She nodded once.

  He slipped out the way dreams do—no lock turned, no sound at all.

  Saphira lay back and drew the cloak tight until the wool pressed her throat; his kiss on her earlobe lingered.

  Proof, she shivered. Even in dreams, faces lie. But truth does not. And somewhere beyond stone and distance, Nocturne had said he would come back to me—in truth.